Fueling His Hunger

by Sparrow Beckett

  “You know what we need to do? You have to give me one night as a car thief,” Carlos said slowly. “Just one night to see what life would have been like.”

  “You’re too drunk to drive, let alone steal anything,” Atlas objected.

  “Fuck that!” Carlos burst into laughter. “I’m too drunk to fucking walk. Shit. I can’t see!”

  Jimmy leaned toward his head mechanic and poked him in the cheekbone. “Open your eyes, idiot.”

  Carlos’s eyelids slid back open. “Oh . . . thanks, man! You really are a good friend even if you want to bone my wife.”

  “She’s hot. You really don’t deserve her.”

  “I know. And she gives a wicked blow job,” he mused. “She looks all uptight, but, man, the girl is freaky.”

  Luke winced, wondering how much of this Carlos would remember in the morning.

  “I know,” Jimmy mocked. “She sucks my dick when you’re working late, remember?”

  “You wish.”

  “Gentlemen, focus!” Atlas said, grimacing at Luke. “If we’re not taking you home now, where are we going?”

  Carlos looked out the window again. “Luke, you should steal a car.”

  “Now?”

  Carlos nodded, grinning. “We’ll just sit and watch.”

  “You can’t watch around here.” Atlas snorted. “We’d be dropping him off and driving away so security won’t notice him. All these places have security guards and gates and shit.”

  “Ohhh. Oh yeah. Never mind.” Carlos shook his head. “I bet you can’t steal a car from one of these places anyway.”

  Atlas barked a laugh. “We do it all the time.”

  Not quite true. They usually looked for easier marks, but they had done places like this before when the car was worth the risk.

  “Bullllshit,” Carlos said, flicking his hand dismissively. “You guys act like you’re badass fucking car thieves, but we know you. It’s not like it is in the movies. You just hack into the car’s system and drive away. Where’s the danger? Where’s the adventure?”

  Finding Fox bleeding out on their front lawn immediately came to mind. Marcel, the former leader of the rival group, had shot him, and Fox had barely made it home alive. To make matters worse, Marcel had crashed into a guardrail, been ejected from his car, and died.

  That was the worst night of their lives, but they’d had plenty of scrapes with security guards and police over the years. Just two weeks ago a cop had stopped Atlas and run his plates. Their work had plenty of fucking danger, but they couldn’t really tell these guys everything.

  “It’s not all fun and games, Carlos,” Atlas said, probably thinking of the Marcel thing. “It’s a business.”

  Luke loved these guys, but they didn’t get the risks.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Carlos waved him off. “I’m just saying I don’t think you could do it. Like look at that place.” He pointed to the house they were passing, built on a hill, set back from the road. There was a high brick wall around the compound, and a big metal gate to keep out the riffraff that might drive past. The driveway was full of expensive cars. “Must be a party. Security guards everywhere. You’d have to be damn good to steal something out of there. Even you guys aren’t that good.”

  “Pull over,” Luke said.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Atlas rumbled.

  “Just pull over at that lookout point there.” If Carlos wanted excitement, he’d get excitement.

  “Oh shit, man. I was joking.” Carlos glanced around anxiously as Atlas pulled off to the spot that overlooked the city.

  “Don’t blow our cover, Carlos. I’m going to get the bag out of the trunk and walk back to the house. Pretend Atlas is your driver, but you and Jimmy are going to have to make out in the backseat to make this believable.”

  “Fuck that.” Carlos laughed nervously.

  “Come on, Carlos,” Jimmy said reasonably. “You heard the man. Lay one on me. I hope your stubble doesn’t chafe my purdy mouth.”

  Carlos quirked a brow. “You wish.” He turned back to Luke. “Seriously, man. Don’t do it. That place had guards patrolling everywhere.” One of his hands, white-knuckled, gripped the shoulder of Luke’s seat. This seemed to be sobering him where the coffee hadn’t.

