Constant

  The three of us watched as he wandered aimlessly around the room, watching the men unpacking boxes until they told him to scram. Then he’d walk over to another group and hover until they moved him along.

  It was obvious what he was doing—learning. The question was why.

  “Is it true he’s living with you?” I asked Gus.

  “Yeah, he didn’t have a home I guess, and Roman didn’t want him living on the streets anymore. Especially after tonight.”

  Fat Jack turned and raised a backhand to him and Sayer scurried off to a darkened corner of the warehouse. It was obvious Sayer was pushing his luck with these guys, but didn’t realize it. They’d been happy to pat him on the head earlier, but now he was in their way and they were trying to work.

  “He’s going to get the shit beat out of him,” I mumbled.

  “Nah,” Gus argued. “He’s one of them now. Roman made it official after the shipment was secured.”

  My heart jumped to my throat. “What do you mean?”

  “Caro, he’s a Six. They made him earlier today.”

  I couldn’t hear my question over the rushing of my blood. “Why?”

  Gus jutted his chin toward the crates of guns and guns and more guns. “Why do you think? Either he’s shestyorka or he’s dead. They did him a kindness.”

  I scrambled to my feet before I could talk myself out of it and hurried along the walls of the warehouse, careful to stay out of the way. I found him hovering in darkness, watching the operation like he was going to be given a test on it tomorrow. His arms were crossed over his chest, his head tilted forward, his eyes hungry for every terrible and illegal thing before him.

  He didn’t even acknowledge me when I prowled over to him. I slapped his shoulder finally getting his attention. “I want to see it.”

  When he still didn’t reply, I slapped his arm again. “I want to see it, Sayer. Show it to me.”

  “Show you what?” he growled, finally granting me a quick, annoyed glance.

  “Gus said they made you. I want to see proof.”

  He rubbed his hand over his mouth and continued to stare at the men. His brothers. His thieves in law.

  “Show it to me,” I demanded. And then I broke. I felt awful and guilty and to blame. I hadn’t meant this. I hadn’t meant for him to become this. I had just wanted… I just hadn’t wanted him to die. “Please, Sayer.”

  He finally turned to me. His eyes hard and tough and ready for the life ahead of him—as if he had any idea what he’d just gotten himself into.

  “You have to earn it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He held my gaze. He was serious. “I’ll show it to you, but you have to earn it first.”

  I rolled my eyes and stepped back. “You’re gross.”

  He followed after me, grabbing my wrist before I could flee. “Wait, no. God… no. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean… I mean, come on how old are you? Eight?”

  “You’re truly an asshole.”

  His lips twitched. “Fine, I know you’re ten. Still, I’m not asking you to make out with me or anything.”

  I canted my head, expecting something so much grosser than kissing. I was only ten, yeah, but I’d grown up around dirty old men and the women willing to sleep with them. I wasn’t exactly naïve when it came to sex. It made me think that maybe Sayer was though if the worst thing he could think of was making out.

  “How old are you?”

  His chin lifted defiantly. “Thirteen.”

  I kept my snide comment about him being a real man to myself. I was too irritated with him and this situation and myself to trust the words I wanted to say. “And now you’re theirs. For life.”

  An irritated look flashed over his face before he wiped it away and gentled his hold on my wrist. “Do something for me and I’ll let you see what you want to see.”

  “I don’t need to see it. You just confirmed that it’s there. That’s all I wanted.”

  His lips broke into a wide smile. “Damn, you’re good. I didn’t even see that coming.”

  I shrugged one shoulder. “You’re not going to make it very long if I can trip you up, Wesley. Better figure your crap out fast.”

  He was irritated again, but he hid it well. He leaned forward, those blue eyes glowing in the dingy warehouse lighting. “I know you want to see it. You’re practically vibrating with curiosity. It’s one tiny favor. Not even a big deal to someone like you.” He rocked back on his heels. “If you can back up your reputation.”

  I snorted. “What reputation?”

