CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
RENA
“L ike a fucking spider, Little Moon ,” Liam commends into my comm, slinging out my call name in jest to irritate my jealous husband. It was supposed to be Moonshine, but Liam and Gage are both too troublemaking to comply with that, which I wholeheartedly respect.
Since I’m the only one with an identity that can be traced—medical and dental records, familial affiliations, financial holdings—no one needs a code name but me. So much weirdness is their normal.
“Jesus, I fucking hate hearing that come out of your goddamn mouth,” Ty grits out.
And there it is, which only encourages the other two.
“What? You mean Little Moon ?” Gage howls. “Pussy-whipped motherfucker.”
I’m only a few feet from the rooftop of the warehouse, so seconds after Liam’s accolade, while they gibe one another, I fling myself onto the outer edge. My ski mask is firmly on, concealing my face. I’m clad in all-black attire that fits like a second skin. I’ve got my bag filled with supplies. Plan in place. Fully prepped.
But my heart is whomping against my sternum in a violent protest. Too late now. I was all about being a James Bond girl. And, yes, there is a thrill in every step. In some ways, I’m in my element. Especially if I ignore the reality of my circumstances and bask in the fantasy that I’ve always held of being a secret weapon for the Noire family. Different family, but dream fulfillment nonetheless.
It’s this foreboding nudge in my gut, warning me that this is no freaking fantasy, that my whole world is about to be upended. I’m sure it’s simply nerves, but I can’t seem to shake it.
“Still good, Little Moon?” Gage asks as I creep over to the skylight and snatch the lockpicking set from my pocket.
“Good,” I return, my hands trembling as I dig through the wallet-like case in the glowing light from the window and select the tension tool first.
“That’s right,” Gage says since he and Liam can see what I’m holding through my body cam, clipped onto the zipper of my jacket. “Start with that, the way we showed you.”
“On another note,” Liam breaks in, “your man was a full three seconds behind you in the climb. Fucking pansy-ass slacker.”
“Shut your suck, Graves,” Ty volleys with a huffed chuckle. “You’re doing great, baby girl.”
Because of the peaked metal roof, I can’t see him, but his husky voice alone is soothing.
“We can’t all be nimble and spry, old man,” I jeer with far more aloofness than I possess, which wins me a reception of laughter that acts as another salve.
The lock takes a bit longer than I’d prefer—far too many failed attempts—but after a deep, cleansing inhale-exhale cycle, I steady my hands, heighten the tension, and use the finger-sized hook pick to click it open.
“It freaking worked,” I wheeze .
“Of course it did,” Ty coos. “You’ve got this. When you’re ready, pop and lift.”
My throat dries as I place my gloved hands at the window seam. There’s no turning back now. “Ready.”
“I’ve got movement in the office,” Gage interrupts with an elevated anxiousness. “Hold your position.”
“What kind of fucking movement?” Ty snaps, the worry in his tone ringing through the comm loud and clear.
“Not discernable,” Gage explains. “Lights off, but it’s occupied.”
“Let’s have her stick her camera down there and see if we can get a clearer view,” Liam suggests.
“I can do that,” I assure them as I pop and lift the window. It’s on a hinge so it rotates open, and I place a small wedge from my bag at the apex to be certain it doesn’t close. Then, I unpin the camera from my zipper and dangle it through the opening in the direction of the office.
“There’s definitely someone in there,” Liam confirms. “I’ve got a silhouette.”
“Fuck,” Ty hisses. “What the hell are they doing in the dark?”
“Rummaging maybe? Hard to tell. Doesn’t look like legit work,” Liam surmises. “We might be catching a shady employee.”
Gage’s gruff tenor bellows through the comm. “Better than a manager.”
“Do not even fucking suggest that she go down there with someone in that goddamn office.” Ty’s anxiety is so palpable that, somehow, it calms me, my longing to cradle his demons trumping my rickety valor.
“It’s okay,” I warble, wishing so much I could wrap myself around him. “Let’s give it a minute. If it’s someone who shouldn’t be there, they’ll be quick about it.”
“That’s valid,” Liam agrees. “We’ll take five. Sit tight.”
That’s how I find myself perched on a roof in the artsy warehouse district of Las Vegas, adorned as a bandit, and wondering what my mother would say about how my life turned out. Although she was a woman in love with and scorned by two criminals, so maybe she’d applaud the fact that I’m willing to be one myself instead of merely burying my seeds of hope in one.
Blueberry fields and rain failed her.
Maybe desert skies and duplicity will be a more felicitous destination.
It’s with those thoughts tromping through my mind that Gage’s stoic order startles me. “Cock your weapon, Moonshine.”
The switch to my original call name has my chest tightening as much as his command. No more joking.
“What do you have, Big Guy?” Ty snarls as I flip open the folding brace on my CZ Scorpion Micro with no idea where to aim, my pulse assaulting my temples.
“Don’t know yet. He swung up to the ceiling and fucking disappeared,” Gage barks.
“I’ve got fucking nothing,” Liam hurls right as I sense the presence.
A pitter-patter of light-as-a-feather footwork has me lining up the sights on my pistol.
And my breath hitches in my throat. A bolt of pain lancing my sternum. Not due to the threat, but most definitely a result of the precarious situation I find myself in.
Confusion. Terror. Helplessness. It all whizzes through me as mutterings and orders filter through the comm. But instead of answering or firing, I adjust the camera on my back to be certain it doesn’t pick anything up on a wide angle.
The fluidity of movement. The acrobatics used to vault from one roof to the next. The thatch of blue hair sticking out of a ski mask.
The one who’s sheltered my secrets, held my pain, and willingly unraveled with me.
Jax.
What the hell was he doing in there?
