Thief (11 page)

“Huh,” I said in a non-answer. I hoped the heat on my cheeks was covered by make-up enough to hide it.

He cocked his head to one side. “You’re cold.”

“I’m—”

“You’ve got duck bumps.”

I raised my brows. “You mean goose bumps?”

“Duck, goose.” He waved his hand through the air and then stood up, heading to the closet. He left the light off, leaning in, and pulled out a thin cotton track suit jacket. He tossed it over the table, and I caught it. “Put it on.”

It felt like an order, although I wasn’t really complaining. I stuffed my arms into the sleeves. “Why do you have the room so cold?”

“It’s either too hot or too cold in this building. I’d rather it be cold.”

“Because you’re from Russia?”

He made a face, sinking back down into his chair. “Because there’s only so many clothes you can take off if you’re too hot. Eventually you’re naked and it’s still hot. At least when it’s cold, there’s always something else you can put on to wear and warm up.”

Made sense. I watched him clean the gun. I felt kind of stupid just watching him. Maybe it was thinking ahead to what they wanted me to do, and if I thought too much, I got nervous. I wanted to keep my hands busy. “Want me to do anything?”

He twisted his lips, glancing around the room. He pointed to the dresser. “See those boxes?”

“The bullets?”

He motioned to the pile of empty cartridges on his table. “Load them up. If you can figure out how.”

I gathered the bullets and the cartridges and returned to the bed, kicking off my boots and sitting cross-legged. I smoothed out the dark comforter so the boxes wouldn’t spill over. I opened one. The bullet heads were a gray plastic material. I held one up between my fingers. “I haven’t seen these.”

“You’ve seen others?” he asked, not looking up.

“A couple of ex-boyfriends used to go out to the woods and shoot.”

“Did you go?”

“Once, but he wouldn’t let me shoot. He was more interested in having me watch.”

He huffed, grinning. “No wonder he’s an ex.” He motioned to me without looking up. “Those are training rounds. Plastic. Cheaper. We can reload the cartridges with the bullets again and again. No need to waste the real bullets. They’re getting harder to purchase these days.”

“Do you have real bullets?”

“Do you really want to ask me that question? Of course there’s some here.”

“Who are you training? And why?”

He looked up as he stuffed a wire brush into the barrel of the gun. “We’re the good guys, little thief. Stop talking like you’re trying to figure out if we’re not.”

“Bad guys think they’re good guys, too.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Guess it depends on where your morals are, or which side of the law you’re on. You’ve been on the bad guys’ side too long.”

“I’m not—” I stopped short, realizing I was falling into what I was just telling him. “I had good reasons.”

“There’s always a reason,” he said. He finished his cleaning and started piecing the gun together again. “It’s why we have training, not just shooting practice.”

“There’s a difference?”

He placed the gun down in the case. “Training involves psychology, not just technique. For example, let’s say you had a gun.” He shoved the case across the table to the corner and within my reach. “And I have one.” He tugged one of the others toward himself. “Let’s pretend we’re at the grocery store.” He opened his, displaying a Ruger, bigger than I’d seen in person and I guessed it to be a .45.

I opened up the gun case. A .38 automatic was inside, a Smith & Wesson logo on the handle. The cartridge wasn’t in place, so it was clearly empty. His was, too. And since he’d just cleaned them, there wasn’t anything in the chamber. Still, I didn’t touch it knowing these things could kill.

He lifted his, pointing it toward one of the posters at the wall. “I’m robbing the store. I’ve got it in the cashier’s face. You’re in the line next to us. What do you do?”

I frowned, not really amused. “Run away?”

“Ernt!” He made a wrong answer buzzer noise. “I’ve already got my gun out pointed at someone’s head. But if I hear motion ...” He snapped the safety off the .45 and swung his arm until the end of the gun was pointed to one of the targets behind my head. “I’m already a step ahead of you. What do you do?”

I remained quiet, unsure.

“I’m robbing the store,” Raven said. He wriggled the gun toward the wall. “I’m getting all the money. People are scared, on the floor. I’m screaming at the nervous cashier. Kids are crying.” He got up, walking the long way around the table, coming to stand by the bed, the gun still pointed at his target. He loomed over me. “You’ve got an automatic in your pocket. You’re possibly the only other person in the store with a gun. What next?”

