Code Name: Heist

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Still bossy as ever.” I laugh, bringing shaky fingers to his fly. After I unzip it, I take his cock in hand, relishing the tortured sound he releases. “Remember that thing I used to do?”

  “With your mouth?” he asks hopefully.

  When I squeeze him in response, his head falls back. “Technically, it was my throat, but yes.”

  His hand covers mine, holding me still, while his eyes pin me in place. “As much as I want your mouth on me, I need to be inside you too bad, Sin.”

  Those words… he’s always had the power to reduce me to mush with them. As my knees go weak, I have to wonder why he isn’t already inside me.

  There’s a moment… a sliver of time… where we’re both frozen as we stare at each other, but then we lunge. The remainder of our clothing disappears in a blink, then we’re on the bed in a tangle of limbs, roving hands, and entwined bodies.

  His fingers end up between my legs and I’m embarrassed by how wet I am just from the anticipation of having him inside me. It’s been too long.

  There hasn’t been anyone since him.

  Which was way too long to go without, but no one would have compared, so I never even bothered.

  A whimpered, “Please,” is all it takes for him to drive into me. When I let out a strangled scream of pleasure, he cuts it off with a kiss.

  There’s nothing sweet about what we do next. It’s all frantic fucking, hair pulling, and gasped dirty words. Saint pounds me into the mattress, but I only beg him to go harder.

  Make no mistake… there’s anger swirled within our lovemaking. It’s all directed at me. Even I’m furious with myself.

  But hate sex can be amazingly good sex… or so I’m finding out.

  Saint hikes one of my legs up, throws it over his shoulder, and plunges deep into me over and over again. My orgasm hovers right on the precipice. On a particularly merciless thrust, it breaks free, reducing me to nothing but mindless pleasure that has me chanting his name. Saint’s hips piston faster and faster until he goes utterly still, then shudders with his release. His groan is quiet, but it emanates from a place deep within him.

  For a moment, he looks destroyed.

  With a long gasp, Saint rolls to the side and slides out of me. He flops to his back, his chest heaving. I flip to my stomach, shifting closer so I can see him.

  The sex was even more amazing than I remembered.

  Him pulling away so soon after is a blunt reminder that this is indeed just sex to him. No feelings involved at all.

  It leaves me feeling empty. I wonder if it’s the same for him, or if he just feels vindicated.

  I don’t wait around to find out. Instead, I pat him once on the chest, working hard to make my voice flippant as I say, “That was great. Thanks, Saint.”

  His head pops up, his hard eyes searching my face before he shoots me a lazy smile. “Next time you feel an itch, come see me, okay?”

  “Maybe,” I reply coyly as I roll out of bed.

  I give him my back as I redress, but I can feel the weight of his eyes on me until I walk out the door.

  I feel fragile, like I could shatter at any moment.

  But I keep my head held high and my shoulders back, not glancing back once so he’ll never know any different.

  CHAPTER 11

  Saint

  Christ… the woman is confusing. But I can’t say she’s doing it intentionally. I think she’s as fucking off-kilter about us coming back into each other’s lives as I am, but since she’d made the first move, I’m not sure if she has an ulterior motive.

  I don’t trust her, that’s for sure. I’ve forgiven her… yes. Deep in my heart, I even believe she’d set me up because she cared. She hadn’t wanted Neal to kill me. While she’d made a poor choice, she’d done it because she had deep feelings for me.

  Fuck it… let’s call it what it was.

  We were in love.

  But I can’t trust her now because she hadn’t trusted in me back then. She hadn’t thought I could handle the situation, nor had she acted like she believed we’d been partners in all ways. If she’d respected me as her other half, we would have solved the problem together. Hell, we hadn’t had to meet Neal that night. We could have driven off into the sunset—started our lives over elsewhere.

  Regardless, she’s back in my life now. And I can’t say I’m handling it all that well. If she were still lying in this bed next to me, I’d fucking want to wrap her in my arms and press her tightly against my body. After holding her all night, I’d fuck her in the morning, then venture out to a cafe to drink espresso and eat pastries together.

