Fueling His Hunger

by Sparrow Beckett

  After she was sure it sent, she turned off her phone and tried to push back her worries and enjoy her last bit of peace with Luke.

  “Shouldn’t I be driving if I’m dropping you off?” she said as they reached town.

  “You don’t know where I live.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They bypassed the exits downtown and headed toward the housing developments just outside the city—opposite where she lived. The winding road grew quieter the farther from the highway they went, and soon darkness settled over the valley. It reflected her mood. How was she supposed to say good-bye?

  Luke turned into a driveway that steered up a small hill. The house at the top was almost as big as hers.

  Apparently not stealing cars paid well.

  He parked the SUV in the driveway, then got out. This time she didn’t wait for him to open her door. There was no point in waiting for that anymore. No one would ever do it again. Taking back her control over that felt like a stupid, hollow victory.

  “Do you want to come in?” he asked. “I could throw together something to eat. I’m sure my cousins would love to meet you.”

  Shit. She’d almost forgotten he didn’t live alone.

  She shook her head.

  “No. Thanks, but I need to get home and do some thinking about tomorrow. I’d also prefer not to meet new people looking like this.” She gestured at her finger- combed hair, still wild and a bit snarled. Ten minutes ago she’d found some dried moss in it. Not to mention the fact that she smelled like Luke and hot sex.

  She smoothed her hair and glanced self-consciously at the house, hoping no one was watching them.

  “Do you want the tent and the other gear? I doubt I’ll be going camping again anytime soon.”

  He shrugged a shoulder. “Sure.” As he unloaded the back of the SUV, she noticed he’d grabbed the wrong backpack, but didn’t point it out. Was it creepy that she wanted to keep his stuff?

  When he was done, he walked her to the driver’s-side door of the SUV and helped her in.

  He moved in to kiss her, but she turned away and let his mouth land on the corner of hers. He pressed a kiss there anyway, so sweetly that she had to stifle a sob. She covered it with a cough, but he probably knew better.

  “I’m not going to call you, Ophelia,” he warned. “I’m serious. I’m here whenever you need me, but I’m not going to pressure you for more.”

  She nodded. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” Without saying anything else, she shut the door between them, only waiting for him to take a step back before she drove off.

  Unable to help herself, she looked in the rearview to catch a last glimpse of him. He stood in the middle of his driveway watching her leave, and she was glad he couldn’t hear her crying.

  Chapter 14

  “Fuck.”

  Blind from the headlights in his rearview mirror, Luke waited for the cruiser’s lights to come on.

  Nothing.

  Still nothing.

  Go figure. He was already in a pissy mood, and now he was going to get arrested. It wasn’t as if he was a kid anymore, either. There was no way the cops were going to believe him stealing a Jag was a prank gone wrong. He was too damn distracted to be careful tonight. He never should have gone out in the first place.

  Just great. First he accidentally kidnaps a woman, and now he gets bagged by a cop? And why was this fucker toying with him instead of just turning on the sirens, already?

  The car he was driving jolted forward. Had that fucker just hit him? He edged ahead, but the other car was crowding him, zigzagging back and forth as though the driver was pissed Luke was driving too slow. The next collision snapped his head forward.

  Not a cop.

  His car fishtailed and he fought the wheel, trying to stop it from veering off the road onto the sidewalk or into oncoming traffic. There weren’t a lot of people around, but if he crashed into a building the cops would be on him in a heartbeat. Who the fuck was this asshole?

  Slowing to a halt, he pulled over on the side of the road and threw the Jag into park next to a deserted parking lot.

  Cocksucker.

  There was no way he’d be able to bring this car in now. The F-Type coupe he’d taken earlier was exactly what had been listed on the order sheet—down to the color—and had been sitting in an unattended parking lot. It was almost too easy. Maybe it had been a sting. Atlas had been warning him the authorities were starting to crack down on high-end car theft, but he’d been too distracted to give the job the caution he should have.

