Liam nods, mouth agape in an impressed smirk. “In videos.”
“Good enough.” She flaps her hand around, mimicking an acrobatic move. “My gymnastics teacher was the choreographer for a show like that at La Lune Noire. While other kids were mastering the balance beam, I was mounting walls and swinging on trapeze. Homeschooled in a resort and casino comes with an odd education, but how fortunate that I can use it now.”
“Could have skipped the fucking Navy and joined the goddamn circus, it seems,” Gage quips with a chug of his bourbon.
Rena plops a butterscotch in her mouth, muttering, “Totally.”
“You’re fucking weird, Noire,” Liam says, winking at her.
“All part of my charm, Graves,” she volleys, the hard candy clacking against her teeth.
Liam peers over at me. “She’s right. You should each take one, and she should cover the one near the mezzanine.”
“Fuck that,” I snarl, irritated he’s not backing me up. “It’s too dangerous. She could fall, be seen, get—”
“You said you saw her do it successfully the night she planned her great escape,” Liam interjects, and Rena stifles a gloating giggle. “Every second the two of you are in there is another beat something could go wrong. She can handle it.”
Gage groans, rubbing his hand over his chin. “I agree. And if she lowers her camera down first, hopefully, she won’t have to conceal herself from anyone in the office. We can guide her through when to drop.”
“Ty, I can do this,” she insists, her hand gliding over the scruff on my cheek. “I’m not being reckless. I’m telling you I can handle it.”
She needs so badly to be taken seriously, to have us believe in her, to make her own decisions. Her brothers caged her, kept her on a shelf like a prized possession, but never let her get her hands dirty or spread her wings. It’s why she ran. One way or another, that was going to be the outcome because my girl is desperate to fly. I don’t want to smother that part of her, but my lungs seize up in my chest at the mere thought of anything happening to her, and I feel so goddamn helpless.
“It’s not that I think you’re reckless or not perfectly skilled for this. I just …”
Crunch. Squeak. Blood. One wrong—
“I know,” she whispers, her greenish hazels brimming with empathy. “But let’s not allow our pasts to rob us of one more moment. Let’s live. If we only had this one day, swinging from a beam like a James Bond girl on a secret mission would be a cool way to spend it. So,livewith me.”
There’s no doubt in my mind that even though she’s probably apprehensive, she genuinely believes that statement.
Living, breathing, waking up—all used to be next-to-impossible tasks for me. I’m not sure how she does it, but she flips everything inside out. Scares me while simultaneously pumping air into my chest. Makes me eager to step out on the ledge and enjoy the moment of uncertainty when everything hangs in the balance.
She is the epitome of freedom—not just dancing in the rain,but digging her toes into the muddy field and illuminating the beauty of the flooded berries.
I still won’t be permitting her to venture into anything too life-threatening. But lucky for her, there’s a window in that office, so Gage and Liam can have a sniper shot fixed on anyone inside, which is why I drag her into my arms, capture her lips, and say, “Okay, Little Moon. Let’s live.”
RENA
“Like a fucking spider,Little Moon,” Liam commends into my comm, slinging out my call name in jest to irritate my jealous husband. It was supposed to be Moonshine, but Liam and Gage are both too troublemaking to comply with that, which I wholeheartedly respect.
Since I’m the only one with an identity that can be traced—medical and dental records, familial affiliations, financial holdings—no one needs a code name but me. So much weirdness is their normal.
“Jesus, I fucking hate hearing that come out of your goddamn mouth,” Ty grits out.
And there it is, which only encourages the other two.
“What? You meanLittle Moon?” Gage howls. “Pussy-whipped motherfucker.”
I’m only a few feet from the rooftop of the warehouse, so seconds after Liam’s accolade, while they gibe one another, I fling myself onto the outer edge. My ski mask is firmly on, concealing myface. I’m clad in all-black attire that fits like a second skin. I’ve got my bag filled with supplies. Plan in place. Fully prepped.
But my heart is whomping against my sternum in a violent protest. Too late now. I was all about being a James Bond girl. And, yes, there is a thrill in every step. In some ways, I’m in my element. Especially if I ignore the reality of my circumstances and bask in the fantasy that I’ve always held of being a secret weapon for the Noire family. Different family, but dream fulfillment nonetheless.
It’s this foreboding nudge in my gut, warning me that this is no freaking fantasy, that my whole world is about to be upended. I’m sure it’s simply nerves, but I can’t seem to shake it.
“Still good, Little Moon?” Gage asks as I creep over to the skylight and snatch the lockpicking set from my pocket.
“Good,” I return, my hands trembling as I dig through the wallet-like case in the glowing light from the window and select the tension tool first.
