Stolen Hood

by The Grim Sisters

  “Come on Robyn, it’s time to go,” Lilith says, interrupting my thoughts.

  Taking a look around, I see half the class is already gone. I’m sure if it weren’t for the oral exam we had earlier, many would have skipped and started winter vacay early. I know I would have if I haven’t already used up the number of days one can miss class.

  “Fuck yeah, let's blow this popsicle stand,” I reply while slapping my hands down on my desk dramatically.

  Once outside, we hightail it to my Range Rover as fast as we can. Winter in New York can be brutal. It’s so cold out here, I can see the fog of air leave my nose when I breathe. As soon as I jump behind the wheel, I notice John leaning against his car, chilling and smoking a cigarette out in the cold. I can’t take my eyes off him as I ogle a fiery trail down his body. He’s all bad boy. You know, the type of guy fathers hide their daughters from. The guy innocent girls want to change and end up getting their hearts shattered in the process. Good thing I’m not innocent. I know the score, and I’ve seen what’s up under his ripped jeans and leather jackets. A lean swimmer’s body, toned and muscular. I’ve run my hands through his thick caramel locks and seen close up as his extraordinary heterochromia eyes light with passion as he cums. I know what that gorgeous eight pack of his looks like when it contracts as he pounds into my body, and how huge his fucking dick is. Yes, as well as being born to fuck, he was provided with the right equipment.

  “Am I expected to freeze my lady balls off while you continue to eye fuck John?” Lilith asks sarcastically.

  “Right, sorry,” I mumble before turning away from John, but not before he catches me staring. As if he knows exactly what I’m thinking, he gives me a smug smile that races straight to my now wet center. Fuck, I need to get laid.

  Starting the engine I take off. Maybe during the break, I’ll make time for John to scratch that itch. I muse.

  Dropping Lilith off, I head home to the brownstone I share with my brother. It’s located in an exclusive neighbor in the upper east side. Very Gossip Girl. Before college started, I put my foot down about staying at my family’s estate, so in an effort to keep the peace, my father proposed I stay with my brother, Sheriff. At first, my brother wasn’t happy about his perpetual bachelor pad being invaded by his little sister, but he’s gotten used to it. Besides, we both run on different schedules, and the place is so big we barely see each other.

  “What’s up squirt?” Sheriff says as soon as I enter the kitchen.

  “The usual,” I mumble around a bottle of water. A couple of drips escape, trailing down my chin, and my brother laughs.

  “Didn’t you just leave etiquette class?”

  “Explains why I’m barely passing,” I snark.

  “Please, we both know you’re smarter than everyone in that whole damn school,” he replies.

  How’s work?” I ask, changing the subject.

  The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and my brother, just like myself, lives a double life. He’s four years older than me, having graduated from Columbia the year I started as a freshman. Now he’s a hotshot prosecutor and a partner in one of the biggest law firms in the city. He’s everything that’s expected of him, rich and powerful. What people don’t know is he’s a thief who is just as good as me, maybe better, but with his day job, he’s not as invested as I am. I will live and die for our family legacy, he’s drifting in the middle, struggling with which path he wants to take. I know when I graduate what I’ll be doing. I fear that my brother, despite his skill, is not meant to be a thief.

  “It was ok for the most part. A case I’m working on is really riding my ass, but I’ll get through it. I always do.”

  “Hmm interesting. I’m curious, brother. The men you help put away. Do you tell them it was you who robbed from them?”

  My brother’s job has him dealing with the elite. Those rich enough to pay their way out of trouble, so to make sure justice is served, he does his homework on them, discovering more than what he needs to know for his cases. By the time he’s done, he knows everything about that certain person, every foul thing they’ve ever done, and most importantly, everything they own. The truly wretched ones accused of unspeakable crimes, my brother likes to use the knowledge he learned against them, and take what they value most. A part of me has always been curious if he let them know somehow that he’s the reason it’s gone.

