The Thief

  “Because weddings are supposed to be happy occasions. I don’t …” Dammit. I take a deep breath and say what I’m really thinking, “I don’t want to be there and ruin all of that.”

  I’ve done enough damage to those around me. My blame toward Casey is a noose around his neck. I know, because every time he’s nearby, I yank it, choking him with it just that little bit more. And each time it chokes him, his expression grows a little sadder and a little more resigned. And each time I feel no better. I just feel worse.

  “So don’t ruin it.”

  Is it really that simple?

  I return to my task, sticking my head back under the hood to loosen another hose clamp. I see Casey start moving again from my peripheral vision when he realises the subject is closed. Though it isn’t closed. Not quite yet. Because my mind is on Sunday dinner, and Ace, and how time and again she made an effort with Mason, no matter how much it hurt, because it was the right thing to do. The least I can do for her is to be the man she makes me want to be.

  “I’ll be there,” I mutter to Hammer’s radiator.

  “Excuse me?” Casey says from somewhere to the right and back of me. There’s shock in his voice.

  “You heard me.”

  “What about Ace?”

  I grunt, yanking at a stuck clamp. “She won’t be coming.”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t fuckin’ push me, asshole.”

  Then I dump the wrench beside me with a clatter and pull back out from under the hood. After wiping grease from my hands again, I pick up my phone and switch it back on, impatient when it takes too long. I stab in my passcode and send a message to Fox.

  Me: Do me a favour and go check on Ace.

  Fox: Why can’t you?

  Fuck’s sake.

  Me: I’m working.

  Fox: I’m on shift in an hour.

  Me: It won’t take long, shithead. Just make sure she’s ok.

  His reply comes in forty minutes later. I see it instantly because I’ve kept my phone right there beside me, eyeballing it every few minutes.

  Fox: What did you do to her?

  Me: Christ. Why?

  Fox: You’re the shithead, Daniels. You better close up shop and fix it or I’ll fix your fucking face.

  Me: I can’t.

  Fox: Why not?

  “I can’t even look at you.”

  I don’t answer my friend. Instead, I set my phone aside and go back to yanking Hammer’s radiator free, my stomach in knots. How can I fix it when I’m the fuckin’ problem?

  An hour passes. And another. I’ve dropped an entire bucket of bolts, accidently kicked the drain pan and spilled coolant across the work shop floor and fuckin’ slipped in it, landing on my ass, and lost my favourite flathead screwdriver.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  My phone dings again, running hot today. Most of my messages used to come from Ace. Now it’s everyone but her and that stings. I pause my work to glance at the screen.

  Grace: Thank you, Kelly. Thank you so much.

  Huh. Casey must have filled her in. Probably because they need to find the furthest table from the bridal table to squeeze me in at on such short notice. The shit table. But mostly the shit table is full of drunks, the ones who RSVP for the free food and booze, so that works. Either way, I don’t want her makin’ a big deal about it. I’ll show up, eat some food, drink some good shit, and get the fuck out.

  Me: Whatever.

  Grace: Don’t forget, it’s black tie!

  My face forms a scowl.

  Me: You suck

  Grace: Bahahahahahahaha! Love you too, brother.

  I stop for a moment. Staring at her message. Blinking. There’s no time to absorb it because another one comes in straight after it.

  Echo: I backed you like a winning horse.

  My brows pull together in a puzzled furrow. Seriously. Women. They talk as if you can read their minds. I should turn my phone back off but her comment niggles at me. I want to know what it means. She responds again, answering my question before I can figure it out for myself.

  Echo: When she found out you were a Sentinel, she lost her shit. I backed you because I thought you had what it takes. So get in there like the prized stallion I made you out to be and sort your shit out #orelse

  My mouth falls open. I don’t know whether to laugh or tell her to go suck a bag of dicks. So I do neither. I pack up the workshop, taking care with the tools and making sure the floor is swept and clear. Hammer’s radiator is done anyway. I’m just stalling because I’m not in the mood to go home to an empty house or face my brothers at the clubhouse on a Friday night where it’s rowdy and loud.

