Page 12 of Pack of Crooks
What other tricks she might have up her sleeve.
“I think we’ve found the one.” Kill has that look in his eyes. The one that tells me he’s already planned a million different ways to make her ours. I’m not opposed, but what do we do about the job?
“I’ll send the other omegas home,” Ezra says, dropping his phone into his pocket. “That is, as long as we’re all in agreement?”
“You know I’m in.” Kill rubs his jaw. “Is it too soon to go after her?”
No. Fuck no. We should have gone after her five minutes ago, but our dumb asses were too in shock to get it together and now who knows where she went. How hard can it be to track down an omega who smells like strawberries and warmth?
“What if she doesn’t want to do it? Are you going to tie her up?” Ezra asks.
Kill sighs. “I mean, that’s not abadidea.”
Ezra shakes his head. Our beta is always so reasonable. Someone has to be. “Mad? You in?” he asks.
More than I care to admit. Maybe I should think it through, but my teeth ache to sink into her skin. To claim her. Mark her as our own.What if she’s already taken?A growl rattles in the back of my throat and Kill laughs, the sound deep and victorious.I can’t help wondering what the omega thief would think if she knew the show she put on is about to change her life as she knows it.
I always get what I want, and when Ezra and Kill want the same thing? There’s no stopping us from getting it.
five
HAZEL
New York City is a strange place. People happily cram themselves into tiny dwellings with scarcely any room just to be here. I don’t believe in the supernatural, but if it were real, something about NYC would be otherworldly. Once you’re here, it grips you, almost compels you to stay. A siren promising a glimmering sea of lights if only you follow its song.
Though, it should come as no surprise that Pack Lennox wouldn’t accept a six-hundred square foot apartment. Whoever these men are, they have a fuck ton of money because I’m staring up at a historical building smack in the middle of Manhattan—the nice kind of historical, not the dilapidated kind. Heading in, I clutch the sleek card I found behind Killian’s ID and smile at the front desk attendant who eyes me like I’m a cockroach in need of smooshing.
I guess something about my aura says I definitely don’t belong, but I tip my chin up like I own the world. My sneakers squeak against the marble floor. I take as much in as I can without being too suspicious. Elegant white oak paneling. Black and gold fixtures. There are four elevators, two on each wall,and between each one is a water feature. Backlit glass tile that changes color as the water rushes over it.
Do they pay extra for that?My building has a water feature too, only that’s because our landlord is too cheap to truly fix the leak in the stairwell. Poor historical and rich historical are distinctly different. Here they take meticulous care of every detail. I’d be lucky if my landlord vacuumed the raggedy old carpet in the hallways.
I use the key to access the elevator. The attendant’s gaze is like a laser against the side of my face. I don’t flinch. Worst case, I make a run for it, putting as much distance between me and this swanky building as I can. With the dinging of the elevator’s arrival comes relief, a heavy inhale as I step inside and out from under that scrutinizing gaze.
Once the doors close me in the small space, I breathe out. There are only four buttons on the panel. Level one and four. B for the basement and L for the lobby. I press number four and take a moment to scratch my head, releasing a groan. I cannot wait to take the wig off. It’s so hot. There’s a camera in the corner, so I force myself to lower my hand and act like everything is normal as I ride up to Killian’s level.
Usually the places Mom had me break into didn’t have security guards. My pulse hammers. What if I get caught? What if he calls the cops? This elevator is so slow. There’s probably an emergency fire exit.
Chill, Hazel.It’s another job. Get in. Take what you need. Get out.
Soft, jazzy music accompanies my heavy breathing. Hands shaky with adrenaline, I hold them together in front of me, trying to act as natural as possible and not like I’m trapped. This is why I stick to pickpocketing on the street. There’s too much risk when you break into people’s houses. It’s harder to escape. And this apartment building? There’s the attendant.Other tenants. The high end security system. Remembering all the close calls with Mom, all the times I had to run to save myself because she left me behind, that same fear floods through my veins. Even if I’m not caught, there’s security footage. It’s dangerous.
But if I’m not getting that job, I have to find something here. A watch. A ring. Anything that’ll give me enough money for rent. Even if it means getting caught on camera.
My only saving grace is the disguise I’m wearing. Facial recognition won’t help the police find me once I’m gone thanks to the fake nose. It sits a little lower, and quite a bit longer than my own. That knowledge does nothing to soothe the flutter of nerves in my stomach.
The elevator starts to slow. Breathing in, I inch toward the doors, making sure not to appear too eager, and exhale as they sweep open.
Holy shit.
I take four big steps, firmly entering what’s meant to be a foyer. Eyes wide, my gaze moves up, up, up. Jesus Christ. How tall are these ceilings? And is this marble? God, I would die to have a marble floor instead of my worn, bargain brand click together flooring. Envy ping pongs inside of me.
Then their scents hit.
Fudgy brownies.
Honey.
Vanilla and chocolate.
