Chapter 29 Bellamy
TWENTY-NINE
BELLAMY
The garage is already lit when we get there, the overhead fluorescents buzzing faintly as they wash everything in a stark, unforgiving white.
Rafe walks in with me, close enough that I feel him without needing to look. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. The space between us feels intentional, like something he’s holding rather than something he’s giving.
Gage is already there, perched on the edge of the workbench, one boot heel hooked on the lower rung, turning a socket wrench over in his hand like he has nothing better to do. He looks up the second I step inside. His mouth curves, and he sets the wrench down.
“Hey.” He reaches out, fingers catching my wrist, pulling me a half step closer before letting go. “You good?”
“Yeah, are you?” I grin. It feels normal, like everything at the salvage yard was an anomaly.
Cruz is across the garage, shoulder angled into the wall, arms crossed, gaze fixed on a middle distance that doesn’t include anyone in particular. He doesn’t look at me when I walk in. His jaw works once, almost imperceptibly, and then goes still.
Lola steps in beside me, and I watch her eyes move around the room—Gage, Cruz, Rafe—before she leans slightly toward my ear.
“This is… intense,” she says quietly.
“That’s one word for it,” Cruz replies, without looking at her.
Bishop comes in last. The door shuts behind him. No one says anything, but Gage stops grinning, and Cruz finally looks up.
Bishop glances around the garage, like he’s taking inventory. “Where’s the kid?”
I shift my weight. “He’s surfing up the coast with a few friends.”
Bishop’s gaze lingers on me for a second longer than necessary.
“I’ll fill him in when he’s home,” I add.
He nods once, but it doesn’t feel like agreement so much as acknowledgment.
Lola’s shoulder presses into mine. “Okay, so”—she gestures vaguely at the room—“what exactly was so urgent that I had to drop everything and drive over here? Some of us have lives outside of Calloway shit.”
Bishop’s jaw tightens as he glares at her.
“What did Ron say?” I ask.
His eyes slide to me. “He called earlier tonight. Said the same people were making a drop.”
Cruz pushes off the wall and crouches down, picks up a bolt off the floor, turns it over in his fingers. “We were out there for almost two hours.”
Bishop folds his arms across his chest. “I’m aware.”
“So either Ron burned us on purpose—”
“He wouldn’t.” Bishop’s voice is flat. “Not after our conversation with him.”
“Or they made us and walked,” Cruz finishes, standing, tossing the bolt onto the workbench.
“Aren’t they supposed to be green?” I ask. There’s something just out of my reach, something I can’t quite grasp yet but I’m close.
“Unless they know who we are. And it wasn’t about the casino chips but about us—and by us, I mean you four. Because this reeks of Calloway bullshit that has nothing to do with us,” Lola says, waggling her thumb between the two of us.
Gage pushes off the bench. “Okay, so Ron lied, or we’re getting played by a bunch of fucking amateurs? Those are our only options?”
Cruz shifts his weight, recrosses his arms. “There might be another option. I need more time.”
The garage goes quiet.
Rafe steps forward into the gap. “You want me to take care of Ron?”
Bishop’s gaze cuts to him and stays there. “No.” A beat. “Not yet.”
Rafe holds his eyes for a moment, then looks away. “Fine.”
Bishop’s chest rises and falls once. His gaze moves across the room and settles on Cruz.
Bishop exhales slowly. “I’m not burning another one of Coco’s relationships based on a hunch,” he says. And then he looks at Cruz.
Cruz lets out a quiet, humorless breath, his face twisting into something colder, meaner. “First of all, fuck you. We already talked about this. I’m not going to prostitute myself just to keep a fucking fence.”
The words land hard. I blink, looking between them. “Wait,” I say. “Are you talking about Portia?”
Cruz’s eyes find mine. He doesn’t say anything. Just holds my gaze for a beat, then looks away—a single, quiet motion that answers everything.
I look at him. Really look. The way he’s standing with his shoulder angled toward the wall, arms crossed, the deliberate inches he’s kept between us since we walked in. Since the motel.
Bishop drags a hand down the back of his neck. “We’re not ending anything,” he says. “Not until we have a name.”
No one argues. They don’t agree either.
The frustration just sits in the air, heavy and unresolved.
Rafe shifts closer to me, not touching, but close enough that I feel the heat of him at my side.
“Yeah, well,” Cruz mutters, pushing off the wall just enough to shift his weight, “maybe if we didn’t keep relying on the same people over and over again, we wouldn’t keep ending up in the same spot.”
Bishop’s expression doesn’t change, but something sharp flickers behind his eyes. “Careful,” he says.
Cruz huffs a short laugh. “No, I’m serious. We’re sitting around waiting for a name that may or may not come while everything else just… waits.”
“It’s not waiting,” Bishop says. “It’s being smart.”
Silence stretches between them, thick enough to feel.
Lola crosses her arms loosely, her brows pulling together.
“Okay, but where is Coco then?” she asks.
“For someone who gets a cut of the job, she’s like never around.
Why don’t we talk to her contact? Figure out who the fuck they talked to?
Like, am I the only one who sees there’s a break in this logic?
What are we even doing?” Lola’s exasperated.