  The sedan pulled over behind him, but rather than wait, Luke got out. In the still, dry heat of the night, his boots crunched on the fake grass to the sidewalk, prepared for whatever this asshole decided to dish out.

  A big man unfolded from the driver’s side of other vehicle. Shit. He knew the guy. Not a cop. It was just fucking Vander, their old rival Marcel’s second in command after Lurch. Marcel had been dead and buried for almost a year now. He’d shot Fox and tried to run him off the road, then slammed into a guardrail in exactly the wrong way.

  “What the fuck do you want?” Luke growled. Marcel seemed to have chosen Vander for size rather than intelligence, but that didn’t intimidate Luke. The buzzed hair was supposed to make him look tough, but he had a mean face and didn’t seem to do much hard thinking. “You guys getting so bad at boosting cars that you have to steal what’s already stolen?”

  Vander rattled a dry laugh that was altogether mirthless. “Didn’t Marcel tell you to stay out of our area?”

  Pissed, Luke shoved him backward with one hand. He needed to stay calm so this didn’t escalate too far, but right now he just wanted to break this motherdick’s face. “Marcel is dead. Even when he was alive, we didn’t agree on territory.”

  Marcel’s goon shoved him back, but his heart didn’t seem to be in a physical altercation. “One of these days there’ll need to be a reckoning.”

  “A reckoning?” Was the guy going to draw a sword or something? Who said things like that? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’re a smartass, you figure it out.”

  They stood staring at each other in the dim light of the streetlamp. The wind skimmed dust up from the sidewalk, threatening to blind them if it got any stronger, and the palm trees that lined the street rattled their protest.

  “So Marcel gets himself killed trying to murder Fox, and you’re blaming us?” Luke asked, glaring at the idiot. After all this time they were still bitter about something that had never been Fox’s fault in the first place. “Maybe he should have learned how to fucking drive before he tried a stunt like that. We haven’t done shit to you people. Marcel fucking shot him, and for what? Territory? Grow the fuck up.”

  This time Vander swung at him, but Luke stepped aside and the blow missed entirely. As long as Vander didn’t draw on him he’d be fine. When he missed, Vander seemed to recover his self-control and drew back a step.

  “What the fuck do you want, really?” Luke asked.

  “I’m just here to deliver the message. You need to move your shitty operation out of Vegas. We gave you enough time to relocate, but you fucked around and tried to keep your shit on the down low, but we’re done. Leave now or you’re not gonna like what happens.”

  Luke shrugged. “What are you going to do, Vander? Shoot me?” He threw his arms wide, inviting the other man to do his worst. “Either do it or fuck off. Some of us are trying to work.”

  A minivan slowed, and the family it contained gawked at them as they passed. It slowed the next car, which made people look at them, and then the next. They were drawing too much attention, but at least that might keep Vander from doing anything more than mouth off.

  “You’ve been warned,” Vander growled, walking back to his sedan. He paused melodramatically before he got back in.
“Just remember, it’s not just your cousins you have to worry about.”

  Luke’s thoughts immediately strayed to Ophelia, and his sister, Macy, then he hoped his expression hadn’t given him away. He didn’t want to give these guys anything to work with.

  “Yeah, yeah. We’re not stupid enough to leave ourselves vulnerable that way, so have fun with that.”

  Vander got in his sedan and drove off. The thought of Vander and Lurch getting their hands on Ophelia made him shake with rage. Macy was tough, but Ophelia had grown up sheltered. She was strong in a different way than his family. Her circle played mental games—not dangerous ones. And he doubted she had a black belt in martial arts or carried a gun.

  She needed a bodyguard or something.

  He got into the Jag and drove off, bringing the car to the drop-off point and leaving it there even though it wasn’t worth much with the damage. Better than abandoning it where the police could check it for evidence. Because of Marcel’s group being sloppy with a few jobs, the police had created a small task force to focus on high-end car theft in the area. Atlas was keeping an eye on the force’s internal emails, but they needed to be careful.

