“I’m making the call,” Dan said. “Time to find out who Greg Locksley really is.”
Seventeen
Grif picked up the phone the moment Dan Torres’s name flashed across the screen. He crashed onto the couch Alanna sprawled out on, leaning back until she moved her leg.
“Hey there,” he drawled, unable to keep the desire out of his voice. Their last encounter left him wanting, even though he should be forgetting about the man. “Is this business or pleasure?”
“Neither,” Dan responded, his voice strained and serious in a way that had Grif leaning forward. His warning bells started clanging louder than those in the towers at Notre Dame.
“Well then, what’s the surprise phone call about?” he continued, trying to get a pulse on the situation. “Not like I’m complaining. It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Just… stop,” Dan said, his voice tight, pained even. Grif’s blood dropped to polar vortex temps. Oh, fuck. “I know everything, Greg. Like that’s even your name. Look, I’ve got to protect myself here and my company. We can either discuss this like civilized folks and come to an arrangement, or I can send the cops to On the Park with a hot tip.”
Black days and bleaker times. He could feel the stares of his Outlaws press down on him. Dan Torres knew. Somehow, he knew they weren’t who they said they were, that Neo-National was a front. Somehow, they’d traced them to here. His grip tightened around his cell phone. Unless he had his own Scarlet on his team, there should’ve been no way. Only another hacker would recognize her code, and they’d done nothing to tip him off. Except, Grif had been careless, texting him in the late hours when his mind wandered. Hell, sleeping with him in the first place had meant he needed to keep hold of the burner he was supposed to ditch.
Dan Torres made him foolish like he hadn’t been since he was a kid.
“Let’s talk. You name the time and place,” he said, knowing he’d screwed over his Outlaws. A bottle of whiskey wouldn’t suffice tonight—no amount of alcohol could scourge away this shame. He’d gotten sloppy, and at the end of the day, he could only blame himself.
“Six tonight, Kaylee’s Diner.”
Before Grif could respond, the call ended with a click. His tongue dried as he lowered the phone and looked up.
“What’s going on, boss?” Alanna asked, nudging him in the side with her foot. She already prepared an attack with her tone. The rest of their stares bored into him, Tuck’s cautious, John’s reproachful, and Scar’s with a pity that made him choke on his self-loathing.
“We’ve been made,” he admitted. He’d fucked up big time, and the one thing he could do was confront his mistake and find a way out of this. All of this. Of Dan Torres finding their location and of Nevarra’s men breathing down their neck for a payment the backstabbing asshole didn’t deserve. “I’m meeting with him in a few hours to sort this whole mess out. I’ll fix it.”
Somehow.
The neon white sign of Kaylee’s Diner stood out in the distance. Night had fallen, and with it brought the cavalcade of streetlamps to fight the velvety darkness. Grif always felt more comfortable in the dark, but for once, he brimmed with nerves.
They’d spent the last few hours hatching the game plan to sway Torres Industries’ CEO to their side. Between the fact that Dan was pulled out of a master’s degree to take his father’s role, something he’d discussed with Grif in their conversations, and the resistance he’d been meeting on every board decision since he took charge, the idea of swaying him was plausible. What would require prowess was the rest of his plan, but Grif wouldn’t hesitate to pull out every tool in his arsenal.
Alanna and John stomped behind him, alternating between silence and insults he deserved. Grif soaked their jabs in, remaining quiet. He resisted the urge to run his hands through his hair or tweak his appearance. Unlike the swank suits from before, he wore a pair of beat-up Levi’s, a plain white shirt, and his worn leather jacket. Even though this meet-up was the furthest thing from a date, getting to see Dan Torres again had him keyed, and hell if he knew whether that stemmed from attraction or nerves.
“With the way you’re scowling at each other, no one’s going to buy you’re a couple,” Grif commented.
Alanna crossed her arms over her chest. “Yet with the way you fucked our mark after the first meeting, everyone would buy that the two of you were. Your dick got us into this mess, so your dick better get us out of it.”