  “Best pickpocket on the East Coast. That’s what Gus says, but he’s probably lying.”

  “Gus doesn’t lie,” I confirmed. If he’d spent any time with Gus he would know that. It was like Gus was totally incapable of saying something untrue. That’s why he had to keep going on jobs with me. Trial by fire. His dad wanted him to figure it out or pay the consequences.

  I suspected Gus preferred the consequences, which was why he continued to tell the truth.

  Juvie would be a vacation compared to that house.

  “What’s the job?” I was disappointed with myself for jumping at Sayer’s challenge. But I couldn’t help it. Plus, I didn’t want Gus to be wrong. Okay, maybe I wasn’t the best pickpocket on the East Coast. It was a big coast after all. But I could hold my own.

  He smiled again and it was alarming. I felt the air rush out of my lungs and my tongue dry out. This kid had a secret weapon and all he had to do was smile.

  “Atticus has something of mine,” he explained. “I want it back.”

  His words were a bucket of ice water on my head. He had to be out of his freaking mind. “No way. Are you crazy? Because Atticus is. He’ll murder me if I take something from him.”

  “Then don’t get caught.”

  I snarled something my dad would have said. “If it’s yours, why don’t you just ask Atticus for it? I’m sure he’ll realize the mistake and hand it over.”

  “I’m sure you’re out of your damn mind. He didn’t accidentally pick it up. He took it off my body and put it on his. He said if I tried to get it back he would murder me. I’m inclined to believe him.”

  My lips pressed into a frown in an attempt to hold back my information. I couldn’t do it though. Whatever it was about this kid, he got all my secrets out of me. “He can’t kill you. Your one of his brothers now. He’s sworn to protect you and you him.”

  “Okay, fine, maybe not kill me, but beat me until like right before I die. He’s a psycho.”

  That was true. Atticus was a psycho. “What is this thing?”

  “A necklace,” he said. “Well, a chain. With a key hanging on it.”

  “Aw, that’s sweet. You know, when I first walked over here, I thought you were missing something. Turns out it was jewelry. Aren’t you pretty?”

  “Shut up. It’s not like that. It’s just… it’s like this… it’s the last thing I have of my parents. They’re dead and all I have is that key.” He wiped a hand over his face and I suddenly felt very bad. Again. “I just want it back, okay?”

  “Fine,” I huffed. “Fine, I’ll get it. But I want the record to show that if I manage to pull this off, we’re even. And I don’t just mean because you’re going to show me the tattoo, but like for everything. For me getting you into this whole stupid mess. We’re even, okay?”

  “Uh, okay? I… I mean, I never thought you owed me for that. You saved my life.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “No, I did the opposite.”

  Before he could argue with me, I spun around and headed into the crowd. I realized I forgot to ask Sayer where Atticus had put this key on a chain, which was a stupid mistake. But I couldn’t turn around now.

  I ducked behind boxes and blended into the walls until I was closer to Atticus. He was standing with some of his boyeviks—his soldiers. They were talking in low tones with the occasional low rumble of laughter between them.

  As I appr
oached I realized they were talking about a girl. A young girl and what a beauty she was going to be when she got older.

  Oh God, I hoped it wasn’t me.

  I didn’t want to be on any of these guys’ radars. “She’s already too good for us, yeah? A real fucking princess. Just imagine her in another six or seven years,” Atticus snarled. I breathed a sigh of relief. They were talking about Frankie.

  Loyalty to my friend overrode my temporary relief and I had the strongest urge to knee him in the balls. And then knee all of them in the balls.

  No, better yet I would turn them in to Roman, let the boss know they were talking about his niece. He would murder them all for me.

  But first I had to get this chain.

  Three seconds before I opened my mouth I had the awareness to get really freaking nervous, but I couldn’t let the panic stop me. I pushed it down, way, way down and launched into the con.

  “Hey, Atticus?” I continued to approach the table they were standing at, although I was cautious. He lifted his head, barely acknowledging me. Some of the guys around him backed up so I could approach him, but nobody really looked at me. Deciding I couldn’t wait for an invitation, I launched the first layer. “Gus is wondering if we can go back to your house and wait this out there?”

