Page 81 of Bad Attitude
“Yes.” My bike is, anyway. Whether I am?
“Good.” Kurt’s eyes narrow. “No distractions. Head in the game.”
“Sure.” I lift my head and straighten my spine. “No distractions.”
Apart from the obvious one, somewhere outside, inexplicably pulling me to him.
And that’s the worst. Even knowing his secret, I’m still drawn to that annoying man.
How fucked am I?
Seventeen
Raven
Beverly Hills late on a Sunday evening is dead. A few cars on the streets, a handful of pedestrians, nothing more.
Between each of the roads around Rodeo Drive lies a service street, flanked with small parking lots, dumpsters looming in the dark shadows, and rear entrances to each of the buildings. Along with cameras, every few yards.
Declan and I wait at the mouth of one, while Cammy slowly drives the van down with no lights on, the rest of the crew within.
“Almost done here.”Tasha’s voice crackles in my ear, over our comms.
Declan is carefully avoiding looking at me, his shoulders tight under his jacket. We haven’t exchanged a glance on the ride over, let alone spoken to one another.
No distractions at all.
“Got it,”Tasha says.“Camera’s looped, alarm dead. Go.”
The rear doors of the van open, Cole and Dario spilling out. Kurt slides back the side door and jumps down. They’re all wearing balaclavas, covering their faces.
Cole’s carrying a battering ram, a heavy steel cylinder three feet long. From where we wait, the door’s out of sight, but the crunch carries down the alley.
There’s no one around, and I doubt it will even be heard on the street.
“Three minutes.”Tasha’s voice is crisp.
Timing is everything on this one. We have to assume there’ll be alarms Tasha couldn’t find.
My heart’s beating heavily, anticipation and adrenaline flooding me. But it doesn’t come with the buzz of being alive that I usually get on a job. Instead, something feels wrong.
Friday, we agreed as a crew to keep this job as short as possible. But now I’m having second thoughts about all of it, a sense of disquiet taking me. I just want to be done and get out. Back to Tasha’s.
I’m sure it has nothing to do with Declan, sitting on his bike a few feet away.
Like he can hear my thoughts, he pops his visor halfway open, and flicks the button on his mic. Turning it off. “Are you going to tell me what the hell happened last night?”
We’re doing thisnow?
I turn off my own mic. “We’re on a job.”
“Two-thirty,”Tasha says.
“We have two minutes,” Declan insists. “Long enough for you to explain.”
It really isn’t.
“I was with Tasha.”True. “My phone was off.”Also true… eventually.“Didn’t see your messages.”Still can’t bring myself to look at them.
