Squatting low, I shrug off my pack and take out my bolt cutters. I snip through the metal from the ground to about two feet up, stopping when I can easily pull the fence open and slide through the gap.
It takes me a second to find it, but Grace’s bike is pretty hard to miss. Nestled between a rusty Toyota Tundra and a smashed-up sedan is a gleaming Kawasaki Ninja H2 sports bike.
It’s a beautiful fucking machine.
I slide a gloved hand over the arc of the handlebars, down the curve of the black carbon-fibre to the sleek, leather seat. Maybe I’ll take it for a spin before handing it over to her, because fuck, it must ride like a goddamn dream.
I’ve always liked motorcycles. Think I broke my old man’s heart a little the day I bought one, given my family’s history with the Sinners. But I couldn’t help myself. A bike is freedom. Open air, wind in my face, asphalt beneath my feet. I like fast. And I’d bet this thing isrealfucking fast.
“Jesus, Decker, you wanna buy that thing a drink first or what?”
Heart plunging into my stomach, I jump and move for the piece I tucked into the back of my pants.
But when the person who snuck up on me comes into focus, I freeze.
“Grace,” I grit, my relief quickly turning to anger. I let go of my gun and tug down my mask. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She pulls down the dark bandanna concealing the bottom half of her face and smiles. Like me, she’s wearing all black. Except she’s clearly not all that accustomed to committing theft. In skintight jeans, a leather jacket barely zipped up over her tits, and a knit tuque that does nothing to hide her hair, the girl is asking to be fucking caught. Cameras tag her, and it won’t be hard to figure out who she is. Especially when this bike goes missing.
“Just wanted to make sure you’re following through with our agreement,” she says.
Deep. Fucking. Breaths.
“You did that already with the blackmail. You tell me to do something, and if I don’t, you ruin my entire existence. I’m handling it. So get the fuck out of here.”
She crosses her arms, pushing her tits together. “And how am I supposed to trust you’ll get me what I asked for?”
Something tells me Grace might be new to the whole extortion thing. Telling me what’s hiding in her bike was a whole lot of stupid. Between the coke and the cash, there’s probably about a hundred grand worth of contraband in this thing. I can name a few people whose lives are worth far less than that. And since she came to me and not the Sinners, she’s obviously into some shady shit she doesn’t want them to know about. I could kill her and take it for myself, and her brothers would be none the wiser. I’ve taken men out for less, but usually when I end a life, it’s because thescarierDonovan in this town has directed me to do so. I’m not usually in the business of committing murder for funsies.
I sigh. “You trust I’ll do it because I said I would.”
She walks around the bike, trailing her hand over the shining paint just as I did a minute ago, and stops less than a foot away from me. She angles up her face, exposing her neck.
Fuck, the move makes me want to put my hand around it again. Just how hard will Grace let me squeeze?
“You expect me to take you at your word? Please.” She scoffs. “I’m here to supervise.”
“I won’t ask again,” I say, my tone laced with warning as I take a step closer. “I’m not gonna let you?—”
“Let me?” She arches a brow and closes the almost nonexistent distance between us. Tits pressed to my chest, eyes full of fire, she stretches that neck, showing me that damn throat again. “How you gonna make me, Linc?”
Another fucking dare.Do it. Show me what kind of man you’ve become.
I take the bait.
With slow, precise movements, I grasp her throat.
Like I knew it would, her breath catches.
The grip I have on her is loose, forgiving, as I test her, watch her expression. Not an ounce of fear on her face. The woman is all defiance, all challenge. She’s daring me to do something, and I’m fucking tempted. I rub my thumb over her skin, and a rush of goose bumps erupts under my palm. When I squeeze, just a little, she swallows, and that little fucking smile is back, egging me on, telling me to go harder.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I think I might want to get Grace Donovan naked.
“Linc,” she whispers, gaze locked on mine.
“Gracie.”