  “And why on earth would I do a stupid thing like that? Not everyone is crazy enough to leave behind a calling card like you.” I never told my brother that I’m the Red Robin. He figured it out on his own. At first, he tried to pull the overprotective Alpha brother bullshit on me, which I quickly shut down. When he tried to gang up on me with my father, I held my own and pointed out if thievery is too dangerous for me then it is for them as well. You can’t convince a leopard to change its spots into stripes. You are what you are, and I was born to be a thief. He’ll never admit it, but I know he’s grown to appreciate my skill.

  “It isn’t stupid,” I mutter.

  He doesn’t answer. He just rolls his pretty hazel green eyes at me. His eyes are the same color as my own. It’s the only feature we have in common. My brother is super tall at 6’2”, while I’m a whopping 5’6”. I have mom’s red hair, and he has our father’s dirty blonde. As well as dad’s thick neck and broad muscled frame. It’s not like I’m complaining. My smaller stature helps in my favor when I need to sneak into small places or make it out of somewhere in a pinch. When I tell you that both of us are hot, I am not being conceited. Just fucking honest. No point in being modest when it will sound like bullshit. Our family genes have been good to us. Good looks my brother uses well to his advantage. Like myself, he likes to fuck without attachment, and has left a long line of broken hearts behind him.

  “What’s your plans for the break?” He inquires.

  “You know, this and that,” I answer vaguely.

  “Does this or that involves stealing?” He asks, narrowing his eyes, and I roll my own.

  “Don’t be such a hypocrite, Sher. It’s not a good look on you,” I retort.

  “Whatever. I need to do some research. I’ll be gone for a couple of days, so try not to burn the place down.”

  “Sheriff really,” I scoff. “The typical ‘don’t burn the house down’ speech. How old do you take me for? Twelve?”

  He doesn’t answer, he just laughs as he leaves me in the kitchen with a snarl on my face.

  Chapter Two

  Robyn

  I’m still not positive what I expected out of winter break, but nearly twenty-four hours after my last class ended, I am bored out of my fucking mind. I have a job to do tonight. A simple switch out I normally wouldn’t have taken, but right now, lifting a stolen jewel from an elite family sounds like a fucking party to me. It’s only four in the afternoon and I’ve done everything from reading the newspaper, yes, I know shocking they still print them, to working out in our home gym. My muscles are screaming at me as I begin my slow journey towards my room.

  Inhaling a tired, and somewhat bored sigh, I strip and step into the soothing warm water. Letting out a soft relaxed sound, I lather my body in my sweet-smelling soap and scrub my bright red locks clean. I’m lean and small, but I still have curves, enough that I know I’m not the only one to notice them.

  “You know John, I think I’m more pissed by you just letting yourself in without calling, than you staring at me naked,” I say without turning around. “You must be losing your touch.”

  My skin breaks out in shivers as a familiar hard body presses up against mine as he moves his rough hands to hold my hips in a bruising grip. I let out a small sound as his lips presses right behind my ear and cause my entire center to explode like a fucking volcano.

  I really need to get a fucking hold on my reaction to this man. He’s done this a lot though, randomly popping out of nowhere and more specifically, into my room. I’ve never told him he couldn’t come over, I even gave him the code for a few late-night calls. But besid
es fucking, I’ve never asked him to come over. So why the fuck is he here?

  “See, I don’t believe that,” his rough voice brushes against my ear as I lean back into his shirtless chest. “I think you fucking love my touch, little bird.”

  I totally do. I hate that fucking nickname though. Is it wrong I’m pissed he’s still wearing his jeans? Like if you’re going to get into the shower with me, you might as well be naked.

  I breathe in, trying to control my reaction before I tilt my head up to look into those stunning contrasting eyes. One is a bright blue, that has a deep sapphire edge to it, while the other is a warm bronzed amber. The first matched perfectly with the dark blue tips of his carmel rich colored hair, and the second matches the gauges in his ear. Fuck. The man just did it for me.

