by Lee Piper
“You’re screwed in the head.” I grab my bag from the back seat. “And not just for your weird-ass comparison. Angel’s a loose cannon. He’d fuck you up in minutes.”
“I live for the thrill, motherfucker.” He shuts the door. “You’ve seen him and Eve together. The sooner they fuck, the better it’ll be for all of us. They’ve been like this since high school.”
I stealthily make my way to the garage. It’s barricaded by a chain-link fence with a deadlock I could break open in my sleep. “Focus on what needs doing, man.”
He looks me dead in the eye. “Fine. But you need to do the same.”
Asshole.
Chapter Ten
Temple
The wind is cool. It blows straight off the ocean, the salt from the sea spray licking my skin. I crouch in the shadows, drawing my cap lower and tucking stray strands of hair behind my ears.
The low wall separating Dad’s garage from the abandoned laundromat next door is cracked and crumbling. Despite its disheveled state, or maybe because of it, it offers the cover I need.
I glance at the night sky. The stars glimmer and wink like they’re giving me the go-ahead to inflict carnage on Sin, Saint, and Angel.
Anticipation tingles in my arms and legs. It blends with the pins and needles already there, turning my limbs hot. Despite the pricks of discomfort telling me to shift position, I don’t move. With my eyes pinned on the sleeping garage, I wait.
Sin’s Ferrari slows and eventually stops. Then a Lamborghini arrives. Two figures—Sin and Saint—emerge from the first, dressed in black and drawing their hoods over their heads.
Sin’s long, confident strides eat up the distance to the garage. Stupidly, I get distracted by his movements and miss him reaching the chain-link fence separating the outside world from my work.
Cursing, I shift, trying to get a better look.
Sin breaks the padlock and opens the gate wide enough for Saint to squeeze through.
Saint pats Sin on the shoulder, and together, they silently make their way around the back.
Knowing there’s no way I’m letting them get away with this, I follow. Stumbling more than once and annoyed at the pins and needles for making me clumsy, I chase them. Soon, however, all feeling returns, and I can deftly move from one shadow to the next.
With one last glance at the two parked cars, I duck around the back of the garage and slip inside the workshop. The scent of oil and gas hits me a moment I enter, and a tiny smile ghosts my lips.
It smells like freedom.
Kindness is apples and cinnamon, Cynthia’s signature scent. But oil and grease are hard work and determination—my ticket out of here.
I need to defend my future. I won’t let Sin and Saint steal it from me. This place might not bring in the big bucks, but it’s honest work when the mob isn’t involved. I won’t stand by and let them mess with it.
I crouch behind the rear wheel of a 1964 Pontiac GTO in need of an oil change and peek around the bumper.
Sin’s broad back is to me. He’s fiddling with the alarm, the small, flickering light changing from green to red before fading completely. “Done.”
After tonight, Sin won’t look at me with anything but hatred. A tiny part of me isn’t okay with it, but the rest has no cares to give. He brought this on himself the second he inserted himself in my world and decided to screw it over.
“Bro, where you at?” he calls.
There’s a soft grunt, followed by the click of a lock. The driver door of a 1968 Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 that came in this morning swings open. Saint grins. “Fuck, I’m good.”
“Let’s go.” With the push of a button, Sin activates the garage door and, slowly, it lifts.
“On it.” Saint fiddles with the wires beneath the steering wheel. A moment later, the engine roars to life, drowning out the heavy silence.
Knowing they’re seconds away from executing their plan, and wondering what the hell they want with the Mustang, I search for what I need. Guilt runs hot at what I’m about to do, but I know it needs to be done.
Creeping backward, I reach for my socket wrench lying discarded on the workbench. The metal is cool and solid, a perfect weapon. Crawling back to the Pontiac, I stand, raise the wrench above my head, and bring it down as hard as I can on the rear window.
Glass shatters in a patchwork pattern, raining shards over the trunk and back seat. The car alarm pierces my eardrums, and I wince at how damn loud it is.
“The fuck?” Saint spins in his seat. “Sin, what are you doing, man?”
“Wasn’t me.” Sin scans the space.
I drop to the floor, my throat tight and heart racing.
Saint revs the engine, letting loose a long string of curses. “Dude, come on. We need to bail. Let’s end this shit before the cops come.”
“Wait.” Deft footsteps stalk toward the Pontiac.
I clench my eyes shut, begging whatever god that might be listening that Sin doesn’t find me.
His footsteps round the front of the car.
I shuffle to the rear.
He stalks the length of the chassis.
I scramble to the opposite side.
He stops.
I hold my breath.
Then, a deep, rumbling, “Gotcha.”
Chapter Eleven
Sin
Temple falls flat on her ass, her hands braced behind her. Her tits press against her hoodie, and I can see the outline of her hard as fuck nipples. Eyes wide, she gasps
Jesus.
Saint’s right, I need to focus on what needs doing. Getting hard over Temple in the middle of a job isn’t the way to do it.
Those lips, though. Full and glossy from where she licked them. I want to sink my teeth into the bottom one. Kiss and bruise it until she’s swollen and sore. Then I’ll do the same to every inch of her lush body, until she’s covered in my bite marks. Every time she moves, it’ll be a reminder of what I’m capable of.
