Page 5 of Tempting Little Thief

He sits back, screaming money and power as he adjusts the slight crookedness of the sleeves of his suit jacket. I’ve never even tried on a suit, let alone worn one.

He speaks again. “You have five minutes to decide if you want to step from inside this car and let the badges outside of it take you downtown, where some random person on a set salary will decide if you’re a murderer or not—that ends with you behind bars or tossed in foster care—or you can sit back in that seat, and I’ll take you somewhere new, and all this goes away.”

My eyes narrow. “Where? How?”

“You’ll see if you agree, but coming with me means you have a job, a bed, and food in a place free of heavy-handed adults.”

Yeah, okay.

When neither of us says a word for several seconds, I lick my lips. “How do I know you’re not playin’ me?” He’s definitely playin’ me.

“You don’t.”

“Who are you?”

“Someone you might never see again, no matter what you choose. Three minutes.”

I glare at the guy, trying to make sense of his words, but how the fuck can I? I killed my dad, then shot him in theheart for the fuck of it, in front of who knows how many people, and for some fucked-up reason, I’m not in a jail cell, but in the back of a fucking fancy car with champagne flutes and LED lights on the floorboard.

I’ve never even seen a ride like this in my entire life, let alone sat in the back of one.

This is a trip. Wild as fuck. Some real-life, otherworld-type shit.

A thousand questions are going through my mind, but right now, I only need the answer to two.

One. “It keeps me out of jail?”

“It does.”

Two. “My sister stays out of whatever this is?”

“She does.” He nods, looking to his watch then back to me. “So, what do you say, kid?”

“Don’t call me kid.”

His lips twitch and he cocks his head like a prick. “What should I call you then?”

I think about that a minute, then fall back against the seat, letting go of part of the name I was given and claiming a new one. “Name’s Bishop. Bass Bishop.”

He nods.

I nod.

And then we’re on our fucking way.

Chapter 1

Bass

This motherfucker …

Sighing, I crouch down, my knees bent and pointing toward the dude’s head. “If I knew you were a bleeder, I’d have stolen a car to deal with you.” My words are wasted on him. He can’t hear me, not with his ears ringing the way they should be—a pencil to the eardrum will do that to you.

Eavesdropping on conversations not meant for you will dothatto you.

A deep groan pushes past the fuckup’s lips as he rolls onto his back, eyelids twitching before opening and landing on me.

My smirk is slow, and I cock my head to the side. “You conscious or still stuck in the in-between?”

---