Her lack of fear in the face of death concerned me, but I also admired her budding grit. We’d been working out together daily for the past two weeks, and even though there wasn’t much time to get ready, she picked up the exercises thanks to her nimble body.
I fastened the sleek bulletproof vest across her chest and zipped it. I must have had a concerned look on my face.
“He won’t hurt her,” Bee assured, noticing. “I’ll protect her, no matter what.”
I glared in her direction. “Just focus on the art, not the boy toy, okay?”
Bee scoffed. “He’s not my boy toy.”
I was already in black joggers, a black t-shirt, and trainers. I threaded my arms into a gun holster that crisscrossed over my back, holding two weapons on either side of me. Pulling on a hat, I tugged it low on my forehead before placing one on Sybil’s head and pulling her ponytail through the back.
It was my job to protect Sybil’s peace, and as each day passed in my role, she softened. I’d do anything to be sure that the world didn’t harden her again, including killing some asshole if I had to.
We packed our bags with ropes, duct tape, ammo, and anything else we could need. I tossed some zip ties in with the duct tape. If I got my hands on him, he’d regret it. Slinging the bag over my shoulder, we headed out back to the garage where Bee kept a vehicle.
CHAPTER 39
Sybil
Everything was technicolor.
In a few short months, nothing resembled the look or feel of life before now. My clothes were amazing. I looked amazing. I was working out again, having more sex than a fictional character, and was planning an art heist.
Stab me with a fork, I’m done.
The only thing that could make this moment better was telling Nash I loved him. He was infuriating me. I was about to tie him down and stuff a sock in his mouth. I’d make him relent and let me say it. I’m not sure what goal he had in mind, but it wasn’t a game I liked. Tying him down, though? That could be fun.
The feelings I had for him were bubbling over, a suppressed set of words becoming so heavy with meaning that I would explode if I didn’t get them out. I was nearthe point of blurting it into existence, like right here and now in the car with Bee as witness.
Bee banked around a dark hidden street corner, narrowly making it. My nails sought traction on the leather of the backseat. Another man yelled at us from the sidewalk.
It was clear to me why Bee never drove. She was a hot mess behind the wheel. Mustard streaked down the window on my side where a man had thrown a hot dog at us a few blocks back. I’m certain the sacrificed wiener saved his life.
After a few more harrowing turns, and narrowly missed pedestrians and bikers, we came to a screeching halt in the alley the GPS had led us into.
Nash’s face looked pale and sick. “Jesus, Bee. Announce our arrival, would you?” he chided.
Bee laughed once, unamused. “You’re an idiot if you think he doesn’t already know we’re here. He’s probably tracking my phone at this point.”
Looking out the window, a large warehouse loomed over us. Rust crept up the metal siding from the base where it sat against the wet cement. Dim light glittered off the pavement in the dark.
She threw her silver Porsche into park. Nash and Bee exited the front before retrieving me from the back; I was the only one who could fit back there. Nash grabbed the duffel bag from the trunk, and Bee locked her car with a beep as we stepped away and toward the fire escape Nash and I studied on the schematic.
I looked up at the rickety and wet-looking structure, thinking it was a heck of a lot further off the ground than I’d expected.The first ladder was always out of reach. Nash would have to give us a lift to get there.
Feet sloshed in puddles as we moved below the ladder, and Nash offered Bee a boost first. She was better trained for this, grabbing hold of the rail and pulling herself up with ease. I, on the other hand, was still struggling to accomplish a half pull-up. When Nash boosted me up next, Bee reached for me, using most of her strength to pull me up with her.
Now standing on the first landing, Nash tossed a rope at me. I caught it and secured it around a pole over my head before threading it back down to him. He was far too large for either of us, or even both of us, to pull up. He’d brought his pulley and ratchet so he could do it himself. Once up, he untied the rope and stuffed it back in the bag, and then we made our way up the metal escape to the roof.
Stepping onto the slick, algae-covered surface, we found the door to the stairs leading into the building. Trying the handle, I found it locked.
Nash passed Bee her lock-picking kit. She’d shown it to me this week and let me practice with it a few times, but I was terrible at it. I wasn’t sure patience was my thing. With practice, though, I hoped I could someday be as good as her.
Bee knelt before the door and began picking the lock. Nash slung his arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him. I leaned my cheek against the side of his chest, right in the crook of his arm—my favorite spot to find heat. It took her a few minutes to figure it out, but soon the rusty lock gave and the door opened on stiff hinges.
It squealed and whined, with the light from the roof pouringin.
Bee peered in first.“Shit.”
