And when he does, something flickers across his face—surprise, relief, a softness he’d deny until the day he dies.
“I fucking knew it,” he whispers.
The words land like a confession. Or a wound. Or a wish I never let myself keep.
My breath stutters. Sweat gathers between my shoulder blades and slides down my spine. For one terrifying, reckless second, I feel myself tipping forward—like I could fall straight into him and let every stupid, teenage feeling drag me under.
Which is exactly why I straighten my spine and slam the door on all of it.
“You left without a trace,” he says, quieter now. “And now you’re back, and that’s what you lead with?What are you doing here?”
Every soft place in me hardens at once. The walls slam back up, cement pouring into the cracks.
“Seems like a reasonable question, considering where we are.” I flick my gaze to the side, a subtle nod to Marty’s warehouse.
He studies me, something unreadable sparking behind his eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day you were pulling a job. And on a yacht, no less.”
I bristle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He shrugs one shoulder, and that familiar half-grin tugs at his mouth. Dangerous, boyish, impossibly charming. The exact grin that preceded every terrible, perfect decision of my teenage life.
“Sixteen-year-old Bellamy on a yacht? Sure,sunbathingon yachts, not robbing ‘em.”
My jaw drops as indignation rises like a tidal wave. “Oh, so I’m thesunbathingtype?”
“Yeah,” he says without hesitation, stepping closer. “Pretty much. I bet you still look good in a bikini.”
Heat spikes beneath my skin so fast I want to crawl out of it.
“Oh my god.” I shove my sunglasses back up my nose. “You’re impossible.”
He grins wider. “You missed me.”
“I didn’t.”
He lifts a brow. “Liar.”
I swallow hard and look away because he’s right. He’s always been able to see pieces of me I never meant to show.
“So,” I say, steadying myself. “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”
Something shifts. The grin fades. Hesitation settles into the crease between his brows. Then he exhales, and something reckless curls around the corner of his mouth.
“You know what?” He rubs the back of his neck, like he’s arguing with himself and choosing chaos anyway. “Fuck it.”
My pulse ticks faster.
“My brothers and I have been casing every fence within a hundred miles.Someonelifted a score out from under us.” His gaze locks onto mine, sharp and searching, like he’s trying to read me from the inside out. “We split up today to see if we could find out who.” He gestures around the industrial park. “Lucky for both of us, I found you first.”
My pulse lurches. “Is that a threat?”
“Not from me.” He lowers his voice and shuffles a step closer. “Come to the house tonight.”
My breath catches. “What?”
He exhales a soft laugh that curls warm through my stomach, damn him. “Coco’s throwing a party at the house. Music, drinks, food—the usual circus.” His eyes skim my face like he’s reacquainting himself with every freckle. “Come by. Talk. Or yell at me. Or… I don’t know. Just be there.”
I step back because I have to—because my internal balance is shot and I don’t trust my feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