  But I can’t let him know that.

  Turning around, while shutting off the shower, my eyes meet his, and it’s a struggle to keep my expression completely blank. A struggle because the intensity that radiates off him is dangerous and intense. That’s the problem with John though. He makes it difficult to be cold and unemotional because he’s so overbearing. Always in my space. Always demanding shit of me that I don’t want to give.

  How hard is it to just fuck and ignore one another after?

  “I do like your touch,” I say, pressing a hand to his chest so he’s leaning against the tile wall, “but love? Well, that infers your touch is my favorite and I’ve never said that.”

  I’m out of the shower wrapping a towel around me when a dark low growl tears from his lips in realization. For the record, my sex life has been non-existent as of late, but I need to establish boundaries with him. Keep that distance.

  “Who the fuck have you been with?” He asks incredulously.

  I raise a brow and look back at him as he stands in my closet doorway. My hands select a pair of dark comfortable leggings and a long sleeve shirt. I thought he might lose it at my next words.

  “I don’t do names John, you’re literally the only person I have ever slept with more than once.”

  I inhale because suddenly I’m not in my closet, but instead, the man has me pressed up against the doorway he inhabited. His height is allowing him to encompass my space completely. I try to not think about how good he smells because that wouldn’t do any fucking good.

  “Who?” He demands, his voice husky as if that’ll convince me more.

  My eyes flicker between his, and I realize that underneath the frustration there was true concern and a whole fucking pile of possessiveness. No. Nope. That wouldn’t do any good.

  “Why do you care?” I ask quietly. Maybe I’m imagining shit? I hope I fucking was.

  “Who?” He bites out again.

  “You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend,” I state with an indifferent and bored tone.

  Something dark flashes across his eyes before he pushes away from me and walks towards the windows that overlooks Central Park. I don’t move for a minute, instead, I try to process what the fuck is going on. You have to understand, John has never had a problem with our non-exclusive situation before. In fact, I would say he preferred it until about 5 minutes ago. Neither of us mentioned other people, but come on… he has to be sleeping with other women. The man is hot, and I have really fucking high standards.

  “What are you doing tonight?” He asks suddenly as his brilliant eyes flash down to my lips.

  “I’m meeting up with someone,” I say casually. Except following our previous conversation, it was clearly the wrong fucking thing to say. I probably should have just told him I was going to steal some shit, he would have liked that better no doubt. After all, John and I aren’t very different. Except he doesn’t know that.

  “God damn it, Robyn,” he growls. “ Why now?”

  “Why now, what?” I mutter.

  “Why after years of fucking each other, you now decide you don’t want to be exclusive?”

  We were exclusive? Ah. Fucking shit.

  “I never expected you to be exclusive.”

  His jaw clenches as he runs a hand through his wet hair. I should have probably offered him a towel since his jeans are wet and currently dripping all over my floor. I go to say something, but the doorbell rings interrupting me. His eyes flash dark and I groan, not quietly. That is just purely bad timing.

  I don’t bother stopping him as I throw on a robe and follow him out towards the living room. Since he’s made himself at home and fucking answering my door, I pour myself some tea from the electric kettle and I watch as he opens the door. My lips tilt into a smile when I noticed who it is. Archie.

  Now, how cliche is it that I have the hots for my brother’s best friend? At twenty-four years old, the man has lost any of the baby face, he had most of the time I’ve known him. No, the sunshine like man is as chiseled and perfect as you’ll expect him to be. Because my brother having an ugly best friend would have been far too much to ask for.

  “Robyn?” He raises a brow as John mutters a curse, and turns on his heel back towards the bedroom. Maybe the man has lost it.

  “Hey Archie,” I offer him a smile while sliding over a warm mug of tea. “How are you?”

