Chapter 10 Amy
The crowd is denser here. I start grinding to the Latin beats, taking in my surroundings with every twist and turn, keeping my face blank while my eyes soak it all up. There’s no way I drove all the way up here to go home empty-handed. The Dodge will be here. It has to be.
Even as I roll my hips, every inch of me is on alert—focused on the task at hand.
Years of hard-won experience will do that to a girl.
This place is Brooklyn through and through, and it hits me right in the heart.
No matter what Raven says, no matter how many times I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise, the truth is I belong here.
“You’re cute.” My dance partner smirks.
Yeah, yeah. He’s lucky my attention is focused elsewhere right now. If shit wasn’t about to get real, I’d have kicked his ass by now.
“Shut up, Conley,” I hiss. “Things are heating up. Don’t look, keep dancing—but the cars are coming.”
He grabs my hips and pulls me closer, almost careful, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll stop him. I don’t.
His hands slide to my waist, warm against my bare skin as he eases my pace, guiding me instead of fighting the rhythm. He catches my hand, fingers tightening just long enough to spin me, and then he’s behind me again, steady and sure.
Turned like this, I can see more clearly—but as the minutes stretch on, focusing gets harder.
The solid warmth of him at my back draws me in and pushes me off-balance all at once. Something sparks low in my chest. My body loosens, grows heavier, like it’s remembering how to rest.
I lean back into him—just a little at first. He responds with a quiet exhale against my hair, his chest rising with mine, like he’s relieved I’m closer.
That’s when my eyes fall shut.
I melt into his arms before I can talk myself out of it. He doesn’t tighten his grip. His hands move in slow, careful caresses along my arms, like he’s grounding us both. The safety of it hits me so hard my throat tightens.
I’ve never felt this way before.
And the realization—that I trust him, that I want him this close—terrifies me more than anything else tonight.
I swallow hard. Focus, girl.
The roar of the engines snaps me back to reality, and I twist around to Lewis, draping my arms over his shoulders. I can sense him trying to catch my eye, but my gaze drifts over his shoulder instead. Three cars have appeared, and the crowd is running wild.
Here we go…
I’m doing my best to stay expressionless, until a familiar sound hits me with a surge of adrenaline.
I shuffle to the right, still not flinching, still not meeting Lewis’s gaze. The throbbing is louder now, the cheers and whistles ratcheting up as the fourth car swings into view. Bull’s-eye.
The Dodge. It’s right there. And I’m not the only one who’s noticed.
Lewis freezes. He didn’t even have to look up.
Of course he didn’t—he would recognize that sound anywhere.
I glance up at him, and we stand there in silence together.
There’s a strange light in his eyes, and though I’m silently urging him to stay calm, I can feel him slowly turning to face the crowd.
When his gaze lands on his precious car, he lets out a pained moan.
And that’s when the driver steps out of the Dodge, all swagger and flex.
Asshole! I don’t recognize the guy—which means there’s one suspect we can cross off the list.
“Lewis, wait… Keep it together,” I warn.
He can’t even talk. Relief and rage flicker over his face, his breath ragged in my ear.
If he can’t get his shit together, we’re both fucked.
“Lewis!” I hiss, clasping his face in my hands. “Look at me! Fucking look at me!”
I pull him into me, but he won’t meet my gaze. He’s too busy staring down the kids pawing at the Dodge, and I can feel his pulse pounding through his T-shirt.
“You promised you’d stick to the plan…”
“I’m gonna fuck those guys up. One by one. Every single one of them.”
“You won’t be fucking anyone up,” I sigh. “Quit staring, and focus on me. The only thing you’re fucking up right now is the plan.”
My hands are still on his cheeks, and I can feel his jaw clench under my palms.
I don’t know whether dancing up against him like that has messed with my head or whether it’s the high-pressure situation, or what.
But for some reason I shuffle forward and stand on my tiptoes, crushing my lips into his, praying this might be enough to tug him back to his senses.
And I think it just worked. His chest heaves as he gasps against my mouth.
It takes every drop of self-control I have to step back, letting my arms fall to my sides, caught in his gaze.