  I’d want everything we’d had in the past, but we can’t go back. I don’t think I can get past that breach of trust.

  But the sex…

  It was goddamn off the charts. Stellar, mind-blowing, have-to-do-it-again type of sex. Sin might not be curled up beside me right this moment, but she’ll be back in my bed again soon. Or I’ll be in hers.

  One way or another.

  My phone rings.

  Not the smartphone I’d purchased for this trip to use with my fake alias, but my burner, which is in the top dresser drawer. It would have seemed odd to Sin had she’d been here. She’d want to know why I had a phone buried in a drawer. Because I’d never be able to lie smoothly enough to her—she knows me too well—I’d have to tell her.

  Not even remotely ready to go there yet.

  Because I don’t trust her.

  I roll off the bed, pad across the thickly carpeted floor, and nab the phone from the drawer.

  Kynan’s the only one with the number. Knowing it’s him, I hit the button to answer. “Bellinger.”

  “Checking in,” he says curtly. I’ve been in Paris for over a week, and we’ve only talked once.

  I crawl into the bed, then prop myself against the pillows. “Completed a heist for Mercier tonight. He called me after to tell me I was ‘in’. Whatever that means.”

  “That’s good,” he replies, but he sounds distracted.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask bluntly.

  A gust of air whooshes through the phone. I can almost envision Kynan scrubbing his hand through his hair in frustration. My mind starts racing, thinking he might want to pull me from this job. If so, I can’t let that happen… I’ve only just reconnected with Sin.

  Wait! What?

  Dumbfounded, I shake my head. Sin becoming my dominant priority cannot be a factor in my life.

  “Our team was ambushed in Syria,” Kynan murmurs, and any thought of Sin evaporates.

  A chill runs up my spine, a thick knot of apprehension forming in my gut. “Come again?”

  “They’d been doing surveillance for a few days—had a good plan going in. But they were somehow made and ambushed.”

  “How bad is it?” I ask, not actually wanting to know. I’d like to forget this conversation ever happened before it even starts.

  “Bad,” Kynan mutters. “Tank and Merritt made it out. Jimmy and Sal didn’t.”

  “Didn’t as in…”

  “They’re dead.” Kynan’s voice cracks, and I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Two Aussies were killed, too.”

  “And Malik?” I ask, my voice function coming out in a croak. I hadn’t known these guys long, but they were my brothers in every sense of the word. I would’ve been over there with them had Kynan asked me to be.

  “No one knows,” he replies, a low undercurrent of rage infusing his tone. “We’re assuming he’s been taken prisoner.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter, scraping my hand along my jaw.

  “Or…” he too quietly adds. “Or they just haven’t recovered his body.”

  “Goddamn it,” I curse loudly, slamming my elbow backward into the headboard in a fit of fury. It hurts, but not as bad as the aching in my chest. Jimmy’s wife, Anna, flashes in my mind. They’d recently moved into the area, so looking forward to Jimmy’s future with Jameson and the birth of their first child. How is what happened even fair?

 
“I should come back,” I say suddenly.

  “For what?” Kynan asks calmly. “There’s nothing you can do here.”

  “Are you sending a team after Malik?” I ask. “Because if so, I should go.”

  “Saint…” It’s a gentle admonishment. “There’s nothing to go after. They were ambushed, then everyone vanished. Nothing but bodies left behind. No trail to follow. We can’t even begin to know where they took him from. If he’s even alive.”

  “So the answer is to do nothing?” I demand hotly.

  Kynan takes in a breath, then lets it out slowly. “We are working with the US government and other foreign allies right now. The Defense Intelligence Agency—DIA—is involved. We’ve offered a reward for any information. We’re not giving up until we find Malik. Right now, though, there’s absolutely nothing you can do. Besides… you already have a job. I need you to keep your head on straight. That way you don’t do something stupid—like get yourself killed.”