“She’s not wrong,” John added, slipping his hands into his pockets as he strolled ahead of them. Unlike Grif, John still dressed like a charmer in slacks and a blue button-down. He cast a look to him. “I don’t care if you’ve got to take him in the bathroom or fuck on the goddamn table to get him compliant, but we’re only a few days away from this heist. Our entire operation isn’t going down like this.”
Grif sucked in a sharp breath. They were right. Yet they hadn’t heard the strain in Dan’s voice or the pulse of hurt there. As much as the guy was a hot piece of ass, their connection had lasted even after the fireworks burst and continued through the random texts, the constant check-ins. Heaven and hell, this was the longest he’d kept up with any guy he’d taken to bed—a whole damn week.
“I’ll get us out of this,” he confirmed as he stalked up the sloping ramp. He skimmed his palm against the cold metal railing while he approached the front door. They were screwed in seven different ways, but he couldn’t do anything about the mistakes that had happened. All Grif could do was keep moving forward and find a damn way out of this.
He reached the glass double doors and cast a glance to Alanna and John who glowered at him.
“I’ll make it right,” Grif said. “I promise.”
Alanna met his gaze. “You know the alternative.”
That was one he hadn’t wanted to fathom, where Dan Torres took a fall outside of the diner—severe enough to incapacitate him, if not cause some permanent damage. Nothing he hadn’t done before. Nothing he wouldn’t do again. His palms broke into a sweat, and he tried to squeeze out the image of those eyes, soft, hopeful like fresh earth in the spring.
He strode through the door, knowing John and Alanna waited behind to make their own entrance. The air conditioning prickled his skin once he stepped inside, and the fluorescents beamed down on him. Peach lamps decorated the place, casting a glow against the bone-white walls. Glossy black counters lined the far side, each of the tables featuring the same veneer.
He scoped out the diner—he’d arrived early to find the best vantage point.
Except Dan Torres had gotten here first. Again.
The sight of the man socked him in the stomach.
Dan sat in one of the booths, his shoulders hunched and his thick eyebrows furrowed. He’d rolled the sleeves of his gray button-down to the elbows, showcasing those corded forearms and delicious bronze skin. His raven hair was askew for once, like he’d run his fingers through it a dozen times. The haunted look in Dan’s eyes stopped him; it was one he recognized all too well. One that descended every time he remembered the day he got the news.
Dan looked at him, and his gaze darkened. All the kindness leached out.
He’d known. He’d known he’d wreck this gorgeous man, but knowing that and witnessing the flames lick up the frame were different.
Grif walked up to him and thrust his hand out. He would only get one chance, which meant there was no room for error. If he failed to execute, Alanna and John would.
“The name’s Grif Blackmore,” he said, waiting for Dan to accept his hand. His stomach committed a full-on revolt at the disappointment in those eyes and the pain that broadcast in his tightened mouth.
Dan slipped a hand in his, the skin to skin contact sending a jolt of electricity through him. “So, Greg Locksley?”
Reluctantly, Grif let go and slid into the booth on the opposite side. “The alias I go by on jobs.”
“Who hired you?” Dan asked. The weariness in his tone bled out on the table. A waitress swung by with a cup
of coffee Dan nabbed at once, setting to work polluting it with creamers and enough sugar to swim in.
“Coffee for me.” He caught the waitress’s eye before she darted off, then switched his focus back to Dan. This was where he laid the truth out on the table and gambled. Dan had responded well to what he’d perceived as honesty before—the approach just needed to work a second time. Given the access Dan would have to the company and the insider knowledge, he’d be able to fill in the missing gaps to their current plan. “No one hired us, per se. We’re an independent enterprise.”
“So, thieves,” Dan said, taking a sip from his coffee. The monotone from the guy who had been so expressive before near slayed him.
“Me and my Outlaws hunt out corrupt corporations and we steal from them. Most of our take ends up funneled to the people they hurt, or people who need the help.” The familiar resolve settled over him, the one that always descended when he spoke about the society they sought to change. “Torres Industries is a drop in the pond—there are so many corrupt corporations who’ve bulldozed communities and devastated families. I swore when they ruined mine, I would never let injustice like that go unpunished again.”