  Maybe he should just cash out and move somewhere tropical. The idea of having Ophelia all to himself in the Caribbean was appealing, to say the least, but after about five minutes of playing through that idea in his mind, he realized he’d never be able to walk away from this life. He loved stealing cars too much to retire now. It was part of who he was—who he’d always been—and how he defined himself. Drinking beer on a beach was fun, but not forever. He needed his cousins. He needed his life to be a little crazy. He was too high-strung to handle boredom for long.

  For now, they’d just have to come up with a plan to keep everyone safe. As much as he wanted her, Ophelia would be safest if he stayed the fuck away.

  ***

  The buzz of the tattoo machine lulled him into a comfortable stupor.

  For the first time in weeks he was relaxed, the smell of disinfectant almost as pleasant to him as Ophelia’s scent.

  Damn.

  He had to stop thinking about her. That was why he was at Fitte, getting this damned tattoo. Lying on his stomach with Geir working on the back of his knee, Luke was tempted to doze off despite the discomfort. He hadn’t been sleeping lately, and although he’d been trying to throw himself into his work, he just fucking missed her.

  Idiot. She’d probably forgotten all about him.

  “Was the pussy that good?” Geir asked, the smirk in his voice making his accent even more mocking than usual.

  “I’m here for ink, not therapy,” Luke grumbled.

  Geir snorted. “Ink is therapy. If anyone knows that, it’s you.”

  The frustration of the past few weeks was making him short-tempered. “Fuck off.”

  “Fy fæn!” Geir swore. “You didn’t tell me you were in love with her.”

  “Shut up.”

  Geir lifted the tattoo machine away from Luke’s skin before his deep booming laugh rang through the shop. The asshat made some kissing noises before resuming his work. “You make sure to invite us to your wedding. Open bar, right? She’s a rich girl or a poor girl?”

  “There’s no girl. You’re delusional.”

  “I’m mad, yes, but I know things. There is a girl. I haven’t seen you this morose before. Like a dog who’s lost his master.” He clicked his tongue. “And here I thought you liked being the boss.”

  Luke frowned into the crook of his arm, where he was leaning his head. “I am the boss,” he said without thinking, then realized he’d given himself away.

  “And you want to see her but you’re not calling her?”

  “Are you a fucking mind reader?”

  “No,” Geir said, still sounding amused. “Fox came last week and was gossiping like an old woman. There are no secrets between a man and his tattooist, which is as it should be.”

  Geir squirted disinfectant on the tattoo one last time. “Done. I made him a bit creepy, like you.” He stood back as Luke got off the table and walked over to the full-length mirror to check out his work.

  The gray alien on the back of his knee was perfect and made him smile to himself. A permanent reminder of his trip with Ophelia, but it also blended in with several of his other tattoos. Their week on the road wasn’t just about her. He’d reconnected with life, remembered who he was other than a thief. As much as he loved his work, sometimes he had to be reminded that he wasn’t his job. Before Glacier, he’d almost forgotten that.

  But yeah, who was he kidding? It was also about Ophelia.

  Maybe getting a tattoo about a girl—especially one so transitory in his life—had been a dumb idea, but he’d needed to record it on his body alongside some of his other important life events.

  As he paid Fitte’s receptionist, Geir clapped him on the shoulder. “Get a drink downstairs. See if you can find your balls and call her.”

  “No. There’s too much shit going down right now. If she doesn’t call me, it’s better if I leave her alone.”

  Geir pretended he was crying and dabbed at fake tears. “So sad and so brave.” Amiably, he punched Luke’s chest. “Quit being a pussy and go fuck her. Get her out of your system.”

  “What if I can’t get her out of my system?” Luke grumbled.

  “If you can’t?” Geir grimaced as though the idea had never occurred to him. “I don’t know. Marry her? Breed her? Buy a minivan?” He flicked a dismissive hand. “It’s your life. Make choices and live with them. Quit sitting on your ass feeling sorry for yourself.”

