Page 8 of Pack of Crooks
“Let her go.”
Disappointment floods my chest. I guess I expected him to say something else, not take pity on Tiffany, but I remove my foot all the same. With a growl, she clammers to her feet, tugging her dress down her thighs and scowling at me in warning before turning a wide-eyed, pleading look on the guy.
“Thank god you came when you did. She’s crazy,” Tiffany says quickly.
“Mmm,” the guy says, focus still on me. “Is that so?”
I don’t know what this is, but I do know I’m not going to sit here and play intimidation games. Facing him, I step into his space, place my hand on his chest, mentally log how hard his pec is, and press myself against him. He goes unnaturally still as I place my cheek against his mask, my lips brushing over his ear. “Back the fuck up or I’ll make you,” I whisper.
His hand finds my hip, two of his fingers brushing over bare skin. “And how would you do that?”
Smirking, I bring my knee up, but he stops it, holding the back of my knee with his other hand. The omegas around us gasp in surprise. Their curious murmurs are lost to the blood roaring in my ears, however.
“Are you always so violent?” he muses, seemingly not mad at all for what I almost did.
“Only when I need to be.”
Humming, he releases my leg and hip, taking a big step back and turning toward the omegas. “The interviews are starting now. When you’re done, you will leave. Anyone who lingers is automatically disqualified.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “You’re first.”
My back straightens. “I’m at the end of the line.”
“Yeah, she got here last!” Tiffany says.
“You’re first,” he tells me again. “And you can leave.” The last bit is directed at Tiffany.
Her jaw unhinges, and she glares at me. “Whatever. Fuck this.” She storms away.
The masked man ignores her and tips his head to the side, studying me behind those red X eyes. “Scared?”
Like hell I am. Narrowing my eyes, I walk toward him, mindful of the gun in my cross-body purse and the weight of every omega’s attention as he leads me toward the front of the line.
It’s a master class inhow to make enemies in a matter of thirty seconds.
But I’m not here for friends. There’s a million dollars with my name on it.
three
HAZEL
Mom shoved me toward strange men, so following the masked man doesn’t bother me as much as it probably should. The worn metal door is guarded by a big, beefy guy. He nods at the masked man and eyes me, gaze snaring on my purse. He pushes off the wall and steps in front of me.
“No weapons.”
“I’m not giving you my gun.”
He starts to say something, but the guy in the purge mask places his hand on the guard’s arm. “It’s fine.”
The big dude sends me a warning look before returning to his post. I give him a wide berth as I pass through the door into a dimly lit room. There’s an old metal desk with papers strewn across it, covered in layers of dust, like the paperwork hasn’t been touched in years.
Awareness zaps over me, a shockwave of goosebumps and the weight ofhisattention. My gaze skips to meet his red Xs. The crimson glow from the mask bathes the room. The space between us thrums with a heartbeat of its own as we stand there. That should be warning enough, but I’ve never been muchfor listening to my inner voice of reason. I move first, stepping toward him and heading for the door that leads deeper into the darkened warehouse with my pulse hammering in my ears.
The closer I get to him, the stronger the electric current between us grows, my skin tingling with anticipation. Every step toward him feels like a bad decision, and yet, I can’t seem to stop myself. Something about this guy is magnetic. I’m curious enough to edge so close the air itself threatens to drag me against his muscled body.
Without another word, he turns to the unlit room. The glow of his mask is like a beacon, and before I can think better of it, I follow him into the dark, keeping a good twenty steps between us. He hooks a left, and I come to a stop as I make the turn, swallowing at the sight of two more masked men, the same purge mask but one is blue and the other green. They stand together. The singular overhead lamp creates a halo of dim yellow light around them, but these men are no angels.
Devils in disguise is more accurate.
My heart skips a beat.
