Page 146 of Nest of Thieves
Laurence always craved one thing—control.
How satisfying it must have been to know all he had to do was say the word, and I’d go and do his bidding. The control never really bothered me. I wanted to do the jobs. I wanted the thrill. But, deep down, that’s not why I was doing it.
I wanted to learn what it took to become the boss.
It’s more than thieving. That much is obvious. But there are tactics Laurence used on marks, one of which Damien is using now on me.
Leverage. He has the upper hand. He knows what he’s doing. He knows I’d do anything for my family.
What he doesn’t know is whether I’d also do anything for my mates.
He thinks he knows me, but he doesn’t. He remembers me as that little girl desperate for a thrill. The little girl who was lost. I’m not lost anymore. I know exactly who I am.
Damien thinks he has me. I saw it in the glint of his eyes. He thinks he’s the apex predator. He doesn’t know fear. Maybe it’s time I remind him of his humanity.
Leaving the bathroom, I head to Atticus’s vivarium and tap my finger on the glass once. His tongue flicks out to say hello.
“Are you hungry?” I grab the container of mice and pick one up by its tail. Removing the lid of the vivarium, I slowly lower the mouse inside. Atticus slithers toward it before I can even put the lid back on.
The mouse frantically runs around.
Its little heart must be beating so fast. It squeaks. Atticus moves steadily toward the creature, unbothered by the little thing’s frantic attempts to escape. Atticus knows the mouse is dead. I know it too. The only one left to find out is the mouse itself.
A plan solidifies in my mind, but there’s only one way it’ll work.
thirty-seven
JO
“Get the fuck away from me,” I scream, crashing into the wall and shoving off of it, running from Vette.
He growls and throws a vase on the floor. “You think you can hurt me?”
I’ve never heard him sound so mad.
The guys have been hunting me for the past five minutes. I lost my knives upstairs in the first half of the fight, and I don’t have a gun. Sweat slicks my skin, but I can’t stop running.
“Oh, Kitten!” Mac cackles and appears at the end of the hall near the kitchen.
Fuck.
I’m running too fast to stop in time. Catching me around the waist, he slams me into his chest. His fingers grip me so tight, I think I might bruise.
I buck against him, tossing my head back. “Get the fuck off me.”
His shoes crunch over broken glass—remnants of an old mirror—as he drags me into the kitchen.
“Get the fuck off me,” Vette mocks in a high-pitched voice. “What’s the matter, mami? Mad because you couldn’t get the drop on us?”
“Screw. You,” I grit out.
“Hmm. We already did that,” Lark drawls, removing a knife from the butcher block. He’s covered in blood from an earlier collision we had.
The fresh bottle of tequila sits on the counter.
“You’re going to kill me?” I release a bitter laugh. “What about us being mates?”
“That was before you tried to attack Vette,” Mac says, locking his arm under my chin, choking me.