  I scoff.

  “This is serious, Saint,” he warns. “Anyone with fingers so deep in a criminal enterprise that they can send a man away for life isn’t going to take it too kindly if he finds out there’s a snitch on the inside. You have to have your wits about you, and I can’t have you distracted by worrying about Malik, Jimmy, or Sal. Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay,” I mutter, knowing he’s right. I hate it, though. Trying to bring down someone for an insurance company feels like a useless task compared to saving lives.

  “Speaking of which,” Kynan says, clearly switching gears. “How close do you think you are to finding useful info on whatever Mercier has planned?”

  I sigh. “No clue. I could break into Mercier’s office or home. Maybe dig for information.”

  “No,” Kynan growls. “Don’t take a risk like that. You’ve been there for a little over a week. This is probably going to take some patience.”

  “And I’m supposed to manage this while our men are getting killed and kidnapped?” I snarl.

  “I’m ordering you not to do anything unnecessarily reckless.” His voice is flat but firm, reminding me that he is my boss. “You keep your head down and your eyes open, and you patiently wait until you know what the heist is. Only then will we figure out if further involvement is necessary.”

  It’s unclear whether I’m going to participate in whatever heist Mercier is organizing. If I’m supposed to be a part of the master plan, I can’t go AWOL from the team. It would cause too much suspicion. Mercier might even get spooked and call the whole thing off. Jameson most likely won’t ever have this opportunity for an inside man such as myself again.

  On the flip side, if I see the entire thing through, there’s a chance I could go down with the entire gang if we’re caught. I’m not doing this under the sanction of any law enforcement agency, after all.

  My other phone—the one my new French friends use—starts to ring.

  “Look,” I say as I grab it from the nightstand. It’s William, “I have to take this call. Talk later.”

  I disconnect the burner, toss it on the mattress, and answer the other phone. “Bellinger.”

  “Monsieur Mercier has another job for you,” William shouts. In the background, there’s a loud buzz from a mix of music and people. My guess is he’s at a bar. “It’s in London. Meet me at Margeaux’s at nine tomorrow morning for details.”

  London? Christ.

  “That’s fine,” I say, not able to hide my annoyance. “But when is this so-called major heist supposed to happen? That’s why I wanted on this crew.”

  “It’s coming,” William replies vaguely.

  “You know, I could be doing these jobs on my own without having to follow your plans or deal with Mercier’s huge cut of the profits… while making a fuck-ton more money.”

  “I get it,” William says, sounding as if he’s mollifying me now. To me, it proves they don’t just want me on the team—they need me. “But you’re not the only newbie Mercier is evaluating. This score we’re aiming for is huge. Several hundred million or more. We need the right people to pull it off, which takes time.”

  Several hundred million? Jesus.

  “In the meantime, I’m expected to be Mercier’s private thief?” I demand.

  “You think the man should stop his business just for you?” William mocks. “Come on, Saint. You know how this works. The kingpin is always at the top.”

  I huff an annoyed breath. “Yeah… I know.”

  “But I promise it’ll be soon,” William continues. “By the time you finish this London job, we’ll be ready to fine-tune the plan for the big job, then execute it.”

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  There’s a moment of silence from William, though some punk rock shit blares in the background. Finally, he asks, “How’d it go with Sin? You two good?”

  No way does William know what went down between Sin and me a few years ago during our last heist when she’d booted me out of the stolen Jag right when the cops arrived on scene, deliberately setting me up to take the fall. But anyone considered a major player in this line of work knows Sin and I were more than simply partners in crime.

  That we’d been in a serious relationship before I’d gotten caught wasn’t a secret.

  “We’re good,” I say, smoothing my hand over the sheets I’d fucked her on not half an hour ago.

  “All right. That’s good,” William says, his relief evident. “We need Sin on the big project. But she’ll also be on the London job with you. It involves a safe.”