His heart thundered in his chest as the nerves faded away like a distant dream. The conviction always managed to cleanse away the fear, even as he stacked up sins by the hundreds. Either Dan understood his mission, or he’d misread the man. This was the platform he always landed on when his fool’s heart took the wheel.
Dan arched an eyebrow. “Outlaws who steal from the rich and give to the poor? What are you, Robin Hood?”
Grif’s lips tilted with a half-smile. “That’s why my Outlaws dubbed me Locksley. Based on what we’ve seen though, you’re not involved in skimming funds from the company.”
“No shit,” Dan said, his fingers running through his hair as he sank forward, elbows pressing hard onto the tabletop. Damn, his pouty lip looked biteable, and Grif needed to get his head out of the gutter, because this was not the time or place. Though, he couldn’t help how John’s jab seized his brain, because the idea of taking Dan Torres over this table was the stuff wet dreams were made from. Especially with the helpless look Dan shot him, like the man needed someone to take the reins.
Grif had always been proficient in that.
“Look, it’s clear you’ve got a problem partner in your company. Phil Brennerman’s name keeps cropping up over and over again,” Grif said. “And we’re close, damn close to being able to expose his corruption. We’ve seen the financial records, but they’re not enough. We need concrete proof of where the money he’s been skimming from your company is going.”
Grif lapsed to silence, watching Dan. He’d reached the pivot point. Either Dan would be swayed, or he’d choose now to walk away.
Dan stared into his coffee cup, his lips pursed like he might find the answers somewhere there. He tapped the side of his porcelain mug.
“I’d be an idiot to trust you again,” he said, not looking at him. The bitter tang to his tone made Grif feel like a monster of the highest order.
“Then don’t trust me,” Grif responded, his voice steady as stone. “Trust that if I don’t expose Phil Brennerman, someone else will, and soon. From the sounds of it, we both want him to pay for his crimes. Your company’s been tied to some nasty business—missing employees who wind up dead and then some.”
Dan looked at him, his dark eyes cautious. “What are you proposing?”
And, hooked. Time to reel him in.
“Work with us. Control the outcome of this rather than dealing with the repercussions. We’re not the only thieves who are after the blackmail information, but we are the only ones who’d be willing to work for a fee instead of playing the whole blackmail game.” Grif’s proposal hung in the air, the weight of his words dropping like gravel off a backhoe. He couldn’t deny the spark he’d seen in Dan’s eyes at their first meeting.
“You’re asking me to tank my own company,” Dan responded, taking another sip from his coffee. Back to that unreadable monotone. Clearly, the guy was miserable, and he was the asshole responsible.
The waitress arrived with Grif’s coffee, and he lifted the scorching liquid to his mouth. He never cared about getting burned.
“Brennerman’s already sentenced your company. We’ll give you the chance to rewrite the narrative and make sure the blame and punishment rests on his shoulders alone. If there’s any heat in the process, which there’s a high chance of, we’re trained and experienced in handling that.” Grif didn’t hide the heat in his voice. He wasn’t lying. An innocent in the upper echelons of corporate dealings was rare, and he especially didn’t want Dan taking the fall for scum like Phil Brennerman.
“And what do you get from this?” Dan asked. “If you dive into my company’s accounts, I’m not going to let you lift the money and run away clean.” His brow furrowed, and he scanned his palms, which had flattened onto the counter. “However, if I’m entertaining this insanity at all… I suppose Torres Industries could afford your retainer fee for the information.” He glanced up to him. “If I agree to this, we would bring Brennerman to justice but make sure he’s the one who falls, rather than the company as a whole. But I’m going to need some time to think it over.”
“Now you’re catching my drift,” Grif said, leaning in closer to Dan. The whiff of his lime and coconut fragrance triggered memories of their time in his condo. He reached out and skimmed his fingers across Dan’s hand to draw his attention. He’d be lying if he said Dan pulling away from his grasp wasn’t a slug to the gut. Unsteadiness flickered in his eyes like the dim, trembling lights of the L. Not like he could blame the man.
