Page 7 of Nest of Thieves
“Easy, now. Wouldn’t want little old Mac to die, hmm?” I ask him.
“Mierda.”Shit.Vette slams on the brakes.
I yank my knife from Mac’s neck and glare at Vette. “Are you trying to kill him?” Once the car is at a full stop, I place the knife back against Mac’s neck.
“What’s wrong with him?” Lark asks.
I squint at Vette before sliding my gaze to meet Lark’s. “He’ll be fine in a few hours. Get out of the car.”
Vette laughs. “No fucking way.”
I nick Mac’s neck. The scent of his blood overpowers everything else in the car.
He moans.
“Get out. Now.” I flick my gaze between the two alphas in the front. “Or your friend is dead.”
A bluff, but are they willing to bet his life?
“This is bullshit,” Vette says. “Should’ve stayed home.”
“You know why we couldn’t,” Lark snips, reaching for his door. “What did you give him?” He glances back at Mac. Concern wrinkles what I can see of his eyes.
“A tranq. He’ll be okay so long as you guys get out.”
Vette growls, and I move the knife from Mac’s throat and point it at Vette’s eye. The SUV isn’t the biggest, so the tip of the blade is a few inches from his pretty brown iris.
“None of that alpha posturing shit. I’ll stab you before you so much as bark, got me?”
“Si, mami.”
I sneer at him. “Get out.”
Vette and Lark trade a loaded look, but eventually acquiesce and get out. I reach around Mac and open the door before shoving him out of the car, wincing when his body collapses onto the pavement. I squint at Vette and Lark on the sidewalk and quickly pull the door shut. Before either of them can get their shit together and use their alpha bark to stop me, I hop in the front and leave them in my dust.
Suckers.
* * *
I scan the rundown neighborhood, searching for an older car. The SUV the alphas had is far too nice, and I guarantee they have some sort of tracker on it. I would if it were my eighty-thousand dollar vehicle. A house with a broken screen door and plastic shutters that are falling off seems as good as any on this street. An old Oldsmobile sedan sits on the side of the road. I park behind it and dig through the glove box. There’s nothing useful there. Sighing, I dig through the middle console and find a Swiss Army knife and gum.
Looking around, I unwrap a piece of gum and pop it into my mouth. There’s no one out, but it’s almost time for people to start getting home from work. Though, on a street like this, I’m sure half the residents work at harder jobs than a simple nine-to-five. I eye the car again. As a rule, I don’t like stealing from people who aren’t well-to-do, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I can’t hot-wire a new BMW.
I hop out and casually walk to the car, tool clutched in one hand. It shouldn’t take long once I’m in. It’s been a while since I’ve actually done it, but Laurence taught me well. I stop and check under the wheels for one of those magnetic spare key holders but there’s nothing there. The door is unlocked, surprising, but not as uncommon as one might think. Sliding in, I shut the door behind me and dig through the car, hoping the keys are inside somewhere. I slam the glove box closed and run my arm over my sweaty forehead. It’s only March, but I’m in the middle of stealing a car, and I sweat when I’m anxious.
No matter how many times I steal, the mix of excitement and fear that comes with the possibility of getting caught never fades. I pull down the visor, and keys tumble into my lap.
Oh, thank fuck.
I turn on the car to make sure it works. The engine rumbles to life without protest. Exactly what I need. I jump out and open the trunk before rushing over to the SUV and grabbing the duffels of money. The transfer takes a moment, but every second that ticks by is a second closer to getting caught. I yank the zipper open on one bag and pull out a small bundle of cash to stick in the crooked mailbox.
The money won’t magically bring the car back, but it’ll pay for a new one and then some. It’s the least I can do. I place the keys to the SUV up in the visor and shut the door. If the alphas don’t come back for it, maybe someone here can use or sell it.
A car engine sounds nearby. I scurry back to the Oldsmobile and get in, shutting the door behind me before pulling away from the curb.
I make it back to the swanky OU dorms around four in the afternoon and park at the back of the student parking lot. Unpinning the wig, I toss it into the glove box and flick my gaze around. Not an omega in sight. I grab the tip of the fake nose and wiggle it, easing it off my skin. Hissing at the sting of pain, I clench my jaw and muscle through the hurt. The glue I used is strong, which makes removing the damn thing a pain in the ass. Once it’s off, I grab a tissue, using the visor to help me clean off the glue and makeup. The contacts are still in and my face and hair are a mess, but there’s nothing to be done until I get inside. I mostly look like Jo Walsh and that’s all that matters.
Driving to the front of the dorm, I park the stolen car and lug the bags to my room, cursing the second-floor room I was assigned. Once I’m inside, I shove the duffels into the back of my closet. With that done, I head down and park the car a few blocks away, tucking it mostly out of sight for future use. The hair on the nape of my neck rises when I climb out. Scanning the street, I search for whoever is watching me.
