Page 32 of The Kings
“Scott? That’s heavy lifting,” he murmurs, coming closer and bending to flick the bedside lamp on. “But we’ve got this. Whatever shit they throw at us, we’ve seen worse.”
“We?” I raise an eyebrow.
He smirks. “We.”
“Then I guess we’d better gather the troops. Dad wants this done tonight.”
“And no one keeps Damon Hughes waiting.”
We exchange a look of solidarity. “No shit, Sherlock.”
Climbing out of bed, I pull the old tee over my head, letting him get a good eyeful of my tits before I clasp on a bra and shove a black long-sleeved tee on. My black knickers are covered up with black combat pants, and I sit to pull on black socks and my boots.
Buckling the holster around my waist, I shove Flick in and tie my hair up in a neat bun, and all the while, Raphael watches me with those unreadable eyes.
“That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he states, standing up.
Giving him a wicked smile, I reply, “Oh, baby, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”
He chuckles and leads the way out of my bedroom, shouting for the other guys to join us downstairs to plan the in and out of Scott’s HQ with the least amount of bloodshed possible.
We huddle around the kitchen, shots of espresso making their way into our bloodstream to rouse our asses that were about to hit the sack for the night.
“All right, bitches, eyes on me,” I command, and they all stop whatever the fuck they’re doing and look up. I lay my phoneagainst the centre of the table so they can all see the coded message.
“Tonight’s mission,” I start, rolling my shoulders back. “We’re hitting Ryan Scott where it hurts. Daddy dearest wants some documents—don’t ask me what kind—they’re probably something that will get him all fucked up.”
“Those documents might have intel we can all use to our advantage,” Oliver points out.
“Look at you being all smart and shit,” James murmurs with a sly grin. Oliver flips him off without missing a beat.
Tarquin stops pacing and leans over the table. “So how do we wanna play this? Full-frontal assault or sneaky peaky like?”
“I prefer my men to be full-frontal,” I smirk, watching as Raphael’s gaze heats up from across the room.
“Keep it in your pants for now,” he tells me with a crooked smile. “We’ll celebrate after we finish this job.”
Tarquin’s lips twitch into a half-smirk, his eyes darting between Raphael and me. “Celebrations sound promising,” he teases, “but back to business. I say we go sneaky peaky. Fewer casualties, less noise, in and out.”
James nods in agreement, his fingers tapping an irregular beat on the table. “Agreed. Scott’s going to have that place locked up tighter than a nun’s cunt.”
“Thank you, James, for that vivid image,” Oliver interjects dryly, rolling his eyes.
I clap my hands together once to regain focus. “Right then. Sneaky it is. We get in, we get the goods, we get out. No heroics.” I fix each of them with a pointed look.
Raphael folds his arms, leaning back against the counter with that predator’s gaze. “You’re going to need a distraction,” he says thoughtfully.
Oliver perks up. “I’ve got some tech that could help with that. Jam their security system long enough for us to slip past.”
“Good shit,” I say, nodding towards Oliver. “Prep it.”
The air in the room charges with anticipation as the plan starts coming together piece by piece.
James leans forward, mischief dancing in his eyes. “And what’s our exit strategy?”
I tap my finger on the surface of the counter. “That’s where Tarquin comes in. He’s got one of those faces that’s just too pretty to suspect. He’ll be our Trojan horse, getting the getaway car in place.”
Tarquin throws me a mock salute. “You can count on me, boss lady.”
