Page 19 of Violent Skies

“Birdie cleaned the guest room,” I tell her and she swallows tightly. “So if you’re done stomping around and screaming at the people trying to help you?”

“Alright,” Cress sighs and stares down at her hands. I turn back to my bed and try to talk myself into getting into it. “Fine.”

When I look back over at the door, she’s gone.

2011

Koa smiles at me, it’s so bright it lights up the space as his brow raises. Trouble, that’s what that look means. We stand in the alley, shadowed by the two massive office buildings and watch the unaware idiot park his Mercedes in the street. He’s busy with the roses and chocolates in his arms and doesn’t even notice us watching him.

“I fucking love Valentine’s Day,” Koa chuckles.

It’s one of the easiest days of the year to lift keys to sell to the Westfall family. People are so busy screwing each other and pretending like today means more than any other day that they don’t even notice rats like us scurrying around beneath their feet.

“He’ll be gone a while. There’s no rush.” I tell him as he surges forward before the guy is in through the apartment doors.

“I wanna get home to Cress,” he says, and it stings.

“And I don’t want to get caught.”

His eyes narrow at me but the smile remains. “Fine,” he clips and relaxes his step until the guy is done chatting with the doorman and disappears inside. Koa flips his hood over his dark curls and slips out first. I wait a minute, just like normal, before joining him as he pops the lock on the driver’s side door.

“Oh, we are cashing in tonight! Look what she found us.” Koa is vibrating as he checks the license plate. He’s talking about Cress. It’s a game he plays with her and it’s unfair. She should fucking know what she’s involved in, but Koa wants to protect her. He calls it a competition but it’s just a way for him to get his hands on s-tier cars. She has a photographic memory and on her walks to campus she collects plate numbers of the fanciest cars she can spot, thinking that Koa is stealing change from them.

He brings her home a quarter for every car we steal and strip.

She doesn’t have a clue who he really is, and I hate him for those secrets.

Everyday I tow the line between telling her the truth, and every day Koa gives me a reason not to in the form of risking our lives. Keep her safe from this. From him.

“Idiot left it unlocked.” Koa pulls open the door and bangs his hand on the roof before slipping inside. I mess around with the trunk sensor before getting into the passenger seat.

“Should be fine,” I say.

“Should be?” Koa laughs.

“Drive fast.” The engine rumbles to life and we both hold our breath for the alarm but nothing comes. Koa lays his foot into the gas and it purrs beneath us, the sound of two hundred thousand dollars of luxury parts all working in perfect unison.

He fucks around with the modded GPS on the dashboard for a moment before taking my advice and rolls the Mercedes from its parking spot with ease before opening it up completely. He’s right, Westfall is going to fucking love this thing, and because it’s double what we need to bring in tonight, we don’t have to go back out. We can go home.

When he turns in the opposite direction I eye him. “Gotta pick up something for Cress. It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“She’s already going to be pissed we’re late for dinner. What's the point?” I say, but really I’m angry that he’s about to get us into more trouble. It’s not about Cress. It’s about the adrenaline rush.

“I need an apology to make her forget we’re late for dinner,” he says, taking the corner too tight and the back end of the car whips out narrowly missing a line of parked cars.

“Where the hell are we going?” I ask him.

“Anywhere we want in this.” It’s as cryptic as the smile on his face as he rips through the gated community. The massive house at the end of the street is dark and Koa hits the garage door opener watching it crawl up and allow us inside.

“Holy shit,” I inhale at the sight of it. “Is that…”

“A fucking Cuda…” Koa’s laugh is breathless like he’s just as surprised as I am to find it parked and dusty.

“It’s a tragedy,” I hiss, climbing from the car as he throws it in park. “Doesn’t look like it even leaves the garage.”

“You think it’ll start?” He asks me as he gets out of the Mercedes.

“Maybe.” I mindlessly pop the hood and take in the engine. It’s in rough shape but looks like it’s maintained just enough to keep it from rotting out the bottom of the Plymouth.