  “I’ll just take a look. If it’s impossible, I’ll be back.” Adrenaline was already starting to pump through Luke’s veins. Lately, he’d wondered several times if he should quit the business, but then a more challenging job like this came up and he’d remember why their work had once seemed like fun.

  “Twenty bucks says you can’t do it,” Carlos said, slumping down in the seat and peering back at the road.

  “Deal.”

  They shook on it, and Luke got out of the car, then grabbed his go bag and took off down the road. The dry desert air blew his longish Mohawk into his eyes, and he wished he had a baseball cap, or even a hair tie. At least he was wearing black.

  He crossed the road and followed the brick wall, trying to get a sense of the security system the place used. There were cameras and sensors everywhere. Really, he should have turned back at that point, but losing the bet to Carlos after having his skills questioned would hurt like a bastard.

  Near the wide gate he waited in silence, hoping his face wouldn’t glow like an extra moon in the beam of passing headlights. Other than the thumping of music coming from the house, the night was still. After about ten minutes, the gate mechanism whirred. An Escalade cruised into the opening and paused to check for traffic. Luke slipped into the compound, keeping the vehicle between him and the gate guard, then melted into the shadows beyond. No partygoers lingered in the long, curved driveway.

  There was a buffet of cars to choose from, but for tonight, he had to pick something that wasn’t too close to the house or the gate, and had some cooperative lighting near the driver’s-side door. Ferrari, tricked out Austin Mini, Hummer. Near the end of the line there was a pristine Mercedes G500 in lime green. Flashy and immaculate, it had obviously never seen rough terrain. Normally, he wouldn’t have given the thing a second look, since he preferred a sports car, but he’d never driven a G500 before.

  As he sidled up to it, he noticed the window was open a crack. Jackpot.

  He felt like a bit of a challenge tonight so he decided to try an old-school method instead of using his hacking gadgets like he might have another time. After wedging his fingers in the window opening, he rocked it back and forth until the window slid out of the track and he could force it down far enough to fit his arm through the space. He unlocked the driver’s-side door and slid into the car.

  Luke braced himself for the piercing alarm as he looked for the wire under the steering wheel to cut it. To his surprise, the car was silent.

  No alarm. Weird.

  He shrugged and began his search for the spare keys. Chances were good there was a spare set stashed in the car somewhere, or at least a valet key in the car kit most drivers didn’t even know about.

  Visor and console turned up empty. He grabbed the user manual from the glove compartment and shuffled through it until he found the valet key.

  Bingo.

  He grinned, enjoying the fact that he still, after all these years, got a rush from his job.

  When he turned on the engine, the stereo tried to start, and his hand shot out to shut it off before it blared to life. The display read RUSH, “FLY BY NIGHT,” and for a moment he felt bad for stealing from someone who had impeccable taste in music.

  As he rolled up to the gate, his heart accelerated. Hopefully the guard didn’t know the owner too well.

  When the gate didn’t open automatically, Luke shifted his gaze over toward the guard while trying to keep the guy from getting a good look at his face. Rather than peering suspiciously into the vehicle, the guy was playing on his phone. Luke could hear the theme music to Angry Birds. He fumble
d for the gate button, hitting it without giving Luke more than a cursory glance.

  God bless lazy guards.

  He rolled out onto the road and headed right, passing the overlook. Atlas had to be pissing himself laughing at what Luke had taken. Usually they aimed for sports cars, not flashy green SUVs.

  Luke adjusted the rearview mirror, and watched as Atlas started his car. He’d head back in the other direction now, probably to drop off their drunk friends, and they’d rendezvous later, back at the house, after he got a ride home. Luke would claim Carlos’s twenty bucks tomorrow at the shop.

  Hell, the guys had been so tanked, the smell of their alcoholic breath still lingered in his sinuses.

  He headed toward the drop point, knowing their buyer would take it even though there were no G500s currently on the order docket. There had been a classic Mustang in the driveway too, which was on the list, but it’d been parked right out front, in direct view of the house.

  A tiny sound from the backseat set his teeth on edge and every hair on the back of his neck went up.