Of what I’m going to do.
When the time is right.
Chapter Twelve
Temple
Like a magnet finding true north, my gaze meets Sin’s.
His expression is hard. “Don’t fucking move.”
Not a chance. Jumping to my feet, I sprint for the exit.
“Sin, let’s go,” Saint hollers, revving the engine. “The cops will be here any minute.”
I don’t hear Sin’s response, my fight or flight instinct demanding I pump my legs and propel my arms.
But as I reach the rear fender of the Mustang, strong hands grip my waist and spin me around.
Tall.
Powerful.
Gorgeous.
Sin steals my air. “Get in the car.”
I try to escape his hold by ducking under his arms, but he blocks my every move. “Let me go.”
“Get in the motherfucking car, Temple.” He grabs me by the nape. “Now.”
At his touch, dark memories warn of the danger that follows forced restraint. A part of me wants my mind to turn static, to drown in the black void so I don’t have to deal with any of this. Only, another voice calls Sin closer, wanting him to touch, claim, own my traitorous body.
What the hell?
My skin burns where he touches me, contrasting with the shivers dancing down my spine. Shocked and confused, I stare.
His nostrils flare. “Listen to me. I don’t have time for this shit. Get your ass in the car before I put you there. Understand?”
Strangely, rather than freak me out, his threat clears my jumbled thoughts. Not enough to dull my instincts, but enough to know he’s no immediate threat.
Acting on instinct, I scan the garage.
My situation isn’t good.
The alarm booms, the Pontiac’s rear window is trashed, and the only exit is blocked by a goddamn warrior holding me hostage against a hot-wired Mustang. Either I try my odds at escaping, call the cops and hope they aren’t on the Brandts’ payroll, or do as Sin says and get in the ca
r.
It’ll give me more time to figure out my next move if I do as he says. But I won’t give in easily. There’s fight in me yet. Struggling against his hold, I try once more to free myself.
Sin’s eyes flash before he opens the back door, picks me up, and throws me inside.
Scrambling upright, I take in my new position, looking for a way out.
“Knew you were trouble,” Saint mutters.
I’m too busy crawling to the other side of the car and working the lock to respond. Yanking the door handle and cursing the fuck out of child safety locks, I start to wind down the window. Not because I want to escape right now, but I want to have the choice when I’m ready.
Before it’s even a third of the way open, the scent of gasoline floods the garage. It’s stronger this time, like someone upturned a fifty-five-gallon drum close by.
Frantic, I spin in my seat. “Where’s Sin?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Answer the damn question,” I yell. “Where is he?”
The passenger door opens, and with more grace than a man his size should have, Sin gets in. “Let’s boost.”
I sink back into the soft leather seat, relieved, frustrated, and confused. Why should I care that he almost got left behind? Sin’s a problem I need to eradicate from my life, not someone I care about.
He’s nothing to me.
Angry at my momentary weakness, I kick the window, knowing that repairing the damage will cost more money than I’ve seen in my entire life.
I’m officially out of shits to give.
Tired of Sin pushing me around, of using my garage for his family’s selfish reasons, of feeling a warped connection with him despite everything that’s happened, I give it everything I’ve got. Hopefully, I’ll either smash the glass so I can escape when I’m ready or piss the guys off enough to dump me on the side of the road.
Neither happens.
The boys ignore my violence. Sin winds down his window, a match in his hand. With a practiced movement, he coaxes a small flame to life.
Then he throws it behind him.
I watch the match arc in the air before landing in a pool of clear liquid.
The eruption is instantaneous. A flame leaps from the propellant, the blaze intensifying as it swallows the gasoline. The fire grows brighter, stronger, the heat emanating from it stifling.
Spinning to the front, I slam my fist against the back of Saint’s seat. “Drive.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. Saint slams his foot on the gas, and the car’s tires screech as they find purchase on the pavement. Burning rubber, exhaust fumes, and smoke fill the vehicle.
I choke and splutter, trying to clear my airways. Throat burning and eyes stinging, I cover my mouth with my sleeve as we speed from the garage.
We roar through the partly opened gates, tearing one of them from its hinges. It flies into the air, flipping once, twice, before crashing to the ground.
With the wind whipping my face, I take one last look at the garage.
It’s engulfed in flames. Orange and red ribbons of fire lick the walls, turning them a charred black. The cars within it quickly morph into heaping molten wreckage, each spitting plumes of smoke through the open doorway.
Sin and Saint are silent.
Slowly, I face them both. You’ll pay for this.
Chapter Thirteen
Temple
“Where are we going?” I glance around, but it’s pointless. The second Saint turned north, I was lost.
Girls like me don’t travel outside of Bayside unless we’re running from violence or the cops. Since I’ve had enough of both to last me a lifetime, I keep a low profile. Once I graduate, though, I’m gone.
The guys don’t respond.
