Chapter 10
RANSOM
“Last one!” I call out, throwing a rock through the window of the storage unit and reaching through to open the door from the other side.
“You don’t need to yell, Ransom,” Vic says, moving past me into the unit.
It’s neat and organized, but that’s not going to last long.
This latest job for X is pretty simple, at least compared to some of the other ones we’ve had to do. There’s no tailing anyone, and probably not much room for anyone else to get hurt, which is a fucking relief.
The bitch wants something from a storage unit in this block, so we’re dividing and conquering. Vic and I trash other units, to make it look like a random break-in rather than a targeted thing, and Malice goes to get whatever the fuck it is X wants. I don’t know, and I didn’t ask.
I just want to be done with this so we can get the fuck out of here.
Vic and I move through the small unit, smashing things, denting boxes, rummaging around to make it look like someone broke in to do a smash and grab.
It’s the same thing we did in a few other units nearby, picking them at random, though I could tell it bothered Vic to not have some kind of order to it.
Usually, I would tease him about that, but I’m not in the mood.
“Think that’s good enough?” I ask him, glancing around at the mess we’ve made.
“I think so,” he replies. He kicks another box for good measure. “Let’s meet Malice.”
We’ve all got ski masks on, even though Vic disabled the surveillance before we got here.
But if someone shows up to investigate, they won’t be able to tell who we are.
The last thing we need is to be recognized by some bystander who happens to be passing by and get busted for what should be an easy job.
“We’re done!” Vic calls.
“Hold your fucking horses!” Malice shouts back.
Vic rolls his eyes, which is a funny expression in the ski mask, and we start to head out, smashing another couple of windows as we go.
We make it back out to the street, and we can hear the sound of sirens in the distance as we leave.
“Not close yet,” Vic murmurs. “We have time.”
Malice’s shoulders relax. “Someone must have heard all the smashing and called the cops.”
“Nothing for them to find, at least.”
We covered our tracks well. The cops will get there, and it’ll be deemed a random act of vandalism. If they have insurance on their shit, then it’ll be fine.
We jog down the street to our car and get in, peeling out.
Vic is in the driver’s seat, the way he prefers to be, driving careful and precise, even at breakneck speeds. Malice has shotgun, and I’m in the back, as usual. Little brother seat.
“That went smoothly,” Vic says, signaling before merging into a new lane.
“Yeah,” Malice agrees. “Almost too smoothly, but it was a fucking smash and grab. Either the bitch is insulting us or she just wants to keep us busy.”
“I’d bank on the latter. It doesn’t really matter what she throws at us anymore.”
Malice grunts, and I fold my arms, ticked off. Once upon a time, these jobs for X were just an inconvenience, but it was a price worth paying to keep Malice out of jail. X popped up every month or couple of months, made us do something annoying, and we got her off our backs until the next time.
But now we’re helping the woman who’s essentially holding Willow captive, forcing her to do whatever she wants.
It makes each job that much harder.
“It fucking sucks,” Malice grumbles. “I don’t know who that bitch thinks she is. She’s just going to keep using us for her own fucking kicks. Just because she can. Just because she’s the goddamned worst.”
He slams his hand down on the center console, and Vic shoots him a sharp look.
“Stop it,” he says.
“Fuck off, Vic. Don’t tell me you’re not pissed about this shit too.”
“I am, of course I am. But don’t take it out on my fucking car.”
It’s not new for Malice to be pissed off, but it kind of surprises me how angry I am about it all. Usually I’m able to let this kind of shit go, letting it roll off my back because we didn’t have a choice. We still don’t, but it’s so much worse now.
I curl my hands into fists, and I want to hit something. Someone. I don’t know. There’s all this energy under my skin, violent and turbulent, and it needs to go somewhere. My leg bounces up and down, and I glare out the window as the streetlights and trees whip by.
I fucking hate this, and I hate how Willow is caught up in the middle of it all. Trapped in this fucking shit show because she’s trying to protect us.
It’s not right, and she doesn’t deserve it.
Not for a fucking second. The worst part is there’s no clear way out right now.
We have a plan, but who knows how long that’s going to take to work?
We have to just deal with this shit for now, and keep doing X—Olivia’s bidding—like good little boys until Willow gets the information she needs.
And we don’t have that much time anyway.
We get back to our place, piling out of the car.
“I’ll go do the drop,” Malice says. “Get this shit over with.”
Vic nods. “Check in when you get back. I’ll be upstairs.”
They split off, Malice going to his car and Vic heading to his room, and I stand there for a second, not sure what to do. I’ve got all this anger in me, and it feels like there are wasps under my skin, buzzing around, demanding attention.
I need to do something to distract me from how fucking agitated I feel, so I stalk into the garage, grabbing tools and starting to work on my bike.
Usually that centers me, or at least distracts me from feeling bad, but this time it’s not enough. I tighten a bolt here, adjust something there, but all I can focus on is the angry pulse of my heart, the sound filling my head.
I keep thinking about Willow and how scared and lost she looked when Olivia was detailing everything to her at the funeral. How she shook and cried in Malice’s arms when she got back to her place later.
She’s trying to be strong about this, but I know she’s still scared. I know she feels trapped.
I can’t get my mind off it, and the deep breathing exercises that Vic showed me once don’t seem to be doing anything at all to help.
“Fuck this. Fuck it!” The words explode out of me as the irritation boils over, and I throw my wrench across the room, where it lands with a sharp clang on the concrete.
This is a waste of time. There’s only one thing that will soothe me, I know that, and there’s no use pretending otherwise.
I get on the bike and rev it up, peeling out of the garage and heading toward Willow’s place without even really thinking about it too much.
When I get to her building, I park at a distance.
I’m sure her guard is still hanging around, and I don’t want him to see me, so I walk around to the back side of the building.
Some guy has the door propped open while he takes a smoke break, and I nod to him and then slip inside like I’m supposed to be there, taking the stairs up to Willow’s floor.
Something rises in me as I make my way down the corridor toward her unit.
Something protective, possessive, and almost beast-like.
Primal. It sits solidly in my chest, urging me to claim Willow.
To take her and mark her, leaving something on her to make sure she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she’s mine.
Ours.
We may share with each other, but no one else. And definitely not some skeezy rich boy with her shitty grandma’s approval.
That feeling pulses through me with every second, and I stride up to Willow’s door, knocking heavily when I reach it. If she doesn’t answer, I’m already planning on breaking in through the window like we did last time, but Willow comes to the door a second later, looking exhausted and wary.
Her eyes widen when she catches sight of me, and she opens her mouth.
“Ran—”
That’s all she gets out before I haul her into my arms, kissing her hard and fast.