Page 96 of Brazen Deceits

Walker’s dark eyes are so full of trust, I wish I could dive into them. “I’ll try.”

“You need to talk to RJ, too.”

I grin. “Are you my relationship guru now?”

His smile matches mine, his hand rising to caress my cheek. “I want you happy. And if you want this multiple boyfriend thing to work? You’re going to need help.”

Leaning in for another kiss, I catch his scent of maple syrup and pine, relaxing into his touch. “Thank you, Walker.” More of the tightness in my chest unwinds. He’s really trying. He’s here, for me. My cheerleader. No masks required.

We pile plates full of salty-sweet goodness, spread around the reclaimed wood kitchen table. My food is gone before I remember taking more than a bite. Apparently rescuing one of your boyfriends from gun-toting, mob-employed security guards makes you hungry.

Once we’ve all slowed down, Trips clears his throat. “We got the drop location and time. It’s 3 p.m. at Sin’sister, a high-end bar.”

Jansen tugs my chair closer to him so he can rest his hand on my thigh. “Great. We’ll do the drop, then drive home. It even leaves us time for a good celebration tonight.” His hand inches up my leg, his fingers pressing on the apex of the seam of my jeans, letting me know exactly what kind of celebration he’s planning on. Squirming, I think about moving his hand back to safe territory, but it feels too good. I want exactly the kind of celebration he’s suggesting.

Trips raises an eyebrow at the two of us, even though there’s no way he can see what’s happening from the other side of the table. “There’s more. Jasmine wants Clara to do the drop. Alone.”

Jansen stops his firm caress, turning to me. I’m both grateful he didn’t make me come at the table in front of everyone and frustrated that he stopped. Damn hormones. “Do you think you can do the drop solo?” he asks.

I glare at my plate. “Do I want to? No. Can I? Probably?”

He twines his fingers with my own. “Okay.”

RJ smiles his place across from me. “I think this is good. You two have already built some rapport.”

Walker reaches over Jansen to take my other hand. “You’ve got this.”

Trips rams his hand through his hair again, any semblance to coiffed disappearing. “Fine. I guess everyone else is okay with leaving you alone with a mob princess immediately after we stole from her grandfather. No fucking big deal.”

I glance at Walker. “What were the exact requirements?”

“Show up alone with the document. Once Jasmine has it in hand, we’ll get the final details for the New Year’s heist.”

Nodding, I turn to Trips. “Dress warm, grumps. You’ll be chilling by the door.”

He blinks a few times, then drops his shoulders. “Not what I want, but it will have to do.”

It’s barely warm enough for my capelet, but I love the thing too much not to wear it. With my chunky white sleeves poking out, I feel a little like a panda bear, but when I asked Jansen, he said I was too hot to be a panda. That’s not a glowing review of my outfit, but it will have to do.

Jansen pulls into an alleyway around the corner from the bar. Snagging my hand before I follow Trips out of the car, he tugs me over the console to wrap an arm around me. “Bad bitch energy, beautiful. You’ve got this.”

I laugh, leaning forward for a kiss before sliding the rest of the way out. Trips takes my mittened hand and tucks it in the crook of his arm, the sheer size of him surprising me yet again. My hand looks tiny there against the black wool of his coat. “Are you okay?” I ask, confused once again by the closeness. I’m loving it, but it’s weird, and I’m worriedabout what it means. Once is nice, twice is wonderful, thrice is suspicious.

He tugs me out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, scattered folks passing us. His brows furrow, my question taking him off guard. “I’m worried. This gig, I don’t know. Something feels off. I don’t like that Jasmine’s grandpa and my father use the same cleaner.”

I laugh. “What kind of house cleaners travel between major metropolitan areas?”

Trips’ lips twist. “The kind who know how to make the bodies disappear.”

I stop, pausing Trips, too. “Bodies?” I whisper.

His lips twist, disgust written across his face. “The O’Malleys. The best in the Midwest.”

“What a fucking horrific thing to be known for.”

He scoffs, tugging me toward the restaurant, the clock in his head working to keep us on time.

The Sin’sister is in the middle of the block of little two-story brick row houses, all renovated into boutiques, coffee shops, and in this case, a bar. Trips walks me to the door, stopping right in front and turning me to him. “Keep your head on straight. If anything goes down, yell. I’m right here. I’ll hear you.”

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