“Found something.” Rafe's low whistle cuts through the silence.
I skid to a stop beside him, my breath catching in my throat. “Fuck me.”
Light fractures across the hutch's interior—a thousand tiny rainbows dancing across my face as diamonds catch the beam of my flashlight. Platinum settings wink between blood-red rubies and sapphires so blue they look liquid. My fingers hover over a necklace that probably costs more than everything I've ever stolen.
Rafe’s grin is feral, bright, and boyish at the same time. “We definitely got the good room.”
I grab his wrist before he can reach in. “Wait. High-end pieces get flagged,” I hiss.
His brows lift, amused. “You worried we’re gonna get pinched?”
“I’m thinking it’s not worth the risk.”
Rafe tilts his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in that way that always makes my stomach drop three floors. “Noted,” he says, voice like gravel against silk. “But?—”
The stairwell door bangs open. Heavy footfalls vibrate through the floorboards beneath us.
“Check every goddamn room!” A man's voice booms, thick with rage.
My fingers go numb around the jewelry case. The room shrinks, air thinning.
Rafe's eyes flash dark as he lunges forward.
Two fingers hook into the V-neck of my vest—right between my breasts—yanking it open with enough force to strain thezipper teeth. His other hand scoops the entire velvet tray in one fluid motion, knuckles white against the midnight fabric.
“Rafe—”
He dumps every glittering piece straight down my cleavage. Diamonds, sapphires, and platinum chains cascade between the cotton of my shirt and bare skin.
Cold metal hits hot skin like ice on a burn. I gasp, sharp and involuntary, as jagged prongs and heavy pendants settle against my skin, some sliding lower to press against my ribs.
He's already grinning, teeth flashing white in the darkness like a predator scenting blood. “Time to go, baby.”
24
BELLAMY
My pulse explodes,pain and cold and adrenaline blurring into one violent, electric second.
Rafe snatches both backpacks off the floor in one fluid sweep, slinging his across his broad shoulders with a practiced shrug, mine dangling from his left hand like it's filled with feathers instead of fifty pounds of cash. Three long strides take him to the corner where he wraps his fingers around the arm of a hulking leather monstrosity—a vintage executive chair with cracked upholstery the color of dried mustard and brass tack trim that catches the dim light as he drags it across the floor.
The chair legs screech against the hardwood, leaving pale scratches like claw marks. He jams it under the doorknob with a grunt, his shoulders bunching beneath his black hoodie as the brass tacks catch the dim light.
“Five seconds,” he says, already moving toward the window, his shadow stretching long against the wall.
Five seconds, like that's enough time to outrun whatever the hell is waiting for us on the other side of that door, where the handle already rattles like an animal trying to get free.
My heart is a fist in my throat, pounding so hard I can taste copper on my tongue.
The words choke in my throat. “How the fuck are we getting out?”
The door slams inward with a sound like bones breaking—wood splintering into jagged teeth, the brass doorknob punching through drywall as something massive crashes against it. The barricade shudders, sliding inches under the force.
A raw, guttural voice bellows from the hallway, “You motherfuckers! I'm going to fuckin' kill you.” Each word drips with a promise of violence that makes my stomach clench.
Every hair on my body stands up, a wave of goosebumps prickling across my skin like tiny needles. My mouth goes desert-dry.
Rafe doesn't even flinch. His face remains carved from stone as he grabs my wrist, his calloused fingers digging into my pulse point. Electricity shoots through my veins at the contact, hot and sharp as a live wire.