  Upstairs, I purposely ignore the bed—and the way Ace made me laugh on it and how she made me feel somehow invincible—and turn left for the bathroom. After a hot shower, where I scrub at my nails with a brush—something I got used to doin’ when I was with Ace because I didn’t like touching her with dirty fingers—I get dressed in jeans, a tee, and Sentinels cut, and for a moment I stare at myself in the mirror.

  My beard looks scruffy, my hair hangs to my shoulders, and my eye is turning varying shades of green and yellow. I’m basically an unkempt beast. I tie my hair back from my face and jog my way down the stairs, keys in hand. Casey is in the front office when I pass by. “Done for the day,” I mutter his way.

  “Have a good weekend,” he calls out to my back because I’m already halfway out the door. He’s never said that before. Never. And he’s sayin’ it now as if we’re suddenly friends because I’m attending his wedding.

  I bite back my automatic reply of, “Save it,” and try something new, though I don’t pause and say it to his face. I mumble it just moments before the front office door shuts behind me. “You too.”

  Lo and behold, I don’t combust into flames by saying something nice to my brother. The earth didn’t stop spinning. The sun didn’t fall from the sky. And a tsunami did not rise up over my head and wash me away. I also didn’t feel like a bitter piece of crap either.

  24

  Arcadia

  I drive the car inside Tony’s chop shop, and the door lowers behind me. My head is throbbing and I’m seeing two of everything. I have no idea how I made the boost, or I how I even got the ’67 Impala Fastback here. My body switched to autopilot, and I’m glad it did because it’s now one less car we have to worry about.

  Taking a shuddery breath, I open the door and step out, blinking once, twice. There are two Tony’s walking toward me when I was expecting one Murphy. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since our interaction over the initial list of cars so his appearance today does not bode well. He’s outfitted in a navy suit that looks more expensive than Echo’s Ford with a black dress shirt open at the collar. He might look like a respectable businessman, but some people are just beautifully wrapped boxes of shit.

  “Three cars to go,” I croak, the sound making my ears ring.

  Two steps out of the car, and he’s on me. If I were more alert, I would have been prepared. He seizes my bicep, his fingers digging in so hard I wonder how the bones don’t snap. “Tony!” I try pulling free, but I’m too weak. Dizziness crashes over me in waves. “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on,” he growls, frog-marching me to the back office and through the door. It opens up to another hallway with doors on either side and I’m pushed inside the one on my right, stumbling. The room is small, housing a desk with two chairs positioned at its front, or maybe it’s just one chair, my vision is so fuzzy I can’t be sure. He throws me into one of them like a rag doll, and I’m so relieved to be sitting down I almost don’t care how I got there. My eyes flutter closed, just for a moment. It feels good, like I want to keep them closed forever.

  “Ace. Wake up!” he barks.

  “In a minute,” I whisper, my throat feeling like I’ve swallowed a mouthful of broken glass.

  His open palm cracks against the side of my face. My eyes fly open and my head snaps backward,
pain exploding across my cheekbone. Biting back a moan, I hold my hand against the pained area, expecting nothing less than shattered bones. I’m surprised when everything feels intact. My eyes rise sluggishly, blinking at Tony. He’s coming at me again. I raise my arm to ward him off. “Stop. Please.”

  He actually stops, his hands fisting by his sides. “You’re a stupid bitch, Ace.”

  “What are you talking about?” I croak.

  “It’s one thing to fuck Kelly Daniels, but it’s a whole other to get him involved. I thought you were smarter than that. Not only do you now have the Sentinels on your ass, you have them on mine!”

  Oh Jesus Christ. “You’re the stupid bitch, Tony. Kelly is helping me, which in turn means he’s helping you.”

  Tony doesn’t like my retort, not if the veins popping in his neck are anything to go by. He takes another swing at me, and I can’t ward him off this time. His knuckles slam into my jaw and stars explode behind my eyelids. I try lifting my head but it lolls forward, my neck no longer strong enough to keep it upright. I blink, my lap slowly coming into focus. Drool and blood trail from my mouth, leaving a wet red swirl on the pale denim of my jeans.