  Fuck.

  Had someone left their little dog—or worse yet, their kid—in the back of the car? Why hadn’t he fucking checked? Stupid, noob mistake, and one of his old, recurring nightmares.

  Not a kid at this time of night, right? Unless the parents were really irresponsible and couldn’t find a sitter . . . but these were rich people . . . there were nannies and shit. Had to be a dog.

  He glanced in the rearview, but the mirror was angled wrong. Just as he lifted his hand to adjust it, a police cruiser turned out of a driveway and moved up behind him. Luke abandoned the motion and focused on his driving, trying to ignore several more quiet sounds as he played good, law-abiding driver for the nice member of law enforcement. In town, he stopped at a light, his body vibrating with tension. In the side mirror, he caught a glimpse of the cruiser changing lanes and pulling up beside him. He forced himself to pretend he hadn’t noticed the cop, brushing his hair back from his eyes as though he was relaxed and in no hurry.

  The light turned green, and the cop’s siren wailed. His heart stopped. The cruiser peeled away, disappearing down the street.

  Fucking fuck!

  His heart thudded painfully as it found its rhythm again.

  One problem down.

  Again, a quiet sound came from the backseat. On the other side of the light, he pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned diner and threw the Mercedes into park.

  He turned to look over the seat.

  Panic rose, making his ears ring as he struggled to calm his racing heart.

  Not a kid.

  Instead, a young woman with a cascade of long blond hair peered up at him with one half-opened eye, then pushed herself into an upright position.

  “Who?” she asked. Her breath clued him into where the smell of alcohol had been coming from. Apparently, it was dealing-with-drunk-people night no matter where he went.

  “I’m the valet,” he said, wondering where he’d pulled that story out of.

  “Oh.” She looked around the parking lot in confusion, both eyes opening, but blearily. She was in even worse shape than Carlos and Jimmy had been. He thought of getting out and locking the doors behind him, letting her sleep it off and think she drove herself here, but it was a bad part of town.

  Shit.

  They’d been making fun of Fox for kidnapping Addison the first night they’d met, and now here he was in the same fucking predicament. He couldn’t bring her home, but what on earth was he supposed to do with her? Maybe he could convince her some of her friends hired him to drive her home?

  The girl narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Wait. You’re not a valet.” She shoved back a hank of hair that had been dangling in front of her face, the gesture clumsy and awkward. “I might look stupid, but I’m not.” She shook her head in disapproval. “It’s actions, not looks . . . actions define people.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I was going to say ‘a man,’ there, but I’m not a man. I don’t even have muscles. I mean, I have some or I wouldn’t be sitting up or anything, but they’re not like those.” She poked him in the arm. “Now those are big.” She stopped for a breath. “So, who paid you?”

  “Paid me?”

  Her eyes widened, and in the low light of the dashboard she looked very young and vulnerable. “To kidnap me. Not that I’m a kid. I’m almost twenty-two. Well, in October. The twenty-second. I guess that’s a while away, but it’s kind of close.” She laughed self-consciously then looked down at her fingers. “Sorry. I talk a lot when I’m nervous. And drunk. Do you want my wallet or something?”

  He winced. “I’ll just drive you home. What’s the address?”

  She stared at him for a moment. “You mean you don’t want my money?”

  He raised his brows and shook his head.

  “Oh. Of course you don’t. Well, maybe you do, but no one would have hired you. Who the hell would care enough to have me kidnapped?” Her eyes drifted from side to side, like she was thinking hard. “Well, maybe my mom, but I think she only gets the money if I die.” She fell silent.

  Oh jeez. What kind of family did this girl have?

  “No, princess. I’m just supposed to drive you home.”

  She brushed a hand over both cheeks, and he realized she was crying. Shit. He’d meant to do a quick grab to shut Carlos up and somehow he’d ended up doing therapy with a depressed drunk girl who had a dysfunctional family.

  “Don’t be scared. I’m just going to bring you somewhere safe, and then I’ll leave.”

