CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE #3
Most of the room erupts in laughter, Axel applauds, and someone plays Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.” I would have pegged Maddox for that, but since I didn’t see anyone messing with their phone, my money’s on Cash.
“Sure.” Jax pouts, guzzles the alcohol, and slides the glass back to me, despite there being another bottle within his reach. “We can do it your way. Fill her up.”
After pouring him another shot and gliding it across the table like we’re at an old saloon, I glance at Ryker and Mercy, neither of whom will be going to France. “You’re playing with us, Merce?”
She rubs her belly. “I’m about to burst, but Bernard is watching Remy for us, so I can participate and lend moral support.”
“Happy to have you help me keep them in line. Water for you.” I turn back to the rest and get started with several basic hypotheticals to get them warmed up. “Flip-flops are good to wear for a heist.”
Maddox drinks, and I cannot imagine the six-five, tatted, dancing menace in flip-flops.
Tessa agrees, smacking his bicep. “Why are you drinking?”
“What if it’s a beach heist? I’m covering all my bases.”
That’s pretty much how it goes. Tessa, Zara, and Mercy do very few shots.
And the guys, aside from Ryker, take turns twisting the simplest of questions until they’re laughing hysterically as they complete the physical tasks.
None of them fall though. On the last one, the three of them decide that sex mid-heist is not only smart, but definitely worth the risk, so they’re standing on their heads while the rest of us converse about the layout of the resort.
Ryker drank for that one, too, but he opted out of the headstand.
“All right, next,” I say, and they hop to their feet with outstanding agility before resuming their seats. “I would always carry a gun on a heist.”
Everyone but Maddox, Tessa, and Mercy drink. That’s actually helpful.
“I would always carry a weapon on a heist.”
That takes Maddox and Tessa out. Knives are their preference.
Mercy taps the side of her shot glass. “Define weapon.”
Ryker chuckles.
Considering that, I go with a lawyer-esque answer she’ll appreciate. “Intent to harm with something on your person.”
And down the hatch it goes.
I don’t even bother hiding my shock. “Really?”
She rolls her lips in, like she’s sharing a secret. “It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Ryker shakes his head. “No, it’s not, Viper.”
“That’s when things are really bad,” Tessa corrects.
Zara bobs her head, a little tipsy. “And the last part of the shitty experience is about to happen.” She slaps the table with each word. “Another. Fucking. Shoe.”
“It would be pretty bad if I had to use a weapon.” Mercy tucks her blonde hair behind her ear before her brown eyes widen in my direction. “It’s why I’d never wear flip-flops.”
“Oh, it’s literally about the shoes,” I surmise as “These Boots are Made for Walkin’ ” blares from across the table and the three troublemakers devolve into hysterics.
I’m rarely surprised by people, but while Mercy might give a girl-next-door vibe and be in the throes of motherhood, it’s evident that she’s a ruthless thinker. I’ll keep an eye on her footwear in the future.
Cash gets out of his chair, swaggers around the table with his shot glass, lifts me up, and sits back down with me on his lap. “Thanks for this,” he rasps in my ear. “I know we’ve got intense days ahead. This took the edge off.”
After all my freak-outs and doubts, his devotion is unwavering.
“Thank you.” I brush my fingers over his cheek and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “For being patient with me and giving me all of this.”
He nuzzles his face in my neck. “Sylvie and Cash. Sly and Noire. You and me.”
Belonging.
He drags his hand between my thighs, lightly teasing my clit. “Did you finish yourself?”
“No,” I confess, my voice low. “I wanted to wait for you.”
“Good girl,” he breathes, and I know we’ll put that mess behind us.
“Moving on.” I fill his glass and set the bottle in front of him, knowing he’ll need it. “Taking something extra that isn’t part of the job is a bonus.”
The girls remain stoic, but the billionaire Noire men chug.
“Using brute force to get things done is always an option.”
Everyone but Mercy goes down with that.
“Murdering someone is okay if it’s necessary.”
Everyone—even Mercy—drinks.
I glance at Axel, and he tips his scotch back with a smirk.
I don’t know why I’m disillusioned; the corrupt setting that I’m currently calling home should have prepared me, but for some reason, it just didn’t. Maybe in an effort of self-preservation, the psyche ignores things until it can’t.
Cash squeezes my hip, reading my mind. “It’s okay, Sly. Rip off the Band-Aid and ask.”
“Okay. Forget the hypothetical aspect of the game.” I eye him for a beat, bracing for impact when I address the rest of them. “Drink if the following statement is true: I have murdered someone.”
Every. Single. Person. In. The. Room.
“Game over.” I grab the whiskey and pour a shot straight into my mouth, learning to bend in a whole new way.
I think my days of being a simple art thief are over.