  Tony drops to a crouch in front of me. Grabbing a fistful of hair from the top of my scalp, he yanks my head back until I can’t see anything but him.

  “He’s not helping you!” Tony yells. Bile rises as he gets in my face. “He’s using you to gain intel! The Sentinels plan to either muscle in on our deal or bring us down, and he’s using you to do it. You’re so mesmerised by his goddamn dick you can’t even see it. Open your eyes, slut.”

  He lets me go, shoving my head back as he rises.

  “Fuck you, Tony,” I whisper, and my jaw throbs with every word. If I wasn’t so uselessly delirious, I would go full Kill Bill on his ass by getting up off this chair and jamming that pen from his desk into his neck. “Kelly wouldn’t do that,” I say, but inside my mind races … because would he? For all my shit talk about the Sentinels in the past, what do I really know about them?

  “You cannot be that stupid,” Tony spits, running a hand through his hair. “Last year Kelly waged a goddamn war with the King Street Boys, and those who didn’t end up dead are now spending the rest of their days rotting in prison.”

  I blink. I didn’t know that. There’s so much about Kelly I don’t know, and my chest aches because I doubt I’ll ever get the chance to find out. “He won’t. We’re not together anymore, Tony.”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Ace. I’ll be watching you like a hawk from now on.”

  “We’re not.”

  He grasps the front of my shirt and yanks me to a standing position, my legs almost dangling from the ground, and he glares right in my eyes. My head whirls like I’ve been spun in circles before having to pin the tail on the donkey. If Tony didn’t have hold of me, I know my legs would give out beneath me and that grates. “If I ever see him on a boost with you again, Ace, he’s dead. Do you hear me?”

  My nostrils flare at his threat. Fucking sonofabitch.

  “Do you hear me?” he repeats, shouting so loud in my face that spittle hits me on the cheek and in the eye.

  “I hear you loud and clear,” I bite out.

  “Good.” He drags my face closer, if that’s even possible. “What do you see in him anyway?”

  “What I see is none of your business.”

  “Stubborn. Always stubborn,” he tuts. “Tell me. I really want to know.”

  “I see good.”

  Tony releases me, tipping his head back to laugh. It bursts out of him as though I’m the greatest comedy act on Earth. I grasp the edge of the desk before I tip over, holding on for dear life. “If Kelly Daniels is good, then that must make me Mother Teresa.”

  * * *

  Kelly

  The lights are off when I pull in the drive of Ace’s house. It’s late—I took care of a few errands after work and before I knew it, the sun was going down and traffic was a shit fest—but it’s not late enough for her to be asleep in bed, so she must be out because there’s no indication of movement inside the house.

  I heard Mason is staying at his grandfather’s house, so I make the decision to stay. After switching off the engine and tugging my helmet from my head, I slide from the bike and collect the Chinese takeout from my saddle bag, making my way up the porch steps.

  “I can’t even look at you.”

  Jesus. Her words reverberate in my head and I turn, starting to leave. Then I stop and turn back. Fuck it. She’ll have to just grow a ball sack and figure it out because I’m going in. Though this time I knock on the off chance she’s hiding behind the door, baseball bat at the ready. It hasn’t been a half bad day. I don’t want to end it by being clobbered for breaking inside her house.

  There’s no answer after three hard knocks, so I fiddle with the lock on the front door and let myself in, shutting and locking it behind me. I check her bedroom after setting my helmet on the floor by the door and the takeout on the kitchen counter. It’s empty, the bed unmade. Where are you, Ace?

  I know I could message, but I’m not sure if she’d reply, and being here without her knowledge gives me the element of surprise. I could message Echo, I suppose, but that’s at the risk of getting chewed out again, and I’m not in the mood for a female rant.

