“Know who this chick is?”
Emil’s voice is slick like ice, and for a split second, Tyler’s smile wavers. He glances at me, his eyes lingering a little too long on my curves. Lewis twitches.
“Amy Hitman,” Emil continues. “El Mago’s daughter.”
At the sound of Dad’s name, Tyler’s eyes flicker, but he acts like he’s not fazed.
I’m gonna destroy this guy.
“That Dodge you stole in Sycamore Heights? It’s hers, you hijo de puta!”
“You never said not to! She wants her car? She’ll have to win it back,” Tyler snarls, looking me dead in the eye.
The guy has balls, I’ll give him that—now I’m the one clutching on to Lewis for dear life, trying desperately to stop myself from slamming a fist in his face. This dude knows who my dad is, but I don’t think he knowsmybackground. Which gives me one hell of a head start.
“Let’s go,” I say without missing a beat.
“You win, you get your Dodge back,” Tyler says slowly. “What do I get if I win?”
I think for a moment. And then, keeping myself as still as I can, keeping my eyes locked on his, I raise a hand and point left, every muscle in my face stiff with effort.
He’s freaking out, I can tell—but this guy has no idea what’s coming next.
“A Firebird,” I say. “You win a 1969 Pontiac Firebird.”
11LEWIS
You never said not to! She wants her car? She’ll have to win it back.”
It’s my fucking car, you ass wipe. Not a fucking poker chip.
That douche is right there within punching distance, and all I can do is stand here, listening to him jerk all over my Dodge, biting back on the urge to fuck him up. I feel like such a loser, standing here helplessly while some kid waves his dick in my face.
It’s tough. I’m used to handling my own shit, roping Adam in when I need a little backup. This time, all I can do is trust Firebird to figure it out, and there’s no way she’ll be down for following this asshole’s rules. I’ve been watching how she moves in these spaces from the moment we pulled into Brooklyn, and she’s right at home here. In control. The way Emil mentioned her dad has tipped me off. She’s somebody worth knowing here—or shewassomebody, at any rate.
A million different questions are racing through my mind, but now’s not the time. I need to stay focused on Tyler, and the way he’s blatantly checking Amy out. Blatantly trolling me, too.Better hold on to your panties, dude, because Amy’s got this.
She’s gripping my arm, and though initially I just assume it’s tokeep me in check, it suddenly dawns on me—she’s trying to calmherselfdown.
Why, though? Just fucking deck the guy, Hitman!
“Let’s go,” she drawls.
Uh… What? Go where?
Tyler curls his lip, flashing teeth I would justloveto smash in right now.
“You win, you get your Dodge back. What do I get if I win?”
My knee in your face.
Amy shrugs off my arm and takes a step toward him. “A Firebird. You win a 1969 Pontiac Firebird.”
A jolt of surprise.
I’d been picturing a bloodbath—but this? My mind whirs.What the fuck is she even thinking?
“Sounds like you guys got yourselves a deal.” Emil claps his hands. “West loop. Now.”