I frowned. I had an answer, but I didn’t like it.

“Come on, little thief,” he said. His brown eyes were intense and unrelenting as he stared at me. “Stand up. Show me what you can do.”

My heart pounded in my chest, and I rose slowly, leaving the gun on the bed. I stepped away from it so I was standing clear.

“You’ve left your gun,” he said.

“I know.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not going to use it?”

“No.”

The corner of his mouth lifted and he stepped closer, toe to toe with me, enough so my breasts brushed up against his chest. He angled his elbow, until I felt cool steel at my temple. I didn’t have to look. I knew he had the gun pointed at me. “Why not?”

I resisted the urge to back away, staring back into his face.

“Why Kayli?” He leaned in, until his nose hovered over mine. His dark brows furrowed as he challenged me with his eyes. “I’ve got the gun.”

“But you aren’t shooting,” I said, trying to sound calm even with my heart thundering. I could smell gun oil and a musky scent from his body. His chest moved as he breathed heavily, in and out, brushing against me. A reaction stirred in my nipples and I tried to ignore it. I wasn’t afraid. I was excited, my skin electrified. Because of the guns, or the threat of violence, or maybe just him; I didn’t want to think of why.

“I could shoot,” he said, the tip of the gun pressed into my temple. “One wrong look. One little breath in the wrong place, I might just make the pull.”

“But you aren’t,” I said. I tilted my head away from his gun, and the gun followed until I was looking away from him at the floor. “You’re not shooting. You’re only pointing a gun.”

“So?”

“So if I start waving a gun, you will shoot. Isn’t it better if I let you take the money and leave?”

His head leaned in, his lips traced my ear. His nose shifted through my hair. “Is it? Are you sure?”

I shivered warmly. He was so close and at the same time, I sensed he was toying with me. It almost scared me how much it turned me on. I breathed in slowly to focus. “I’m sure I wouldn’t start waving a gun at someone trying to steal money and run away. If I had to rob a store like that, I wouldn’t shoot. I’d just want the money. So if as a bystander, I shoot, you may be so panicked, you start shooting everyone. If I stay quiet and let you leave, you might have the money, but no one’s been hurt.”

He backed his head up. The tip of the gun eased at my temple, and traced down my cheek, sliding further along the side of my neck. I straightened, finding his brown eyes.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “It’s not often I get the right answer on the first try,” he said. He smirked. “Then again, you do think like a criminal.”

I grunted, rolling my eyes.

“That’s not a bad thing. Training honest men to think like a criminal is much harder. No one wants to turn their minds to always thinking at that angle. Everyone wants to be the hero and find the right solution, and win all. Letting a criminal get away for now is hard for honest people to consider.” He raised the gun tip until he had the barrel planted under my chin, drawing it up until I was looking back at him. “But if you’ve already got the criminal instinct, then you don’t have to think. It becomes natural. You can’t be one step ahead of the bad guys if you’re spending too much time trying to figure out what they’re up to, or worse, play the hero and try to save everything. The real world doesn’t work like that.”

I pressed my lips together as he locked me into looking at his face. His square jaw was set. The ring in his lip glinted under the light. “Do you think like that?” I asked, although my voice was softer than I wanted it to be. “Like a criminal? Is that how you can train them? Are you one? Or did you use to be?”

His eyes narrowed into slits for a moment. He pulled the gun away from my chin, but lowered his face until his nose hovered over mine. “You ask too many questions,” he said. He pulled back, hitting the safety on the gun, turned and walked around the table again. “I’m thirsty,” he said. “There’s Coke in the fridge.”

I huffed. "Do I look like your maid?"

"Do it or I'll tell Axel you tried to take my wallet."

I grunted. Go figure. Making the low man on the totem pole play fetch. I stomped out of his bedroom, but part of me was relieved for a little break. I breathed out slowly after I left the room. Did I just let him point a gun at my head?

And why wouldn’t my heart stop pounding?

––––––––

I
glanced at Corey on the couch, who was tuned into his phone again. I sighed, thinking it would be easier and faster to just do what Raven wanted and try to make him feel like an ass for asking by being nice.

