Page 88 of Brazen Deceits

Am I really going to do this?

What makes my heart sing and my brain buzz? Where do I feel safe to grow and change? When else do I feel as alive as I do with these guys, diving headfirst into their brand of trouble?

Yeah. I think I really might do this.

We finish eating, the conversation light and teasing, a vibe I’ve never experienced with this assortment of men. Usually Jansen’s a beacon of joy, and the others drift toward his levity, but don’t always join in.

Maybe it’s the excitement for the trip to Chicago, anticipation for the heist, or just good food made by a cook in a great fucking mood, but the whole experience gives me hope that even if I’m messing this thing up, at least I haven’t totally fucked it up. Not yet, at least.

I excuse myself after helping with the dishes, slipping into my room, a stupid grin on my face as I look at the rumpled bed. Remembered touches trail over my skin, and I physically shake off the memory.

I need my best friend. This choice? It’s big. Even if I’m just moving onto probation, I’m going to Chicago to break the law. I’ll probably just be gophering coffee like some sort of criminal intern, but still. This is serious. Curling into one of my pink chairs, I call Emma.

She picks up on the third ring, Christmas music blaring in the background. “Clara! What’s up, girl? Are you still half comatose from turkey?”

I pull my knees to my chest, holding myself as tightly as I can. “No, sadly, no turkey for me this year.”

“Did you try to help cook it? If so, I’d say you deserve what you got. You know your weaknesses.”

I laugh, but it’s not up to snuff. “No, I got into a fight with my mom. I moved out. Permanently.”

The Christmas music gets quieter, disappearing as Emma moves to a quieter corner of her house. “Oh…that’s…oh my. How are you doing?”

Shrugging, I force the mess inside me into words. “I’m okay. I’m more angry than anything else right now. But it was time. I don’t even know if she ever loved me, Emma, or if she just loved the idea of perfect little me on the shelf, taking me out to show her friends, then locking me back up again.”

Emma’s sigh encompasses all the emotion that analogy deserves, and I can hear the hint of tears in her voice. “Clara, I can be back in three hours. I’ll be there.”

I choke back my own tears. “I’m good. I’m actually going to Chicago with the guys. At least, I think I am. But I don’t know. It’s kind of a big deal, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”

“Ready for a five-way? I mean, I’d typically say no, Clara, but the way you’ve been heading, I think it’s just a matter of time.”

I burst out laughing. “No, you gutter snipe! God. Could you imagine?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize I can imagine, and oh. my. God. So fucking hot.

I swallow, forcing away the sudden intense arousal from the mere idea. “No, it’s, I guess, a business thing. They have this company, and I can go with them to close a huge deal, but the role is, well, it’s pretty permanent. And risky.”

Emma sighs. “Those guys make you so damn cryptic. It’s risky, it could be permanent, and, let me guess, it might end up involving the police, like with the freaking listening device scare of September—and no, I did not forget that. I was just waiting until you came clean. Are you coming clean?”

Tears fill my eyes, and all I want to do is tell my best friend. How can she let me know if I’m crazy to consider this if she doesn’t know what “this” is? Only these aren’t my secrets to share. “I can’t. But let’s say, hypothetically, that what you said is exactly what’s at stake. Police and everything.”

“Shit, Clara. Is it dangerous? Are you going to get shot at or something?”

Weird that I haven’t seen a single firearm in the house. I need to ask about that. “No, not that I know of. I probably won’t even leave the van.”

“Will someone else get shot at?”

“Hopefully not.”

Her sigh is heavy. “So you’re really considering this?”

“Yeah. I think I am.”

She clicks her tongue, and I can see her braiding and unbraiding her hair in my mind as she thinks about how to navigate this mess I made for her. “Okay, if you’re serious, I have a hypothetical for you: if I were to flip a coin right now, heads you go, tails you stay, and it’s up in the air and spinning, which way would you want it to land?”

Of course Emma is letting chance decide.

But when I think about it, it’s not chance. It’s forcing the moment before chance to clarify what you really want. “I’d want it to land heads.”

“Then I guess that’s your answer, Clara.”

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