  Instead I open the fridge, my eyes roaming the shelves and finding four beers left of a six-pack. It’s Stone and Wood Pacific Ale, which is not cheap, and I know it’s not cheap because Fox buys it all the time. I don’t know which surprises me more: that Ace has expensive beer in her fridge or that she has Fox’s favourite beer in her fridge. He was only supposed to check on her, not sit on her couch, talking his flirty smack-talk while they drank his hipster alcohol.

  I grab all four beers out and carry them with me to the living area. Fuck him. The least he deserves is for me to drink every last one of them. I crack one open, flicking the cap to the coffee table. Taking a deep pull, I settle back into the couch with the remote and a carton of sweet and sour pork with special fried rice.

  Friday night football is on, and considering my least favourite team is playing—and losing by an embarrassing margin—it puts me in good spirits. It’s not until after I finish another beer after my dinner and the football ends, that I realise how late it’s getting. I make the call to message Echo.

  Me: Where’s Ace?

  Echo: Why? Where are you?

  Why do women always answer a question with another question?

  Me: I’m at Ace’s house and she’s not here.

  Echo: I’m at the disco picking her up.

  The what the fucking fuck?

  Me: The disco?

  Echo: Yeah. She went out dancing with the ladies ;)

  The penny drops and anger burns so hot and quick I almost lose focus. I press my thumb and forefinger to the bridge of my nose, knowing I’m going to lose my shit in a minute if I don’t rein it in. I reply, my finger stabbing every key so hard I keep making mistakes and having to hit delete.

  Me: You’re not supposed to go dancing without me, Fairy Floss. You get her ass home right this minute #orelse

  Yeah, I hashtagged, but sometimes when you issue a command, you have to word it in their language so it can’t be misinterpreted. At least, that’s how I choose to see it.

  Echo: Who’s stupid rule is that?

  I take a deep breath and pray for calm, then I set my phone aside, knowing better to engage any more than I already have. It takes another half hour of waiting, me with my head tipped back on the couch, staring at the ceiling rather than checking my watch every two minutes, before I hear a car pull in the drive.

  Rising to my feet, I walk to the front window and take a peek through the slatted blinds. A white Toyota Corolla sits out front. I’m not sure who it belongs to but I know Echo sometimes switches up her ride, not always using the Ford. The driver’s door opens, illuminating her pink hair.

  The blinds clank against the window as I draw away and walk to the fro
nt door. When I open it and step through, Echo is at the passenger door, wrestling with something.

  “A little help,” she gasps over her shoulder.

  I jog down the steps to the car. It’s not until I’m right behind her that I realise she’s wrestling with Ace. “What are you doin’?”

  She stumbles to the side when I push my way in. I pause when I get a good look at Ace, my stomach lurching with fear, its onset so swift and so strong it steals my breath.

  “Baby?” She’s unconscious, her body sagging backward after I shunted Echo sideways. I reach out, grappling for purchase before her head hits the gearshift. “No, no, no, no, no,” I rasp softly, almost too scared to touch her for fear of doing more damage. I manage to get one arm beneath her shoulders and slide her forward. My other arm slides underneath her knees. “What the hell happened?” I snap at Echo as I lift her from the car.

  Ace’s arm drops limp and her head falls back, hair trailing down as I carry her up the stairs. Her cheekbone is swollen and there’s blood on her face and clothes. I know the rational part of my mind has taken charge because I’m functioning, but the irrational part is banging its fists against the door I’ve trapped it behind, burning with rage and fear because seeing Ace like this is terrifying. It’s my mother all over again.

  “I don’t know,” Echo says, a little breathless as she jogs up behind me. “She delivered the car and was taking too long coming out. She wasn’t answering her phone so I got out and found her like this by the side entrance.”

  She opens the front door wide, and I pass through, turning sideways so I don’t bump Ace’s head or bang her feet. I carry her at a fast clip into her bedroom and lay her on the bed with care. Her head slumps sideways, and I brush hair from her face, the pads of my fingers skimming her forehead lightly. It’s hot and beaded with sweat, her face pale. “Ace? Baby, wake up.”

  Nothing.

  My stomach is in knots.

  “Babe.”

  Nothing. Jesus.

  “Did Tony do this?”