He’s still mad, the anger sharp and electric, his breathing so rough it quickens my own.
And yet, there’s something stunned in his expression now.
“What the hell was that?”
Oh, nothing—just the kind of quick emergency kiss that makes a girl weak in the knees, that’s all.
“A way of getting your attention,” I try. “Feeling better now?”
He’s still so close, his eyes sparkling in the darkness, brimming with something I can’t read.
Just as I’m about to ask him if he’s pulled himself back together, it’s his turn to seize my face, urgent and unrestrained.
My body reacts faster than my mind—my mouth opens at the brush of his, instinctively welcoming his tongue.
This kiss has nothing to do with the last one.
It’s chaotic, ravenous. It feels stripped of restraint.
I know Lewis is pouring every ounce of his tension into me, releasing weeks—maybe months—of restraint and frustration, but I don’t care.
I’ve fantasized about this moment too many times to deny myself now.
I’ve wanted him like this for too long. It doesn’t matter that this is so the wrong place and time—there’s no way I’m denying myself now.
His hands are on my ass before I even realize mine are knotted in his hair, clinging to him like I might fall apart if I let go.
He presses me into him, chasing contact where I want it the most, and I give in completely, no longer trying to regulate myself.
He uses his body to coax mine into an arch, as if he needs me closer still, as if closeness could ever be enough.
I give in, bucking against his hands as he clasps me tighter.
His tongue moves with sharp, desperate insistence—deep, searching, claiming. I lose my footing in the onslaught, my thoughts dissolving into a dizzy rush of want and… relief.
My heart is pounding in my chest, when somewhere in the distance, there’s a whistling. I break away from him, gasping for air, putting space between our lips. His mouth searches for mine, and I indulge him for just a few seconds before pulling back again.
I can hardly contain my excitement, but I know I need to get it together. There’ll be all the time in the world to play this moment back to myself later, but for now, I need to focus. A second whistling. I jerk my head around. It’s a call that hits deeper than deep.
Destiny has come knocking. And there’s only one person it can be.
Lewis’s gaze is locked on my lips, like someone who’s only just come back to himself. His eyes drift up to meet mine before trailing off somewhere behind me.
“What’s with the guy whistling at you like you’re some dog?”
I blink. Suddenly, I’m crashing back to reality. My reality.
“You’re about to find out.” I lean into him. “Remember what I said—stay quiet. And this time, I really mean it.”
I just had the hottest kiss of my life, but I steady myself, beckoning Lewis to follow as I make my way over to the guy who calls the shots—and who’s definitely noticed I’m in town.
Emil raises a hand and points at me, his backup scattering to make space as I weave my way through the crowd.
I should’ve let him know I was coming, but a little mystery never hurt anyone.
I can feel his eyes burning into me like a laser, and for the hundredth time tonight, I wonder what Lewis makes of it all.
I shoot him a sideways glance. That’s one hell of a poker face.
“Amy!” Emil sounds both surprised and edgy.
“?Cómo estás, Emil?”
“Muy bien, hermosa. ?Quién es? ?Tu amigo?”
That makes sense—him wanting intel on Lewis, I mean. I’ve known Emil since forever, and I’ve never brought a plus-one to the party.
“Lewis.”
Didn’t I fucking tell him to keep quiet?
“él no es mi amigo,” I drawl.
Emil frowns at me, one hand still hovering over some blond girl’s ass.
“What’re you doing here? I thought you left town for good.”
“That was the plan. Until some asshole decided to steal my car and bring it here.” I narrow my eyes. “Listen, you got drama with RJ, that’s your problem. But don’t go dipping into my stash.”
Yeah, I decided to go head-on—and that’s because who and what Emil is has never rattled me. Not even a little. His smile fades, and I’m suddenly face-to-face with the Godfather reincarnated.
He’s not that much older than me, but the guy’s got presence, I’ll give him that. Right now, he looks older than he is.
“You sure the car’s here?”
“Yup.”
“Where?”
I jerk my chin over to the lineup. Emil cusses in Spanish.
“The Dodge is yours?”
I can feel Lewis straining to talk, so I reach for his hand, digging my nails into his palm.