Sin’s Ferrari is ghosting us with Angel at the wheel. Staring at him doesn’t offer up any answers, either. Annoyed, I check my phone, thinking GPS will help. Only, my black screen tells me otherwise. “Stupid thing. Always running out of battery.” I slide my cell into my pocket. “Stop the car, I want out.”
No one answers.
I kick the back of the driver seat. “I said, stop the car.”
Saint throws up his hands. “I’m trying to drive, here.” He thrusts one hand through his hair before gripping the wheel again. “Jesus. What the fuck is with you, girl?”
Leaning forward, I grit out, “Call me girl again. I dare you.”
He looks at Sin. “You’re fucked in the head. You know that?”
Sin shrugs.
My eyes dart to Sin. He’s facing the other way, staring out the window, but the ancient stereo casts a soft light so I can see his reflection in the glass.
He’s watching me.
His gaze threatens to weaken my anger. But I hold on to the mental image of the garage burning to the ground, of my future going up in smoke, of the kids in need of a social worker now going without.
All because of him.
Breaking eye contact, I consider my options. There aren’t many. Unless I want to smash the window, jump from a moving vehicle, and break every bone in my body, I might as well stay where I am.
When the car slows, I’ll make them pay.
The wide, empty highway rolls on. With my window down, the cold air washes over me. Goose bumps pepper my skin, and I bury my hands into the pockets of my hoodie to keep warm. There’s no way I’m winding up the window. If I do, Sin’s intoxicating scent will fill the car, and I won’t let him mess with me again.
I hate that he smells so good.
The darkness outside is interrupted by occasional streetlights. Gradually, more appear, bright buildings and traffic rousing me from my reverie. I must have been lost in thought for ages.
Focus, Temple.
The engine roars as the car darts in and out of traffic. Eventually, Saint peels off the highway and navigates the city streets, not seen by any cops. He takes us down a series of backstreets, each narrower and more decrepit than the last, until finally pulling up next to the curb.
“Nice digs,” I mock, gesturing to an overturned trash can and scampering rats. “Are you planning on staying here for a while?”
“Let’s go.” Sin gets out the car.
Saint does the same, and, deciding it’s better the devil you know, I do too.
Angel pulls up behind us, the window lowering. Sin and Saint walk over to the driver side.
I glance about me. The abandoned building next to us screams junked-up squatters. “Why are you parked here?”
Angel glares at Sin and then me. “Did we say you could talk? You’ve been here for all of five seconds, and you’re already pissing me off.”
Saint opens his arms wide like I’m the bane of his existence. “Dude, she throws her weight around more than Sin, and you know what he’s like.”
“Control freak.”
“Exactly,” he affirms.
Ignoring them, I point to the Mustang. “You can’t park there.”
Sin pays them no attention either. “Didn’t ask your opinion, babe. Last I checked, you weren’t invited.”
“Last I checked, I didn’t throw myself in the backseat.” I get all up in his space. “If you thought I was going to stand by and let you destroy my garage, you’re stupider than you look.”
He dives his fingers into my hair. “And how did that work out for you?”
Logic and desire war inside me, making it impossible to answer.
He tugs. “Not so talkative now, are you?”
“Let go of me.”
He leans in close, his lips almost brushing mine. “Beg me to.”
Instinctively, my core throbs. Shocked that despite everything, my body still wants him, I push him away. “Never going to happen.”
Saint gives a low whistle. “Guys, this foreplay is hot. Make sure I’m around when you bone, okay?”
Sin stares at me.
I glare back.
“Okay, this has gone on long enough. It’s getting weird.” Saint taps the hood of the
Ferrari. “Angel? Any ideas on how to stop them from doing… that?”
Uninterested in their opinions, I return to the previous topic. “I’m telling you, you can’t park here. By the time you finish whatever it is you’re doing, the cars will be stolen.”
They don’t reply, so I take it as an invitation to keep going. “Look, I need a ride back to Bayside, and you guys won’t be any good to me without wheels. So whatever your little plan is, change it. Find somewhere else.”
“There are no security cameras here,” Angel grits out.
“I know.” I gesture to the alleyway. “Look around you. No surveillance means no evidence. In a place like this, people do whatever they want and get away with it.”
“That’s the whole point.”
I pause, my gaze darting between them. “What are you planning, anyway?”
Saint answers. “We’re looking for something.”
His closed expression tells me it’s no use asking any more questions. “This isn’t going to end well. If the night starts with you burning my garage and winds up here, whatever is about to happen must be shady as hell.”
They shrug.
I don’t have the money to buy off a criminal record, and I can’t exactly leave, either. I’ve got no cash, no cell battery, no transport, and no idea where I am. If I head off on my own, who knows where I’ll end up.
Christ. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but… there was a parking lot a few streets back. You should leave the cars there.”
“No point,” Angel retorts. “I’m not going with the boys, I’m staying here. Besides, there’ll be cameras in a parking lot.”
“Of course there’ll be cameras. Override them, dammit. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” I gesture to the equipment on the passenger seat. “You’ve got laptops and surveillance equipment. Use them to override the footage.”
They still.
“What? I grew up with a convicted criminal, and everyone I know is crooked. Just because I don’t go around breaking into places doesn’t mean I don’t know how.”