“Goddammit. Talk to us, Moonshine,” Liam demands, beckoning my attention at the same time I catch sight of Ty emerging over the peaked roof, aglow in the moonlight and bright white bulbs emanating from the interior.
“You scared the fuck out of me, baby,” he snipes in a low rumble that is barely more than a whisper drifting into the dry, stagnant air. “What the hell happened?”
I glance around, verifying that Jax is gone. There’s no sign of him, and suddenly, I’m wondering if I fabricated his presence.
Was that him? Fuck, I can’t be sure. It doesn’t make sense. He was at La Lune Noire yesterday when I talked to him—or so I thought. And I was lost in the memory of my mother while we were waiting. Maybe I imagined it. Not the man, but the resemblance.
Choking back the lump lodged at the base of my throat and dismissing my rocketing pulse, I set my gaze on my seriously unhinged husband. “Sorry,” I breathe. “I … he was here, and then he vanished.”
His eyes narrow, tiny creases at the corner peeking through the holes of his mask that exclaim he suspects something more lies beneath my facile report. “You’re okay?”
I nod, grateful he can’t see all the color drained from my face. “Let’s do this.”
After a beat of hesitation, he casually tilts his head, as if we aren’t in the middle of some twisted plight to obliterate an unknown business, and asks, “Theme song?”
A tentative smile crests my lips as I spill without a second thought, “ ‘On The Run’ by Ashes & Arrows.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know that one.”
“Don’t need to. Take it at face value.” That’s as close as it’s going to get to me telling him I saw something I shouldn’t have or didn’t want to. Or I don’t even fucking know. Something that has me wondering if we should bolt from whatever the hell this is.
He bobs his head, his eyes floating over me, both of us ignoring the incessant commands issued by Liam and Gage to get our asses in gear.
“I’ve got you. True north,” he says before returning to his post, and I know that statement is woven with impossible promises. We’re all bound and gagged and grasping at flimsy threads of hope. Freedom has never been a greater illusion.
“Am I good to drop, boys?” I ask into the comm.
“All clear,” Gage responds. “Let’s get this done. In and out.”
With his go-ahead, I strap my gun back on, pull up the cam and pin it back onto my chest, slink through the open skylight, and shimmy down the I-beam into the warehouse full of workers. Since the skylight hovers over a storage area, I have plenty of crates and skids of boxes to stow away behind while I get my bearings.
“Okay, Moonshine,” Liam begins. “It’s wide open to your first mark. Quick and quiet.”
Moving my backpack onto my chest so it rests below the body cam, I unzip it and skulk through the shadows to the first designated I-beam. It’s swift work, adhering the charge and securing it with the ratchet strap.
After that, I find my rhythm, modulate my breathing, and wipe the vision of blue hair from my mind to procure a serene cadence.
Adhere. Strap. Ratchet. Move.
Two down. Again.
Adhere. Strap. Ratchet. Move.
Three down. Again.
Adhere. Strap. Ratchet. Move.
Four down. Again.
My breaths pant out far louder than I’d like, wetting the fabric of this ski mask and rendering the edges dewy. But that’s nothing compared to the discomfort of my thudding heart when a woman darts around the beam I’m nearing.
I crumple to the floor and slither behind a half-loaded skid, unsure if she saw me.
“Motherfucker,” Liam spits.
“That was fucking close,” Gage bellows. “Came out of nowhere. Stay down. ”
“Tytan, I see you fucking pausing. Do not think about it,” Liam warns. “Stay in your goddamn lane. We’ve got her.”
Thud. Pound. Slam. Breathe.
It all swishes against my eardrums as I take in the scurrying workers, packaging something small that ends up in massive boxes. Pills maybe?
What the hell is Jax involved in?
“Got two more to go, Moonshine. It’s not time for a break just yet.” Liam’s voice infiltrates the somber, cautionary ballad that my body is intent on composing. “Get eyes on our lady friend, and when she’s occupied, you need to finish.”
Peering around the area, I finally spot her, making labels or something and chatting with another employee. That should be enough of a window, so I hustle behind the boxes and through the shadows to reach the last two beams.
Adhere. Strap. Ratchet. Move.
Five down. Again.
Adhere. Strap. Ratchet. Move.
Six down. Complete.
Keeping myself concealed between shipments and equipment, I race back to the I-beam below the skylight in a fuzzy daze. The fluorescent lighting makes my eyes ache, probably because I haven’t blinked since I dropped in here.
“She’s headed out,” Gage informs Ty, who must have been waiting for me to depart before he left.
It takes less than twenty seconds to scale my way back to the roof, where Ty’s comforting voice finally greets me.
“You’re amazing, baby girl. You did so good. But I fucking hated every second of it.”
Despite my spiraling thoughts and my erratic heartbeat, I giggle at that. This was a giant leap for Ty. Even if my participation was mandated by KORT, him relinquishing his grip long enough to permit it is a feat of strength in itself .
“Let’s finish this, sexy sailor, so you can rail me properly with all that pent-up angst.”
That has Liam and Gage chuckling in my ear as I move to the various ventilation pipes, plucking off the screens, pulling the pins off the CS gas grenades, and tossing them down the shafts. As I reach my final one, the sound of sirens cuts through the silent night. And they’re close.
“Fucking hell,” Gage hisses. “You got less than a minute until we’re under fucking fire.”
“Get the fuck down here! Now!” Liam hollers, nearly bursting my eardrum.
Which is precisely when utter freaking mayhem ensues. Screaming. Coughing. Running.
People scramble all over the parking lot as a red-and-blue glow illuminates the black sky and I crawl down the exterior warehouse wall with my heart in my hands.
“To the bike, Little Moon,” Ty pants, likely trekking his own breathless descent. “Get to the goddamn bike, baby girl.”