  Luke grunted. “How much extra for the therapy?”

  “It’s all worked into the price.”

  He decided to get himself a drink. In the elevator to the floor the club was on, he checked his phone.

  Crap.

  A text from Ophelia? He felt his ears heat. She’d been texting him while he and Geir had been discussing her?

  I know we said we wouldn’t do this, but if you have time, if you want to, I need someone to talk things through with. Someone not involved in the situation.

  Ah, work related. He was disappointed, but it was better than nothing.

  Rather than go into the club, he stood in the opulent foyer and stared at Ophelia’s message, afraid to answer and say the wrong thing. It was just help she wanted, not sex, but it was hard not to hope she wanted to reclaim some of the connection they had. But no, that could be dangerous for her.

  Geir’s suggestion that he do what made himself happy was all well and good if this was a normal situation, but with Lurch and Vander’s people possibly watching them he wondered if it was safe. For the most part they were blowhards, but what if they’d actually meant it this time? They’d shot Fox last year, but that had been Marcel acting alone. Lurch hadn’t seemed happy about his boss going off the deep end, but now Vander was threatening them. Luke couldn’t imagine disagreeing with Fox and Atlas on something that serious and yet still working with them.

  A text would be safe enough, right?

  Hey, princess. What’s up?

  She started typing right away, and he waited impatiently.

  I’m glad I listened to you and didn’t rush into that sale. There were all sorts of clauses that made it worse than it looked, but my mother is still pissed at me for turning it down.

  He sat down in one of the comfortable chairs next to the fountain and tried to think of what to say. I’m glad it worked out. So what are you going to do? Look for another offer?

  No, actually. For now I’m trying to put together a new business plan.

  So not selling? That sounds like an adventure.

  It’s exciting. Not quite the same kind of exciting as taking a road trip to Glacier with a hot guy, though.

  Like a dork, he smiled at his phone, then self-consciously attempted to smooth his expressi
on.

  So she thought he was hot? It had been exciting? He wanted to see her so bad.

  You should send me a picture.

  Of what, perv? My boobs?

  He chuckled. No, your pretty face.

  There was a long pause, then her picture came up. She was making a crazy face and her tongue was sticking out. He laughed out loud and wished he was there so he could kiss her. Fuck. He was in love with her.

  Women. You’re always taking selfies at your best angles.

  Another long pause. Yes, this picture was meant to lure you back into my bed.

  Aw, hell. Seriously? She was joking, obviously, but it was hard not to take what she was saying as interest in picking up where they’d left off.

  He gripped his phone tighter, wondering if he should give her a flippant answer and act like he wasn’t interested. He tried, damn it, but he just wasn’t strong enough to let the flirting slide.

  No luring necessary, sweetness.

  You’re bad.

  You like me bad.

  Shh. That’s our little secret.

  He groaned and shifted where he sat, the beginnings of arousal threatening to give him a public erection he’d rather avoid. Forget the drink; he wanted somewhere private to finish this conversation.

  How should he handle this? He stood, then made his way out to his car, passing some tall blond actor who was in a movie Luke had watched the week before. Couldn’t remember his name. They nodded to each other. People who hung out at Fitte tended to be an elite bunch, but Loke, Geir, and Rune didn’t tolerate snobbery from or between patrons.

  Once he was in his car, he read over their last exchange again.

  He sighed. This was bad, but if he walked away from her now, he’d never forgive himself.

  What do you want from me, Ophelia? My life could be dangerous for you, and you know that.

  Can you come see me? Just dinner and conversation . . . I promise.

  Sure, sure. I know you. You’re going to get me drunk and feel me up.

  A car parked next to him and the driver got out. It was an attractive young woman he’d played with before at the club. Beth? Betty? She flashed him a shy smile and waved before heading into the hotel.