  Sin’s one of the best when it comes to lock manipulation. Since whatever we’re going to do involves a safe or vault, we can rule artwork out. I’d already dismissed the idea we might be boosting a car when he told me how big the pot would be.

  Has to be jewels, gold, or maybe even cash. Hell, for all I know, they want to break into Fort Knox.

  Guess I’ll find out soon, but I have another heist to pull off before then. At least I’ll be working with Sin again.

  London is our old stomping ground. It’s where we met. Where she’s from.

  Where we fell in love.

  But all that’s in the past, and it needs to stay there. Like Kynan said, I have to keep my head in the game.

  CHAPTER 12

  Sin

  London should feel like coming home, but it doesn’t. I’ve lived in so many places since reaching adulthood. Because of that, it’s been a long damn time since I’ve had somewhere to call ‘home’.

  Sure, my dad lives in London in the neighborhood where I’d grown up, but it’s only been a few months since he returned. Prior to that, he was like me… a free spirit who wandered wherever the urge took him.

  Like me, he traveled to wherever the work was.

  Opportunities to steal fancy artwork, expensive jewelry, or antique cars.

  For an exceptionally long time, I was my father’s daughter, but there came a time where I started to dream about having a different life. Saint and I used to talk about those dreams. About pulling off that one heist that would allow us to retire to a tropical island where we’d drink rum swizzles and nap our days away in swaying hammocks.

  After Saint went to prison—therefore solidifying his hatred for me—I’d lost the ability to dream for a while. Why would I want to go to a tropical island by myself? Besides, I couldn’t imagine wanting to be with anyone but Saint.

  Those couple of years he’d been behind bars, nothing had been the same. I continued to plug along as a thief—not because it was all I knew, but because I hadn’t had the desire to want anything better. I drowned in my guilt over what I’d done, settling into the mindset I didn’t deserve what I had, much less anything better. Truthfully, I’d expected the carpet to be yanked out from underneath me at any second. I’d most definitely had it coming for what I’d done to him.

  But I’d recently started thinking about it again. Leaving this life, I mean. Doing something worthwhile and interesting. Something I could be proud of.

  The life of a t
hief is solitary and lonely. I can’t have normal friends. I’ll never attend parties where I can talk freely about my career. It’s not a stable life, which rules out a spouse and kids. And as I can attest by growing up as the daughter of a thief, I most certainly do not want to raise a child while in this line of work. The child getting mixed up in it would be inevitable. It’s like preordained destiny or something.

  Yeah… I need to get away from this life and start over again. My dad’s stroke was a wakeup call. An important reminder about how fleeting life can be and how career criminals have no stability when they need it the most.

  It was time to get out. My interim plan was to move home to London, right into my dad’s house, so I could get a job and help take care of him. While he’d bounced back pretty quickly from his minor stroke, he still had some limitations. I love him more than anything, and it would be my honor to help him.

  Hadn’t worked out that way, though. Mercier dug his claws into me, and it doesn’t seem like he intends to retract them any time soon. Shaking my head, I force myself out of my thoughts. Saint and I are in a cab together, but we’ve barely spoken. When I glance out the window, I realize we’ve made it to our destination—the exclusive London nightclub Throb.

  “You ready to do this?” Saint asks. Before I can answer, he opens the cab door.

  He exits, turns, and extends his hand to me. I take it, sliding gracefully out of the backseat. My clubbing attire consists of a mint-green strapless dress, which barely covers my ass, four-inch silver sandals, and heavy makeup. Because we’re staking the place out, I pulled my hair into a tight ball at the nape of my neck. My hair—in all its wild glory—is too identifiable. Tonight, we want to blend in with the other patrons.

  Saint ducks inside the taxi to hand the driver some money. When he straightens, he gives me a once-over and a wry smile. “Your damn dress is distracting as hell, Sin. How am I supposed to case this place when I can’t keep my eyes off you?”

  His words shouldn’t warm me so much. He’s clearly attracted to me, so the sentiments aren’t necessary.