  Her thin shoulders lifted to shrug.

  “Where should I take you?”

  “Does it matter?” she said quietly, fiddling with the hem of her tank top. “If you dump my body on the side of the highway no one will care.”

  That was the worst thing he’d ever heard someone say. It had to be the booze talking. “Come on, now. Friends? Family? There are people who care about you.”

  “How do you know that? You don’t even know who I am.”

  “People would care,” he said stubbornly, feeling like he’d suddenly turned into a suicide hotline counselor. “I’d care even if we’d never met.”

  “You’re nice for a kidnapper.” She smiled, but her eyes were empty. Thrusting her purse at him, she added, “There’s cash in there, but can you leave my driver’s license? I’d rather not have to go to the DMV.”

  She reached for the door handle as she slipped on her shoes, but he made a staying gesture.

  “Not here. It’s not safe here.”

  “So?” She opened the door, and he opened his. As she tried to step out onto the asphalt, she fell off the heel of her shoe and stumbled. He grabbed her elbow to steady her, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was willowy, and gave the impression of being brittle—breakable.

  “Get in and I’ll drive you home, or somewhere safe,” he said again. “I can’t just leave you here.”

  She turned in a circle, half limping. Her bottom lip trembled.

  “You just wanted my truck . . . thingy. I’m not your problem.” She straightened her shoulders and started weaving a path back toward the road. Should he stop her? What was he going to do, grab her and force her into the vehicle? Maybe he could call her a cab and just leave the Mercedes here in the parking lot.

  A few feet away, she tripped over broken pavement and went down. Lying on her side, she heaved, gulped, then heaved again. By the time he’d reached her, she’d regained her feet, but lost a shoe, abandoning it as she moved doggedly toward the main drag. She was sobbing.

  “Stop. You can’t walk home and you don’t have a purse or anything with you. At least let me call you a cab.”

  She shook her head then frowned as though bewildered. “This parking lot is like a maze.” She turned her back to him and leaned over, gagging. He caught her hair back just as she st
arted to puke.

  “Just go,” she gasped out. “’M fine. Do this all the time.” Just as the words left her mouth, she started to topple. He caught her. The poor thing was stick thin, her bony elbow poking at him in objection.

  By the time he pulled her slight frame into his arms, she was out.

  Chapter 3

  Ophelia was no stranger to waking up with a splitting headache. It’d been like this every weekend since her father had died. Groaning, she rolled over, then flung out a hand to reach for the bottle of aspirin that she kept on her nightstand.

  She grabbed at air several times until she finally flopped against what felt like an alarm clock. What the hell? Where was her bottle of water and aspirin? She popped open her eyes, then immediately shut them again.

  Sun beamed in from an open window, making her head throb even worse. What the fuck was going on? This wasn’t her room.

  Memories from the night before streamed in, as assaultive as the sun. There’d been a stranger. He’d . . . kidnapped her?

  Heart racing, she shot upright. Eyes adjusting to the brightness, she scanned the room. Beige walls, white sheer curtains, TV directly in front of her. The blankets were plush, white, and covering her legs. She looked underneath the bedcovers and sighed in relief to see her pants were on.

  Slowly, she turned her head to the second bed beside her. The blankets were rumpled and covered a large figure. She swallowed hard, hoping her stampeding heart wouldn’t wake whoever was there with her. Was it the kidnapper? Shouldn’t he be awake and making sure she didn’t escape?

  As quietly as she could, she slid from under the blanket. She found her shoes next to the bed. If they hadn’t been within arm’s reach, she’d have left them behind. But she scooped them up, then tiptoed to her purse on the desk.

  Where was her phone? Did her captor steal her money? Credit cards? She grasped at her neck, relieved her necklace was still there. So he hadn’t stolen that, at least. Not that she cared that much about it. Just another one of the dozens that designers had given her for the chance to have it seen when she stepped out for the night. But it was probably worth more than whatever cash she had in her wallet.