  Atticus lifted his head, furious and annoyed. “How the fuck should I know? Go ask Ozzie, little girl.”

  “He’s with the pakhan,” I said quickly, meaning the bosses. “I can’t disturb him.”

  “Yeah, well you can’t disturb me either. That’s a rule now.” A couple of his friends laughed at his assholery, but most of them continued to pretend I didn’t exist.

  I set my hand on the table, implementing stage two, and leaned on it, knocking off several rounds of ammunition to the floor. While Atticus threw his hands up in the air and started cursing me, I scanned his body for signs of the chain.

  When he started to bend over to pick up my mess, I caught sight of it poking out the back of his t-shirt. With zero time to waste, I bent over too. “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry. Let me get those.” Thrusting my head forward, I managed to clip the side of his head, our temples colliding.

  “Son of a bitch,” he growled at the sharp pain.

  “Ow!” I hissed, bringing my hand to my face—but not before my fingers brushed the back of his neck as he hunched over, unclasping the chain. If it had been a more complicated locking mechanism, I wouldn’t have pulled it off, but luckily it was just a simple insert. I cupped my hand over my head and winced. “I’m so sorry, Atticus. It was an accident.”

  He stood up and the necklace slipped through his T-shirt and landed on the floor. I slid my foot over it before he noticed. Sure, my stance was a little wider than what was comfortable, but the key was to act cool.

  “I don’t care that it was an accident,” he barked. “You’re in the way, Caro. And now you’re pissing me off. Just go wait over there with the other kids and leave me the hell alone.”

  “Are you sur—”

  “Seriously. Go away before I hit you.”

  Well, on that note… The sad thing was that I actually believed him. He didn’t care that I was a girl or a child compared to him. He would lay me out. No doubt.

  “Just let me help—” I bent over again to pick up the rolling shells and managed to discreetly pick up the chain. Sure enough, there was a key at the end of it. Closing my fist around it, I stood up and slipped it into my pocket unseen.

  Thankfully, Atticus had had enough. “Just go, already. You’re not helping.”

  I took three quick steps back. “Well… okay… but only if you’re sure.”

  He stilled and met my gaze. Nothing but black, black anger glared back at me. “Caro, for fuck’s sake.”

  Holding up my hands in surrender, I turned toward Gus and Frankie. Going to Sayer would be way too suspicious. But I had his necklace now and he had the tattoo I was anxious to see. When the men got busy later, we would exchange goods. For now, the necklace burned a hole in my pocket and I waited on pins and needles for Atticus to figure out what I’d taken.

  I had only made it halfway across the floor when Atticus bellowed my name. “Caro! Are you fucking kidding me?”

  The entire warehouse ground to a stop, weapons and boxes paused in every direction. My steps faltered and I turned bright red from the unwanted attention.

  “Caro!” Atticus growled. “You goddamn little thief.”

  “What’s the problem?” Rocco snarled from his post by Roman.

  “She stole from me,” Atticus hollered. I could feel his livid gaze burning a hole in my back. I could feel it searing into me, ripping me apart inside his head. “She fucking pickpocketed me.”

  I expected judgment. Punishment. I had stolen something from one of the brothers. And who was I? Nobody. The sometimes useful child of their sometimes useful bookie. They were going to freaking kill me. Or at least cut off my hand— the thief’s reprimand.

  But instead of cries for blood, the brothers started laughing. Slowly at first, just snickers or snorts of surprise. Then full on laughter. It cut through the tension in the room, making the air breathable again.

  Except for me.

  They were laughing at me. And it wasn’t like I was super sensitive or anything. I could handle being poked fun at.

  But this was an army of killers handling stolen guns. It was strange. And I was super uncomfortable.

  The presence of the necklace, more than ever, burned in my pocket, practically lighting my pants on fire. Which would be fitting for the liar I was.