“The Dodge is mine.” I nod. “And I’m here to take it home.”
“Mierda. Tyler picked it up—one of El Perro’s guys.”
“Okay…” I frown. “But El Perro answers to you, right? Unless I missed an episode and you got your balls cut off these past eight months.”
The girl next to him gasps, her eyes darting between us, and I don’t blame her. Guess she’s never heard anyone shit talk Emil like this. He shoves her away and takes a step closer. Suddenly, he lets out a burst of laughter, and while the girl flinches, I’m like stone.
“Ah, mi dulce loba…” His voice drops as he ruffles my bangs. “You’re one of a kind, kid. You know that? Remember how you said we’d get married?”
I slap his forearm. “Remember how I was twelve and you were twenty?”
“You had already learned to bite…”
Lewis clears his throat, and El Lobo glances over at him impassively, weighing him up for size. I snap my fingers in his face.
“My car, Emil…”
“Amy, Amy, Amy,” he sighs. “You know I’d do anything for you—but not this time. You remember how things work around here. You don’t want bad things to start happening again, do you?”
No, I don’t. And yes, I do remember.
I steeled myself for this, though some naive part of me had hoped there could be some compromise.
I nod. Just the once. He knows exactly what I mean.
He whips around, whistling over to the group drinking beers around the Dodge, pointing at a dark-haired guy, beckoning him over.
Tyler himself.
I’m still holding Lewis’s hand, I realize. And as the dude walks over, I feel his fingers tighten around mine.
“Easy does it, Conley,” I murmur.
We’re so close, I can hear him panting.
“I’m gonna kill him.”
Lewis eases his hand out of mine, and for a minute I think he’s about to lose his shit.
Instead, he tugs on my arm and slides a hand up to my cheek, covering my mouth with his, feeling his way between my lips with his tongue, kissing me hard and fast before turning me around and pulling me into him, my back nestled against his chest.
“Are you okay?” I croak.
My skin is on fire, my heart turning somersaults when I feel his lips brush above my ear, one hand drifting down to my bare stomach. I’m trying to act tough right now, but the truth is I want nothing more than to feel his fingers slip under my waistband.
“Hey, this was your idea,” he whispers, kissing my neck to throw the guys off the scent. “I need the distraction… Stop myself from slitting his throat.”
It was my idea—he’s right.
I push back a flicker of disappointment. How stupid am I?
The dark-haired guy holds a fist out to Emil. “?Qué pasa?”
“Dodge over there your ride?”
“Yeah, a real keeper. She’s lit, huh?”
“That the one from Ohio?”
“Sí, senor.”
Nobody does a shit-eating grin quite like Tyler, I notice.
Lewis’s arms tense around me, and I stroke the hand pressing into my stomach, hoping it’s enough of a reminder to stay cool. Emil blows out through his nose. I know all too well what that means.
“Know who this chick is?”
Emil’s voice is slick like ice, and for a split second, Tyler’s smile wavers. He glances at me, his eyes lingering a little too long on my curves. Lewis twitches.
“Amy Hitman,” Emil continues. “El Mago’s daughter.”
At the sound of Dad’s name, Tyler’s eyes flicker, but he acts like he’s not fazed.
I’m gonna destroy this guy.
“That Dodge you stole in Sycamore Heights? It’s hers, you hijo de puta!”
“You never said not to! She wants her car? She’ll have to win it back,” Tyler snarls, looking me dead in the eye.
The guy has balls, I’ll give him that—now I’m the one clutching on to Lewis for dear life, trying desperately to stop myself from slamming a fist in his face. This dude knows who my dad is, but I don’t think he knows my background. Which gives me one hell of a head start.
“Let’s go,” I say without missing a beat.
“You win, you get your Dodge back,” Tyler says slowly. “What do I get if I win?”
I think for a moment. And then, keeping myself as still as I can, keeping my eyes locked on his, I raise a hand and point left, every muscle in my face stiff with effort.
He’s freaking out, I can tell—but this guy has no idea what’s coming next.
“A Firebird,” I say. “You win a 1969 Pontiac Firebird.”