  Archie Bishop Moore. I would have called him a golden boy, except even he has a darker side to him, and he’s a far better person than my brother or I. You’ll never know it by looking at him though. His hair, a tousled mix of platinum and gold, glints in the snowy pale light that crawled across my place. It’s shorter on the side, just slightly, and draws attention to the pair of truly stunning, turquoise eyes that melt to aquamarine when he’s angry or upset. My favorite part though? It wasn’t his ridiculous muscular build. No, it’s the gold ring that traces the edges of his pupil, making it look like he has little dancing suns in his eyes.

  Ew. I clearly need to get laid. I’m sounding far too poetic.

  “Sweetheart,” he drawls, causing me to shiver at the tone of his voice. “Why is he here?”

  Huh? I narrow my eyes at his odd expression as John saunters back into the kitchen looking far more in control of himself, and no longer dripping with water. The tension in the room has gone up by a million degrees as I try to ignore it. “What brought you all the way here, Archie?”

  All the way is just a few blocks, but I wasn’t sure on how the fuck else to phrase it.

  “I need to talk to you,” he states softly. “Alone.”

  John scoffs from somewhere behind me, his lean shirtless body relaxed against the counter as his eyes narrow on Archie. Wow. We really needed to move the fuck on from this. Whatever this is.

  “Just say it,” I sigh, feeling stressed.

  “It’s about your brother,” he warns. While I knew about John’s life, he has no idea about mine, nor my brother’s. Only Archie does, and that’s because he’s far closer to either of us than anyone else.

  “What about him?” I demand, no longer caring John is in the room.

  “Four hours ago he went dark. I haven’t heard from him since.”

  Chapter Three

  Robyn

  “What?” I screech while leaning forward on the counter in shock.

  I must have heard him wrong. It's not uncommon for my brother to keep me in the dark, but he’d never do that to Archie. They're like BFFs of the bro world. Archie is the jelly to my brother’s peanut butter, the sugar in his Koolaid, the milk to his cereal; any fucking thing that belongs together, he is it. If they weren’t both straight, they would be destined to be with one another.

  “I don’t know what happened. Everything was going as planned. He was doing his check ins, covering his bases, and was on his way out when I lost communication.”

  “Hold up,” I say, stopping him. “I need you to start from the beginning because right now I’m fucking lost.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take this conversation somewhere more private?" He asks, flicking his eyes towards John, who’s still casually leaning against the wall, looking like a dream. Even with the knowledge that Sheriff is missing
, my pussy still has time to add her input. Bad girl, not now.

  “It’s fine. He would have found out about me eventually,” I reply. John makes a low frustrated sound because he’s probably really fucking confused right now.

  But that’s the honest fucking truth. It was bound to happen. Probably in the same way Richard found out about me. This community is small and as John levels up, we were bound to get sent on the same jobs. Plus this new possessiveness I’m seeing leaves me to believe John is going to try to get closer to me than I want, and that fucking scares the living shit out of me. A better person would send him on his way, but let's get real. When have I ever been the better person? Plus his possessiveness is hot as fuck. Despite the fact that I don’t do attachments. I know it makes complete sense. Hey! I never said I was fucking consistent folks.

  “Okay, well, let’s at least go sit down,” Archie says, and I lead them into the living room.

  Once we’re all seated I speak. “My brother mentioned he was having a hard time with a case, and he was leaving for a couple of days to do research. Are you sure he’s missing? It’s only been a little over twenty-four hours. Maybe he’s busy, or distracted by what he found?”

  “I’m positive,” Archie, replies, making the brief hope I felt sink to the bottom of the ocean like the Titanic. “The case he’s working on is particularly horrendous. It’s the one being broadcast all over the news about Senator Reynolds being allegedly identified as the killer in the Dollface serial killer case.”

  “The sick bastard who dresses his victims up like some fucked up twisted version of a 1950’s housewife?” I ask incredulously, not feeling the need to add the part where he rapes and carves them up like a Thanksgiving turkey. After all, we don’t want to scare John’s oh so innocent mind. The same innocent mind that thought screwing in an empty classroom at school would be a good idea? The very one.