  One of the guys by Atticus pushed his shoulder. “Aw, shit, man, the little girl stole from you.”

  More laughter.

  “Bested by a baby!” someone else shouted from across the room.

  More laughter.

  “Enough!” Roman stepped forward, his accented voice slicing through the warehouse, ending the chaos and the good mood. “Get to work unless you’d rather the Irish have their guns back. Your throats’ll be slit by morning and you’ll have copper pennies where your eyes should be, but at least you’ve had a good laugh, da?”

  The room was silent again as faces turned to stone once more and the unpacking began again. I didn’t know what to do. Did that mean I was okay? Or that Roman was three seconds away from giving Atticus permission to murder me?

  “Atticus, bring the child here so that my men can focus.”

  I caught Frankie’s eye from across the room. Her face had turned white as a ghost. Her eyes bugged and her mouth had dropped open. No part of her expression gave me courage.

  If I needed confirmation that I was about to be executed, it was written all over Frankie’s stupid face.

  Ugh.

  Atticus grabbed the back of my neck and jerked me toward him. My squeak of surprise quickly turned to a wince of pain as he shoved me toward the pakhan.

  He pressed his face against the back of my bowed head. “Now you’ve done it, bitch.”

  I focused on my feet. And not tripping. Not on my inability to breathe or think or run away.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad moving toward his bosses, his hands twisting the hat in his hands until it was bent out of shape. It would seem he had as much faith in me surviving this as Frankie did.

  Holy cow. What had I done?

  Chapter Six

  Fifteen Years Ago

  The three brothers were speaking in low tones to Ozzie and the two men that were called the two spies—they were the second in command of the organization. Ruthless. Brutal. Terrifying. And also brothers. Twins actually. Rocco and his identical brother, Boris. The six men towered over me, all dominating strength and choking power.

  I had never been this close to any of the brothers before, or the two spies. I wasn’t even sure if any of Frankie’s uncles realized I was her only friend. Or that I was the daughter of their recently promoted bookie. Occasionally, my father and Ozzie would work together, but I was still terrified of the man.

 
And equally as terrified of his son that was currently squeezing my neck so tightly I knew he was going to leave a bruise. He pushed me toward the pakhan and I stumbled over my feet before I righted myself.

  “This girl stole from you?” Boris demanded of Atticus.

  “She’s a nuisance,” Atticus growled. “I was focused on working. She was in the way. I wasn’t paying attention like I should have been.”

  “And that’s her fault?” Dymetrus asked in a low, menacing voice.

  Atticus’s expression flattened. “She’s a pickpocket. She steals for her dad. She’s good at what she does.” All of his accusations were true. None of them felt like a compliment.

  They were crimes to be punished.

  Sins to be judged.

  “Your father is the bookie?” Aleksander asked, his eyes on my dad who stood a few yards away, not speaking.

  Not defending me.

  My chest squeezed, but I managed to answer. “Y-yes. Leon Valero.”

  Roman’s eyes narrowed. “And you are?”

  “Caro Valero.”

  The three brothers shared a meaningful look I couldn’t hope to decipher. “You helped recently with a shipment of TVs?” Rocco asked.

  I nodded. “And the shipping container two months ago.” I closed my eyes and willed my nerves to get out of the way of my memory. “And the, the… the thing at the bank.”

  “How old are you?” Roman demanded.

  My heart dropped to my stomach and started swimming around, doing laps, permanently refusing to go back where it belonged. “T-ten.”

  Roman nudged his chin at Atticus. “He’s right that you’re good at what you do, da?”

  I shrugged. His question felt like a trap.

  Roman didn’t need a better answer than that. “What did you steal from him?”

  My hands trembled from fear and I started to sweat. I couldn’t show him. I certainly couldn’t tell him—and not only because I was nervous. This was going to end so badly for me.

  “Show him, Caro,” my dad demanded from the distance.

  The six men towering over me, glared at my father for speaking without permission. Now I was terrified for his sake.