“When did you have the extraction planned?” Dan asked.
Grif tipped back his coffee, letting the liquid burn away his discomfort. “Monday. So if you’re in this, come to my place tomorrow night and you can meet the crew.” He snagged a card and jotted down his address, passing it over to Dan the same way the CEO of Torres Industries had done at the fateful lunch.
Dan hesitated, but he reached out and took it, slipping it into his pocket.
“I’ll think about it” was all he offered. Doubt flickered in his eyes, and Grif’s stomach twisted tight. Until tomorrow night, he wouldn’t know for sure if he’d sentenced the Outlaws or saved them.
Eighteen
Dan wanted to hate him so badly.
Greg, or Grif Blackmore as he turned out to be, had lied. He’d approached him under false pretenses, hoodwinked him into believing in his fake company, all while he’d planned to expose the corruption within Torres Industries. Dan swallowed back the cayenne burn of his anger.
Except, that’s what Dan had been trying to do this whole time. He’d shown up at the diner, terrified to see the steadiness in those ice-blue eyes change to something loathsome, to see the conviction disappear, like Grif was just another circling shark.
Yet, Grif Blackmore, for all he’d lied about his motives and his name, hadn’t lied about his cause. From the moment he’d met the man, he’d admired the resolute conviction to oust corruption and how the man walked the same path he did.
This would be far simpler if he could hate him.
Instead, the man sat before him in the small vinyl booth, his big body crammed in, looking all sorts of gorgeous with his hair slicked back and a sex-on-a-stick leather jacket that didn’t hope to hide his washboard abs. The man’s body looked so good it should be criminal—though, apparently it was.
“I’ve got this,” Grif said, grabbing the check and placing some bills out. “Let me walk you to your car.”
“Planning on knocking me off somewhere private?” Dan shot back, unable to help himself. His skin prickled, and his battered heart squeezed tight. Today hurt more than Uncle Felix’s slurs about queers whenever he was around. It hurt more than his father’s avoidance any time his mother asked about his dating life. And it hurt more than losing his college boyfriend and his twelve-year-old cat all in the same week. He ached worse
than he had in a long time, enough to suffocate the paltry attempts hope made to crack the door open again.
“I deserve that,” Grif responded, his voice heartbreakingly steady. “But if it makes you feel better, I know your friend’s watching in the booth three down, and I know he’d call the cops on me the moment I tried anything.” His fingers twitched like he might attempt to reach out, but he stopped, resting them on the table. Dan’s gaze trailed to Leo, who’d come as backup tonight. He met his best friend’s eyes and offered a short nod.
“Fine, let’s get out of here,” Dan said. Before the scent of amber and leather clouded his senses anymore. Before he dreamed up any more fantasies of what the mournful look in Grif’s blues might mean. Everyone had turned on him today, but Grif offered the one chance he might get to stop Brennerman. To keep him from not only tanking his father’s company, but also outing him publicly.
At least he didn’t have to worry about disappointing Neo-National. He was disappointed in them all on his own.
He pushed from his seat. He needed time to simmer with all of this, time he wouldn’t have, considering they planned this extraction in mere days. By meeting Grif here, he’d confirmed one thing—even if everything else between them had been a lie, the chemistry wasn’t.
They strode out of the diner, leaving the scents of Windex, bacon grease, and hamburgers behind. Once he stepped outside, he wished he’d brought his jacket. A bracing wind swept through, causing his skin to pebble. They reached the end of the ramp to the side of the building before Grif turned to face him.
The shadows sharpened his features, deepening his scars, the proud curve of his lips, and the dramatic arch of his nose. Those eyes held all the intensity of a derecho, whiplash winds and torrential downpours that would sweep him away.
“Look, I lied about everything from the moment we met, so I don’t expect you to believe me. Fuck, I wouldn’t believe me. But, right now, I’m being real with you. If you were anyone else, there’s a high chance I’d find a quick way to dispose of you. This offer wouldn’t even be on the table.”
Midnight Heist (Outlaws Book 1) Page 13