Chapter 3 #2
“I need your help,” I said. “It’s going to be dangerous, but I don’t have anyone else to call. Will you help me?”
There was a single heartbeat’s pause, and I worried he’d say no.
“Whatever it is, I’m with you, bro. I’d ride with you to hell and back if you asked,” Christian said.
I sighed with relief. “Good. Meet me at my place tonight. We need to make a plan.”
Shaking off the memory, I moved down the stairs stealthily, listening for any sound of approaching guards or a raised alarm.
Even with the fear of discovery or capture, I moved fast, hoping my luck would hold out long enough to get through this.
Everything relied on me now. As the alpha, I’d felt the stress and expectation weighing on me, but after hearing Joseph Anitoli’s voice on the phone, after listening to the drake tell me what to do and what the penalty would be if I didn’t succeed, the responsibility fell on me like a mountain.
I hadn’t told Christian, but I was willing to die to make sure I did everything Joseph demanded. It was my only option.
I reached another door, which was thankfully unlocked. Inching through to the landing beyond, I paused at what I saw. My brows creased in surprise and confusion as I let the door close behind me.
I stood on a catwalk that ran twenty feet above the concrete floor below, the fluorescent bulbs high above shone brightly, the light shimmering off the metal, glass, and chrome below.
There were half a dozen cars in this warehouse, all lined up as if on display.
In the center was the one I’d been sent to steal.
The sleek, rocket ship of a car looked like it would be more at home traversing the night sky between Earth and the moon than on the highway.
“It’s a Lambo,” Joseph said. “You know, a Lamborghini?”
“I’ve heard of them,” I growled into the phone. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Okay, okay, had to check. You know what they say about you winged dragons, right? Flying up in the air like that shrinks your brains. You guys got the wings, and us drakes got the brains—heh, and the big cocks too, but that’s another story.
Anyway, the exact model is a Lamborghini Aventador SVJ.
That’s what you’re stealing. Can you handle that? ”
“Why the fuck am I stealing a car for you?”
“She’s a beauty. Candy-apple red, 770 horsepower, V12 engine, completely upgraded.
I mean, this thing has the works. Full racing suspension, high-performance air intake and intercooler.
A sport exhaust, and carbon fiber wing on the back for rear wheel traction.
The thing’s top speed is 217 miles per hour, and goes zero-to-sixty in less than three seconds—”
“Are you trying to sell me this fucking thing?” I hissed. “You sound more like a goddamn used car salesman than a mob boss.”
“You watch your fucking mouth, Jack. You know what’s at stake here. You get this car, you bring it to me, and then we may see about what we can do for you.”
“I suppose this isn’t up for negotiation.”
“You would be correct,” Joseph said. “And let me be very clear here. This is a one-chance job. There can be no fuckups. I want that car, and I want that car fucking perfect. If there is a scratch on this bitch when you bring it in, deal’s off.
Shit, if there is a single smear of bird shit on the window, you’re done. Got it?”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “I get it.”
“Good boy. I’ll send the details and address to this phone when I hang up. Oh, and Jackson?”
“Yes?” I said through gritted teeth.
“I want that car in a week or less. Don’t keep me waiting.”
Now, I was staring at the Lamborghini, shimmering red like a ruby.
I wasn’t a huge car guy, but the others were familiar as well.
A white Bentley Coupe, a jet-black Maserati, a classic sixties muscle car that looked like it might be a Camero, alongside a vintage Rolls Royce, and an eighties Ferrari that had probably been driven right off the set of Magnum PI.
“Holy shit,” I muttered. The cars were worth nearly three million dollars. Of course, the shiny red apple I was here to pluck was the most expensive. The info Joseph had sent said that car alone was nearly a million dollars.
My internal clock screamed at me to hurry. Pushing away from the railing, I sprinted to the nearest ladder, my boot clattering on the steel mesh of the walkway. I didn’t care. Speed was more necessary than silence.
After descending the ladder, I rushed toward the car, only to find the door locked.
“Shit.” I glanced around, hoping to see a key on a hook somewhere.
A small office was tucked in the corner of the warehouse.
The room looked to be a little bigger than a closet.
Sprinting for it, I threw caution to the wind and raised my leg at the last second, kicking the spot beneath the knob.
The door crashed inward, revealing a bare wall with a single lockbox attached at eye level.