I padded in my socks to the kitchen. I tightened Raven’s jacket around my body, shivering at the chill in the apartment. It felt weird to open someone else's fridge. When I did, I paused and stared. The inside was filled with food. Leftover containers. Sodas stacked on the bottom shelf in organized bins. Fresh produce. My mouth watered and my stomach rumbled at the sight. Marc was getting pizza? He had so much food here.

A noise behind me made me think Corey had entered the kitchen. "Did you want me to get you a soda, too?" I asked.

"I'll get my own damn soda if I want it," said a voice, smoky and severe.

I turned still holding the door to the fridge open. Axel stood a mere inch behind me. I felt the need to back up, but I couldn’t move. I was surprised he had gotten so close without me noticing.

He wore blue jeans, black boots and a dark button up shirt. The upper buttons of the collar were undone, revealing the lines of his collarbone underneath and the start of a black tank undershirt. His long black hair was combed back away from his face and he had removed his glasses, leaving his dark eyes unchallenged.

He cocked an eyebrow. "Who's getting you to play fetch?" he asked in a way that told me he had a suspicion but wanted me to confirm.

I wasn’t too sure if I should lie. Was he worth protecting? "Raven."

“Funny. From what I’ve heard, Miss Kayli Winchester isn’t the type to let someone else tell her what to do.”

“He said he’d tell you I’d stolen his wallet if I didn’t.”

His eyebrows lifted. “If you manage to get that wallet, you can keep whatever’s in it.”

Then he nodded mischievously toward the soda bottle in my hand. “I know you’re thinking it. Do it.”

My heart started pounding excitedly, but I was still intimidated by this idea. I had entertained the thought, but given that I didn’t know these guys very well, I didn’t want to start pushing too many buttons.

But he was the boss, wasn’t he? He was telling me to do it.

I started shaking the bottle, feeling the pressure bulge in the plastic. Foam started up near the top cap but settled deceptively while still contained.

“Go on,” he said, as cool as if asking me to recite a passage from a textbook. He tilted his head toward Raven’s bedroom.

I trailed him to the doorway, and stopped short when Axel stopped, nearly bumping into him.

Raven was bent over a gun. He had a radio on nearby playing what I guessed was Russian rock music.

Axel knocked his knuckles against the doorframe.

Raven picked up his head, turned around. He nodded to Axel and then looked at me, spotting the bottle. He put a hand out reaching for it. “Need something?” he asked Axel.

I crossed the room putting the bottle in Raven’s hand, and tried to appear casual about taking a step back from his table, as if to get out of the middle of the conversation that had nothing to do with me.

“Those guns ready to go yet?” Axel asked.

“Two more to go.” Raven squeezed the top of the bottle and twisted the cap. The soda nearly shook in his hands.

A geyser formed and the top popped up into his palm. Cola erupted around his hand and over his clothes, dripping to the floor. Soda splashed against his face.

“Shit, fuck!” Raven grabbed the bottle, jumping up and running to the door. “Out of the way.”

Axel leaned right and left, blocking Raven from leaving his bedroom, as if pretending to get out of his way, but being completely uncoordinated. However, he did it so smoothly and with such precision that you could tell his bumbling was a farce, as if Axel would never be so clumsy.

The result was the spraying fountain of soda got over Axel’s shirt and mine, including the jacket. Axel didn’t flinch. I stepped back against the wall but couldn’t help the grin on my face, though at the same time, felt the desire sweep through me to be as cool and as collected as Axel appeared to be.

“Fuck, Kayli. Look at the mess,” Raven said.

“I expect you to clean it,” Axel said. “She’s not your errand boy.”

“I was just teasing her!” Raven bellowed at him. He squeezed the top back onto the bottle. “Look at my floor. I’m going to need a steam cleaner.”

“It’ll be coming out of your budget. Your Academy training should have taught you better.”

I wanted to ask what the Academy was, but my mind was reeling. I suddenly felt bad about ratting out Raven. It was a pretty big mess. And what a waste of a soda. “Where’s the towels?” I asked, trying to make peace. If we had to work together today, I didn’t want to do it on bad terms. “I’ll go get them.”

“There, Raven,” Axel said. “Girls can be nice if you give them a chance.”

“I know she is,” Raven bellowed at him. “I was just messing with her for hitting me.”