Run, Little Thief (Deadly Shorts #1)

Chapter 1

Who would’ve thought stealing from the Mafia would be so easy?

At least, it was easy enough for me to get into the building unseen, avoid the patrolling guards, and find the right office.

I suppose it’s useful my middleman is a hacker who can crack passwords and bypass security systems in seconds.

Thanks, Trace. It looks like this will be one swift mission and I’ll be back home with my cat and a glass of champagne in no time.

From behind the massive desk, I watch the bar onscreen getting bigger as data transfers onto my flash drive. Data an anonymous buyer is paying a lot of money to get their hands on.

“Almost there,” I murmur to myself. “Just a couple more seconds . . .” My gaze wanders across the room, barely lit by the screen.

On the surface, this place looks like any normal office in a London skyscraper: desk, chair, shelves, and filing cabinets.

Simple, yet efficient. But unlike other offices, this one is heavily guarded, with guys patrolling the perimeter every couple of minutes, and an alarm system to die for.

If I had more time, I’d love to analyze it properly, but this job needs to be completed fast. If the guards catch me, they won’t just call the police and turn me in.

This place belongs to the Argentinian Mafia, Los Castillos, and they’d kill me in the most brutal way.

For a second, fear coils in my stomach despite the adrenaline rushing to my veins.

I love my work. I really do. Stealing from the rich and the crappy—or, to be honest, from anyone, if the price is right—is a special talent of mine.

It doesn’t matter if it’s data, art, jewelry, cars, or anything else.

I love danger. But that doesn’t mean I want to die with cement shoes classic Mafia-style, or whatever the hell their choice of murder is nowadays.

“Come on . . .” I tap my fingers on the hardwood desk, my polished midnight-blue nails making the slightest sound. My skin tingles with excitement, and my leg won’t stop bouncing.

Until now, everything’s worked out perfectly. Almost too perfectly. But as I damn well know, luck is a fickle bitch. It can turn on you when you least expect it.

I watch the bar onscreen with bated breath, counting down the seconds in my head.

The building remains completely silent.

Transfer complete.

The blink of the message sends a new rush of anticipation through my body. I cover my digital tracks, just like my hacker friend taught me, then I get up.

And all hell breaks loose.

An ear-splitting alarm rings through the building. One second later, blinding lights flood the room.

I’m busted.

“Fuck!” I rip the flash drive out and shove it into my small bag. Then I pull the balaclava on over my face and my hair.

I dash to the door, opening it just a crack and looking around carefully. No guards—at least not yet. They’ll be swarming this place any minute now, and I need to get the fuck out of here before then.

The siren’s deafening as I slip out into the hallway. All of London must be awake by now.

I should’ve known the mission was going too smoothly. It was too good to be true—had been ever since I was promised such a huge payment for getting the files.

My heart pounds in my chest as if it wants to flee the scene, but I can’t rush now. If I lose my head, it’ll all be for nothing.

I sneak down the hallway, ready to jump into a corner and hide or run back the same way I came at any minute.

When I hear footsteps approaching, though, I take a sharp left and follow the next corridor down.

Lucky for me, I know this building inside out after studying it for weeks.

Trace got annoyed with me for taking such a long time with all my preparations, but right now?

I’m fucking thankful past Riven was so paranoid and meticulous.

When the lift appears in front of me, I breathe a sigh of relief. Almost done. I just need to reach the stairs, then I can get the hell out of here.

But as I turn the corner, my feet come to a screeching halt.

A man is standing at the end of the corridor like he’s expecting me. Tall, with broad shoulders, dark hair, and dressed all in black, just like me. A skull mask covers his face, but it looks so real from this distance, as if Death himself is making an appearance.

Oh shit. Shit.

I stumble back a couple of steps. I know exactly who this guy is. They call him La Guadana. Grim Reaper. One of the Mafia’s most lethal enforcers who leaves no victims or witnesses behind.

And he has set his sights on me.

Fuck.

My instinct is to run back the same way I came and lose him to the maze of hallways, but the sudden ding of the elevator behind me stops me dead in my tracks.

Any second now, more guards will arrive on this floor, and I’ll be outnumbered.

They have an army; I’m just one little thief.

One reckless little thief stealing from one of the most famously dangerous syndicates in the whole damn world.

Because I have a death wish, apparently.

Think, Riven! Think!

My mind races, trying to find a way out of this mess, but there’s only one solution I can come up with—even if it’s suicidal.

Instead of running away, I walk straight up to the deadliest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. His face shows no reaction, covered by his mask, but he tilts his head slightly as if my boldness surprises him. Or my stupidity.

I’m not a fighter, nor a soldier, nor a hit woman. I’m just a thief, great at hiding and sneaking around, but not so great at hand-to-hand combat. This man will tear me limb from limb if I can’t distract or outsmart him somehow.

So that’s my plan.

What’s the worst that could happen? I get caught by the Mafia? Murdered? Raped? Imprisoned? Tortured? Waterboarded? I have my fingers cut off or my eyeballs gouged out?

Yeah, so not helping.

The elevator doors slide open. The Grim Reaper doesn’t move; he’s still eyeing me like I’m his next victim.

When I try to get past him, he lunges forward to grab me. I sidestep him, pressing myself against the wall beside a door for a second before pushing off from it. But just as I start to run, he grabs me from behind and shoves me to the floor.

Panic and survival instincts kick in. I roll aside before he can jump on me. If I’m lying on the ground and he’s above me, it’s game over. Using our height difference, I kick the side of his knee hard enough to make him stumble, then I get back up as quickly as possible.

And I run.

He mutters a curse, his deep voice following me down the hallway.

I barely hear his footsteps, barely acknowledge his presence. One moment he’s way behind me, and the next he’s grabbing me and pushing me against the wall so brutally a sharp pain explodes in my back, an involuntary cry leaving my mouth.

Bloody hell! That hurt!

Before I can do anything, or even try to fight him off, he rips off my balaclava, uncovering my face. My long brown hair with the blue tips falls to my shoulders, and I stare at him in shock.

His eyes, as black as death, widen behind the skull mask. “You’re a woman.” His voice is gravelly, like leather and whiskey, and it sends an involuntary rush of heat down my spine.

For a second or two, neither of us knows how to react or what to do next. He’s still pinning me against the wall, but he seems indecisive. Or maybe he’s just stunned I’m not some common thug. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this—it wasn’t me.

I smile. “And you’re in my way.”

Using his surprise as an opening, I punch him in the side with all the strength I can muster. It’s a trigger point, and it stuns him briefly, but that’s all I need to free myself from his grip and run to the stairwell.

My heart’s pounding like crazy. Fear and a dark, dangerous heat twist my stomach.

His footsteps thunder behind me. He may be a deadly machine, killing everyone in his way, but I’m faster.

I race down the steps, jumping over a handrail to put more distance between us.

The blaring alarm suddenly stops, but he is still after me.

And I’m running for my life.