“Damn it,” I grunted as I reached up and grasped the box. “You’d think they were trying to keep people from stealing these fucking things.”
After three or four good pulls, I managed to yank the whole box from the wall, the drywall screws ripping out in a cloud of dust. Lifting it high above my head, I slammed it down onto the concrete floor.
The hinge shattered, sending the door flying wide open, and several keys skittering across the floor.
Hitting my knees, I scrambled around, and sighed with relief when I grabbed the one for the Lamborghini.
Before I could stand, my cell buzzed in my pocket.
“Yes?” I whispered into the phone.
“Jackson, get out of there! They’re coming in the back door. You gotta go. Now! I’m gonna give you a way out,” Christian screamed, then hung up.
The words sent a surreal, dreamlike panic through me, the way you felt in a nightmare and you’re trying to run, but your legs won’t move. Snapping my head around and looking to the rear of the warehouse, I spotted a folding table with a bottle of whiskey and a pile of playing cards on top of it.
Distantly, I heard the sound of a lock being turned.
Fuck.
With no time to come up with a better plan, I grabbed a second set of keys and tucked the Lamborghini key fob into my pocket.
Picking up the heavy lockbox, I sprinted toward the cars.
The entire world seemed to be going in both slow motion and fast forward at the same time.
The closer I got to the cars, the farther away they seemed to be.
I glanced at the random key I’d taken, then angled for the Rolls Royce, unlocked it, and shoved the key into the ignition.
The moment I did, a great rending, squealing, and tearing sound erupted from behind me.
I craned my neck to look through the rear window and gaped as Christian’s massive wyrm head tore through the garage door like it was aluminum foil.
Well, he was definitely getting me a way out.
“Hey! What the fuck?” The voice tore my attention from Christian to the wolf shifters running in, all of them staring in open-mouthed shock as the gigantic wyrm shredded the door.
They hadn’t seen me yet. Good. The bad part was that two of them were reaching into their jackets for guns, and another had already shifted, turning into one of the biggest goddamn wolves I’d ever seen in my life.
With a flick of my wrist, I spun the key, and the engine rumbled to life. I put the heavy lockbox on the gas pedal, sending the engine into a roaring rev, then slammed the shifter into drive.
The wolves looked away from Christian and his destruction to see the massive five-thousand-pound hulking vehicle rushing toward them. As they dived aside and screamed out curses, I ran for the Lamborghini. Opening the gullwing door, I slid into the seat.
Dumbfounded, I stared at the interior. The inside looked like a spaceship—all buttons, knobs, and switches I wasn’t used to.
Thankfully, the ignition button was bright red.
I pressed it, and the car roared to life, like some chained animal ready to tear free of its prison.
Sparing a quick glance in the rearview mirror, I spotted Christian thrashing his huge wyrm head back and forth, destroying the last of the door.
Pressing the reverse button, I hit the gas, gasping as the powerful engine caused the tires to spin on the slick concrete floor.
Holy shit, this thing is a beast.
“Freeze, motherfucker,” a voice shouted.
One of the wolf shifters aimed a gun at me. Another was sprinting toward me in his wolf form. Behind them, the Rolls was half buried in the wall, the tires still spinning maniacally, smoke pouring out and filling the warehouse.
Taking the chance that they wouldn’t want to damage their boss’s car, I tapped the gas again, backing up to give myself room to aim the hood toward the wide open door. I didn’t bother looking back as I hit the drive button and slammed my foot on the gas.
The tires spun again, but this time, they caught traction and rocketed me forward. Remembering what Joseph had said about scratches, I clenched my hands on the steering wheel and eased off the gas enough to control the thing as I drove into the alley and then down toward the street.
I nearly whooped in relief, but then I glanced in the rearview mirror. Christian was slithering away from the scene, moving with the speed and grace of a ghost, but the Ferrari and Maserati came screeching out of the destroyed door, sending up clouds of smoke as they burned rubber.
“Fuck,” I hissed, stepping on the gas.
The road ran straight for about a mile, then split into a four-way intersection.
The traffic light was red. Gritting my teeth, I clenched the suede covered steering wheel and focused on the intersection.
A quick glance in my side mirror showed the two cars gaining on me.
The Lamborghini was newer and more powerful, but out here in the city, its top speed didn’t matter as much.