Chapter 11 Victor #2
“Yeah, got back like an hour ago,” Malice says.
In the back of my mind, I think to myself that I know exactly what she’s been up to since she got home, but I keep my face impassive, not saying anything.
Malice shakes his head, a grimace twisting his lips. “She’s becoming too much of a fucking distraction,” he grumbles. “She’s taking up too much of our goddamned time. We have shit to do, and the more time we waste on her, the less time we have for the important shit.”
“Important shit like what?” Ransom asks, folding his arms. “Fucking random girls and then throwing them out?”
There’s no heat in it, and Malice won’t take offense to that comment anyway. Everyone knows he doesn’t care about those women, and we don’t care that he brings them here. He needs to work out that energy somehow, and he’s found a system that works for him.
“No, important shit like trying to secure a deal with the Donovan gang,” Malice grunts.
“That should take priority. We’re one of the best chop shops in this part of Detroit, and it’s time for us to level up our game to match our skills.
Wasting hours checking up on this girl takes time away from our business, and we wouldn’t have to do it if we’d dealt with her already. ”
Something about his last words makes me uncomfortable, and I shift in place, frowning at an engine block on the work bench close to me. It’s not because Malice is talking openly about murdering someone, but more because we’ve had this conversation at least five times in the last two weeks.
We talk about killing Willow often, but we haven’t done it.
We haven’t done anything, other than watch her.
The question of why we haven’t haunts me—because it’s not logical. Not at all. It’s not the careful, controlled choice. It doesn’t make sense that we’ve left her alive and now have to spend time monitoring her to make sure she’s not going to fuck us over.
And I don’t trust things that don’t make sense.
Shaking off that thought, I refocus on the reason I came down here, turning to Malice to repeat what I just told Ransom.
“We have a job from X.”
“Fuck.” He curses with feeling, dragging both hands over his hair and shoving it back from his forehead. “Goddammit. Speaking of distractions we don’t fucking need.”
Ransom sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair too and leaving a dark streak of oil behind from where he missed some when he wiped his fingers. “So what’s the job?”
“We need to steal some files and destroy a warehouse in Philadelphia,” I explain to them both. “We should head up there in the next day or two to get it done.”
“Fucking hell.” Ransom makes a face. “He wants us to go all the way to Philly? That’s gonna add at least a day on either end of however much time it takes us to do the job.”
“It’s not ideal,” I agree. “But it’s also not like we have a choice.”
“I know,” he replies, sighing. “It’s just…”
Malice lets out a breath too, and I can see the echoes of Ransom’s frustrations on his face. None of us are thrilled at having to jump whenever X sends us a job. It makes Ransom cranky and sends Malice into a stalking rage when it cuts into something we were already doing.
But they’re both as resigned to it as I am, because I’m right. We don’t have another option.
“How many jobs is it worth, do you think?” Ransom asks, glancing over at Malice. “The favor X did for you?”
Malice growls under his breath. “I dunno. It’s been years already. If I’d known it was going to be this big of a pain in the dick, I’d have just stayed in jail.”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” I tell him. “We wouldn’t have let you make that choice. It’s better that you’re out here with us, no matter how long it takes us to repay the debt.”
He glares at me, and I just stare back at him.
Whatever twin connection we have, I know it allows him to read my expression even when other people might not be able to, so I know he can tell how deeply I mean those words.
After a moment, the harsh lines of his face relax a little, and he swallows and nods.
“It’s still fucking bullshit,” he mutters bitterly.
“Yeah, it is,” I agree. “We’ve paid him back at least two-fold by now, but…”
I trail off with a shrug. It’s been four years since X got Malice out of jail, and just under four years since we did our first job for him.
He’s only ever communicated with us via encrypted messages that I’ve never been able to trace, and we all hope that one day he’ll consider our debt repaid and stop contacting us, but it hasn’t happened yet.
X has the power to send Malice back to prison if he wants to. He’s the one who pulled strings behind the scenes to get our brother out of what should’ve been a thirty-year sentence decades early, and he could take it all back if he decides we aren’t doing what he wants well enough.
He holds all the cards, so we do whatever he asks.
Whether we want to or not.
“Anyway,” Ransom says, getting us back on track. “Philly?”
“Yes,” I tell him. “I have a location, and I can get the exact coordinates for us.”
“We’ll have to drive up there, since flying leaves too much of a paper trail—plus, we’ll probably need to bring equipment.
So that’s two days, there and back.” Ransom holds up one hand, ticking things off on his fingers.
“Prep for the job, carrying it all out… that’s another couple of days.
” He glances sidelong at Malice. “We’ll have to leave Willow alone while we do the job. ”
“I fucking know how it works, Ransom,” Malice snaps. “It’s not like we can drag her up there with us.”
“Do we trust her enough to do that?” I ask. “To leave her without us watching her for a few days?”
“What’s the alternative?” Malice asks, shaking his head in frustration.
“We still have the cameras, at least,” Ransom points out, always the one to try to look on the bright side. “Vic can watch her from the road whenever he has time. It won’t be the same as when we’re here, but he can at least keep tabs on things a bit.”
“Yeah.” Malice purses his lips, staring at the car parts on the floor, although I get the sense that he’s not really seeing them. “I guess that will have to be enough.”