Spencer
Colin Trine lives ina nondescript one-bedroom unit in a block of four, making it trickier to find our way in without nosy neighbours spotting us. We spend two hours watching the place, to see who’s home, who isn’t, and what the movements are.
Unit three’s occupants are in their backyard, doing maintenance. Conveniently making enough noise with their music that it will help mask our approach despite how inconsiderate they’re being. Unit one hasn’t so much as made a peep. There’s no car in their driveway, but they each have a small garage, so that’s not a clear sign they aren’t there. Unit four left a half hour into our watch. The dog that lives there has been barking ever since, so there can’t be another person in there.
The house that backs up to Trine’s yard left in a flurry of noise and chaos an hour ago, giving us our in once we determine the coast is clear.
“I’d fuckin’ hate to live here,” Kendrick mutters. “That dog’s about to drive me insane, and haven’t those assholes heard of headphones?”
“What do you do whenyournext-door neighbour makes noise?”
“Turn on the blender,” he says, deadpan.
“This is why we spend more time at mine.” And why he’s moving in with me and not the other way around. I wish we could do it today. No more travelling between our apartments. No having to go to him and make sure he’s in my space. We’llsharea space.
“I don’t need to do anything, because my neighbours aren’t inconsiderate,” Kendrick says. He finishes the rest of his takeout coffee and drops it into the small bag at his feet. “If they were, I’d just kill them.”
“That gets me hot.”
“Does it?”
I leer at him, and he shakes his head in exasperation.Fondexasperation, at least.
I’m not lying, though. I love how ruthless he is. That he’s mired in the grey, just like I am.
“We’ll go around the back,” Kendrick says, pushing the car door open and stepping out. “Go in through the family’s backyard. They have a doorbell camera and security on both corners of the house, but it doesn’t look like there’s any in the back.”
“Rookie mistake.” Most professional thieves would never be so stupid as to break in through the front yard. The ones who know what they’re doing stealsmallvaluables. Things that can be stuffed into pockets and bags. Things not as likely to be missed. Bigger items are too hard to move, both from the property and when selling. It requires more coordination.
The place next to the family has no security, so we at least don’t have to circle around the block to get there. It’s like playing musical fences.
I hesitate with one hand on the top of the six-foot fence, raking my gaze down Kendrick’s form. “Why don’t I do this, and I’ll let you in the front door?” Impact on his leg can’t be good. Whether or not he wants to acknowledge the truth, he’s hesitant on it now. It’ll take a long time before he completely trusts it. And I don’t want him injured again. The brutal physical therapy he endured isn’t something I want him to go through again.
He’d healed faster than anyone could have anticipated, largely due to Kendrick’s stubborn nature. A boon and a curse. I just want to make sure he didn’t healtoofast and rush his recovery. The risk of re-injuring is too high. And of course, he’d never fucking tell anyone if it bothers him.
“Stop it,” he says tersely, narrowing his eyes at me. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask innocently. I know he can see right through it, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.
“Act like I’m fragile.”
“Me caring about your well-being means that I think you’re fragile?” He’s the strongest person that I know. Well, maybe except Maverick, who’s a goddamn battering ram. The point is that I would never think of him as fragile. That doesn’t mean he’s Superman and can just do whatever he wants without consequence. It doesn’t mean he can’t break.
He gives me a look that tells me exactly what he thinks of my statement. And then hikes himself up and over the fence.
He’s already halfway to the back door by the time I follow him over. His curls bounce as he walks, and I snicker at how they so beautifully convey his irritation. They’re so attuned to his moods, like a separate entity that feeds from him.
It doesn’t take long for me to get through the flimsy lock. More people need to use deadbolts on their back door. So much concern for the front and too much neglect for the back.
Kendrick goes ahead of me into the small laundry the back door leads to.
“Would you like to get fucked?”
Kendrick trips, whirling around, bracing a hand on the washing machine. “Excuse me?”
Pretty sure from that reaction he heard me just fine. “You said you’ve never had anything in your ass, but would youliketo?”
“You’re asking me thisnow?”
