Page 119 of Brazen Deceits

Clara

Isprint straight toward the motorcycles at the front of the museum, Trips on my heels.

Walker’s voice cuts through the earbuds. “Security found the other team. I think it’ll buy you time, but the guards are seriously out-muscled.”

“Thanks, Walker.”

“Don’t thank me yet. This is going to be a damn elementary school collage at best, princess.”

I laugh, the only member of the other team left guarding the bikes turning toward my giddiness. “Hey. I’m going to fuck up your bikes.”

Pulling off his helmet, a round-faced man tosses it aside and moves toward me.

I skirt away from the pending tussle and let Trips through, his fist crashing into the biker’s face with a crack of what is probably a broken nose. At least. But I can’t think about that.

Fake it till you make it, Clara. Bravado. You’re a badass bitch. All these fuckers have decided you are, so you might as well live up to expectations.Exceeding expectations is a Clara McElroy special.

“He’s going to fuck up your face,” I clarify as grunts and awful wet sounds fill the night air.

I dash to the first bike, unscrewing the gas tank, carefully pouring half the Mountain Dew into it.

God. Learning about my dad’s past has clarified a bunch of weird stuff he taught me when I was learning to drive.

Like how to do controlled high-speed donuts in all pavement conditions. Or how to judge whether a car can successfully jump a curb and drive through the woods—also at high speeds.

And this one: all the ways to ruin an engine. Sugar, water, brake fluid, bleach, and hydrogen peroxide.

Last I checked, Mountain Dew is made almost entirely of water and sugar.

I hope to God this works.

Rushing to the other bikes, I repeat the process, emptying the two bottles into the motorcycles.

I hope that was enough. It was all I could carry.

Turning back to Trips, he’s looming over an unconscious blob that’s still mostly man-shaped.

“Hey! You’re still here! Like, mentally!” I babble, my adrenaline making me officially batshit crazy.

Trips glares at the guy. “He’s lucky he didn’t touch you.”

“Can you hide him behind the lion in the box hedge?”

Trips rolls his eyes but scoops up the guy and makes it happen.

I focus on the next step. I can’t let my crazy get away from me. There’s still more. So much more. “RJ, are you back?”

I hear a bang, Walker’s half-aware “thanks,” then RJ comes in clear. “I’m here. What do you need?”

Trips finishes, so I grab his hand and drag him farther down the street. “I need an ETA on the cops and the crooks.”

“Crooks should be out with the Rubens here in less than a minute. The cops will be there in…nine minutes, give or take. With the weather, probably longer.”

“Okay. Once the crooks are out, I need you to tell me which way they go. Trips and I will get the Rubens back.”

Trips tugs me into the park next to the museum. “How the hell are we going to catch up with three Ducatis?”

“I took care of it.” I hold up the two empty Mountain Dew bottles before tossing them into a public garbage can.

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