She’s not wrong. I haven’t seen Coco in weeks.
Bishop’s gaze snaps to her, sharper than it was a second ago. “She’s not here.”
I glance between them. “Does she do that a lot? Just… disappears for weeks at a time after a job goes bad?”
His eyes cut to me next. His intensity amplifies enough that I swear I can hear the ozone crackle. “When she’s trying to sniff out a rat,” he says, “yeah. That’s exactly what she does.”
The implication lands like a blow, but instead of anger, amusement flutters around inside my chest.
Lola steps forward before I can even process it fully, her tone flipping from curious to sharp in a second flat. “Don’t you look at my sister like that, Bishop Calloway,” she says. “or i’m going to start spilling secrets.”
Everyone stills, the kind of collective awareness you share when you feel the mood shift.
I give Lola a look. Not now.
She exhales through her nose and lifts her hands in surrender, stepping back beside me again. Whatever.
“Just saying,” she mutters. “he could take it down a notch or ten.”
The tension doesn’t disappear. It just… rearranges itself.
Gage leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, restless energy coiling under his skin. “So what’s the move then?” he asks. “Because sitting on our hands isn’t really my favorite strategy.”
“It’s the only one we’ve got until we know who we’re dealing with,” Bishop says.
“What about running something small?” Gage presses. “Low risk. Quick turnover. Just to keep things moving. It’s been over a month, man.”
Bishop shakes his head immediately. “Not on the table.”
Cruz scoffs under his breath. “Of course it’s not.”
“It’s not,” Bishop repeats, sharper now. “Not until we figure out who the fuck sabotaged us.”
Gage’s eyes flick to me, and Mine shift to Cruz.
I wait to see if either one of them is going to speak up, tell them about the laundromat job.
Neither of them does.
“Okay,” Lola drags out. “So I dropped everything and came over for this? A whole lot of let’s keep waiting?”
The meeting dissolves. I turn toward the door. Gage catches me first—one hand at my jaw, unhurried, like he has every right to it. When he pulls back, Rafe is already there, closer than I realized, and his kiss is different: shorter, but with more pressure behind it, more intention.
I feel Bishop’s eyes on us the whole time. I don’t look at him.
Cruz pushes off the wall and closes the space like it’s a decision he just made mid-thought. His arm comes around my shoulders in that familiar way of his.
“I haven’t seen you in a while,” I say, turning slightly toward him.
He huffs under his breath. “You know where I live.”
I smile faintly. “Yeah. I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me. We haven’t talked since, you know.”
His arm tightens, pulling me closer. “I always want to see you.” His head dips, his mouth brushing near my ear.
Close enough that I feel it before I hear it.
“I always want to feel you. I always wanna smell you, and I sure as fuck always wanna taste you,” he murmurs.
“Because, baby girl, I can still”—he groans into my ear— “when I close my eyes at night—I can still feel the way you clenched around my fingers.”
Heat hits instantly. Sharp. Low. Immediate. My breath catches. And just like that—He lets go and steps back.
Like he didn’t just tilt the entire room sideways.
I stare at him for a second too long before I pull myself back together and walk out of the garage.
Lola falls into step beside me as we head down the driveway, the noise of the garage fading behind us.
“Well,” she says, glancing over, “that was… something.”
I let out a quiet breath. “That’s one way to put it.”
She studies me for a second, eyes sharp in that way that means she’s already three steps ahead of whatever I’m about to say. “You okay?”
I nod, even though it takes a second to land. “Yeah. I just—” I shake my head lightly. “I need a shower. And maybe five minutes where no one’s looking at me like I’m part of the problem.”
Her mouth curves. “Bold of you to assume you’re not.”
I bump her shoulder. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not trying to,” she says easily. Then, softer, “You sure you’re good?”
I glance back toward the garage for half a second, like I can still feel them in there. “I will be.”
We make it halfway down the drive before she says, “So… are we really just sitting on our hands?”
I hesitate. “Bishop thinks we should.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I huff out a quiet breath, dragging a hand through my hair. “I might have something,” I admit. “Maybe.”
Her brows lift. “I’m listening.”
“I ran into Ryder at The Pit. He mentioned something about a job, but I haven’t decided if it’s a smart play yet. We got involved with them, and look how it went.” I jerk my head to the side.
“You’re getting dicked down, that’s how it’s going,” she says immediately, waggling her brows.
“Jesus, Lola,” I groan, shoving her shoulder.
“What? It’s written all over your face. One of those men is giving you the good stuff. And I, for one, am so happy for you. And I also hope it’s all of them. Don’t think I forgot about whatever the fuck that was I walked in on.”
I feel my cheeks heat, but I just shake my head.
“Plus, no offense, but you’re walking a little funny,” she muses.
I laugh and shake my head. “Oh my god. I was riding all day with Rafe—that’s why.”
“Mm-hmm. Riding.” She uses air quotes as she tries to smother her grin.
I roll my eyes. “His motorcycle.” I pause, letting my gaze slide to her when we reach her car. “And his dick.”
“Ha!” she crows. “I fucking knew it. You dirty little bird. Hell yeah!”
Her excitement is contagious, and it doesn’t take long for both of us to dissolve into laughter.