“Because,” Gage says, cutting clean through whatever tirade Bishop was going to deliver. “Bellamy’s crew hit the yacht before we did.”
Everything stops.
The scrambler hum, the fridge buzz, Cruz breathing.
Silence slams into the room so hard it’s almost funny.
Cruz goes rigid, his eyes narrowing on Gage. Bishop’s face empties, then floods with something dark.
And I bark out a laugh, my eyebrows shooting up as I lean forward. My ring stops tapping against the metal. Well, well, well. Bellamy just got a hell of a lot more interesting.
Bishop whirls on me. “Please. Enlighten us, Rafe. What the fuck is funny about this?”
I drag my thumb along my bottom lip, still smirking. “C’mon, man. Don’t you think it’sa littlefunny?”
His glare digs in. I let it sit, giving him my best smile. If he would get out of his own fucking head once in a while, he’d see how ironic the whole situation is.
We were looking for who snaked the yacht out from under us, and lo and behold, the woman waltzes right back into our lives.
Fate has a funny fucking sense of humor. I’m into it.
Bishop turns back to Gage, voice low and barely leashed. “And how do you know that?”
Gage leans back on his hands. “Saw her outside Marty Vega’s when we were casing fences.”
So, she’s an established little thief, I muse, tapping my fingertips against my lips.Curiouser and curiouser.
“So that’s why she showed up to Ma’s party,” I murmur, fitting some pieces of the Bellamy Hale puzzle together.
Gage nods once. “Yeah, I invited her. Wanted to feel her out, see if she was doing someone else’s work—she’s not.”
Bishop’s pacing restarts, faster now. “And why the fuck didn’t you read us in? Why am I just hearing about this now?”
“Because I wasn’t sure what you’d do,” Gage snaps, patience fraying. “And I didn’t want anyone running to Ma.”
Bishop takes a step toward him. “And what’s stopping me from telling hernow?”
Before Gage can answer, Cruz speaks up, voice calm but edged in something darker. “Besides the fact that you’d be signing Bellamy’s death warrant?” He slides his gaze to me in a purposeful sweep.
The words hang there, heavy and final. Too true to argue with.
Bishop looks at him, then at me, like he’s waiting for one of us to blink. Neither of us moves.
Gage scrubs a hand over his face. “That’s not even the point. I caught her scouting another job today.”
Cruz’s brows lift. “Where?”
“A music store in Bayview,” Gage says.
My brows rise in surprise. A five-million-dollar yacht is a far cry from a music store in a small town a few hours away.
Bishop barks out a laugh that’s more like a snarl. He shakes his head and looks from Cruz to me, incredulity deepening his expression.
“A music store in Bayview,” he repeats. “Be fucking for real, man. What’s she gonna get, a hundred bucks and an out-of-tune bass? That’s your big idea?” He shakes his head and turns around, giving Gage his back. “All right. What do you two have? Because I’m not wasting one more minute talking about robbing a wannabe Guitar Center.”
“I got nothing.” I reach back to the workbench and grab the half-warm Coke I abandoned earlier, taking a slow sip. “I got nothing.”
Bishop’s head snaps toward me. His shoulders square, spine going rigid like he’s bracing for impact. “You’ve got nothing?”
