53. Clara
Chapter 53
Clara
I sprint straight toward the motorcycles at the front of the museum, Trips on my heels.
Walker’s voice cuts through the earbuds. “Security found the other team. I think it’ll buy you time, but the guards are seriously out-muscled.”
“Thanks, Walker.”
“Don’t thank me yet. This is going to be a damn elementary school collage at best, princess.”
I laugh, the only member of the other team left guarding the bikes turning toward my giddiness. “Hey. I’m going to fuck up your bikes.”
Pulling off his helmet, a round-faced man tosses it aside and moves toward me.
I skirt away from the pending tussle and let Trips through, his fist crashing into the biker’s face with a crack of what is probably a broken nose. At least. But I can’t think about that .
Fake it till you make it, Clara. Bravado. You’re a badass bitch. All these fuckers have decided you are, so you might as well live up to expectations. Exceeding expectations is a Clara McElroy special.
“He’s going to fuck up your face,” I clarify as grunts and awful wet sounds fill the night air.
I dash to the first bike, unscrewing the gas tank, carefully pouring half the Mountain Dew into it.
God. Learning about my dad’s past has clarified a bunch of weird stuff he taught me when I was learning to drive.
Like how to do controlled high-speed donuts in all pavement conditions. Or how to judge whether a car can successfully jump a curb and drive through the woods—also at high speeds.
And this one: all the ways to ruin an engine. Sugar, water, brake fluid, bleach, and hydrogen peroxide.
Last I checked, Mountain Dew is made almost entirely of water and sugar.
I hope to God this works.
Rushing to the other bikes, I repeat the process, emptying the two bottles into the motorcycles.
I hope that was enough. It was all I could carry.
Turning back to Trips, he’s looming over an unconscious blob that’s still mostly man-shaped.
“Hey! You’re still here! Like, mentally!” I babble, my adrenaline making me officially batshit crazy.
Trips glares at the guy. “He’s lucky he didn’t touch you.”
“Can you hide him behind the lion in the box hedge?”
Trips rolls his eyes but scoops up the guy and makes it happen .
I focus on the next step. I can’t let my crazy get away from me. There’s still more. So much more. “RJ, are you back?”
I hear a bang, Walker’s half-aware “thanks,” then RJ comes in clear. “I’m here. What do you need?”
Trips finishes, so I grab his hand and drag him farther down the street. “I need an ETA on the cops and the crooks.”
“Crooks should be out with the Rubens here in less than a minute. The cops will be there in…nine minutes, give or take. With the weather, probably longer.”
“Okay. Once the crooks are out, I need you to tell me which way they go. Trips and I will get the Rubens back.”
Trips tugs me into the park next to the museum. “How the hell are we going to catch up with three Ducatis?”
“I took care of it.” I hold up the two empty Mountain Dew bottles before tossing them into a public garbage can.
RJ’s groan fills my ear. “What did you do, Clara? Those bikes are innocent in this.”
I giggle. “Do you think Mountain Dew in the gas tank causes permanent damage?”
Jansen huffs the quietest laugh. “You are brutal, beautiful.”
Trips shakes his head. “Definitely brutal.”
We wait in the half dark, snow falling hard, our breath clouds. I want to say something to Trips, but I’m not sure what you say to the leader of a band of thieves who, against his better judgment, has just offloaded fixing a fucked-up job to a complete newbie who is dating everyone on his team, except him—well, mostly not him. I open my mouth, knowing stress-induced word vomit is going to pour out, but RJ saves me .
“They headed north. Wait, no, they’re going west across Michigan toward downtown.” I take Trips’ hand and start running that way, but he lets go, both arms pumping as he tries to keep up with me. RJ continues to narrate what he’s seeing. “You fucked their bikes completely, sugar. And they look spooked. Two of them have obvious injuries from the fight with the guards. Ah. I just saw you. They’re one block north. Another block and you can probably cut them off.”
“Perfect, RJ. Jansen, I need you to hang the forgery. RJ—find him a way in.”
“On it.”
I dash across the next street, ignoring the traffic lights, cars honking, but I don’t look back. I can hear Trips’ pants behind me. “Let me go ahead. Don’t follow until I say your name, Trips. Three on one aren’t good odds. Surprise, Trips. Let me give you the element of surprise.”
“If anyone touches you, Clara—” he growls, and my insides turn to jelly. But it’s not jelly time. It’s catching the bad guys time.
With the help of my very own bad guys, of course.