Raw and Dirty (Bad Boys MC Trilogy #1) (29 page)

Thirty minutes ago, my stepbrother pulled off one of the biggest jewelry heists in history - and I helped him do it.

Now we're on the run, and I don't know what to think.
He says he'll protect me no matter what, but I'm not sure if I should believe him.
After all, we tried that once and it did not turn out well for either of us.

Besides, his father raised us both after my mother passed away.
Gill can be lots of things to me, but he can't be my lover.

Not again.

When I turned twenty-one, he disappeared. Just disappeared without a word.
Over a decade later, and now he's back and more ruthless than ever.

He says the right things, does the right things, but the truth is ...
I'm afraid of him.

I'm afraid for him.

CHAPTER ONE

Diamonds.

They're supposed to be a girl's best friend, aren't they? So why, right now, do they look like the enemy, staring back at me from a tumbled heap inside the black duffel bag parked between my bare feet?

Sweat pours down the sides of my face, sticks my orange dress shirt to the skin on my lower back. I can't stop panting, my ragged breathing tearing from my chest as I wiggle my toes and try to convince myself that I did the right thing, that everything will work out in the end. If I believed that though, really and truly believed that, I don't think my heart would be pounding quite so hard.

“Ten minutes,” Gill whispers hoarsely, his own breath even, his hands loose on the steering wheel. “Ten minutes and we'll be in the air.” I sit up, forcing my stiff fingers to drop the edges of the bag and glance over at him. Something about my stepbrother's expression, the set of his shoulders, the lack of sweat on his forehead, it bothers me.

Relaxed.

That's what he is. Relaxed. My life as I once knew it is
over,
everything changed in an instant, snatched up and twisted in the tornado that is Gill Marchal, and there he sits like he's on the way to the airport for a goddamned tropical vacation, some pleasure cruise that'll end in sand and surf and a ticket back home waiting for afterwards. This? This is nothing like that.

I have to say goodbye to Paris, for now, maybe forever.

Gone.

A split second decision made by a stuttering heart and it's all
gone.

I sneer at him. It's a nasty expression, one that Gill's father used to call
mon visage laid,
my ugly face, but in this moment, it's beyond my control. Emotions are running too high, adrenaline is pumping too fast. Most days, I try to be pleasant. Today, it's not an option.

“Can you at least
look
like you give a crap?” I ask, but Gill isn't listening. His blue eyes are focused on the road ahead, his brow furrowed just so, just enough that I can tell he's buried deep in thought. Knowing him, he's probably going over the plan for the thousandth time in that thick skull of his, running through each possible scenario until he's picked it apart and prepared for virtually anything. It's one of the reasons I agreed to be a part of this, to take a chance on something that could easily end with me locked up in prison for life—or dead. It's also one of the reasons I fell in love with him—and then out of love with him.

Jesus, Regi, snap out of it!
Reminiscing about the past never got me anywhere, not after Dad died, not after Mom died, not after Gill left … Can't help it though. Memories are my coping mechanism, my way of slogging through the humdrum dull of everyday life. Anything a steaming espresso or a warm baguette can't cure, a good daydream can. But right now, when I'm running from a serious case of larceny, not a good time.

“Gill.” I say his name slowly, calmly, firmly.
Look at me, damn it.
Thankfully he does, turning enough so that the soft light of morning limns his profile in gold. For the tiniest, briefest moment, he looks like a god.

“Don't worry, Regina,” he tells me, his voice steady and smooth but still somehow rough, like those few years he spent on the street as a kid left a permanent mark on his soul. Or maybe it's everything that happened after. How the hell should I know? The man's a virtual stranger to me now. “I told you I'd get you through this, and I will. Relax, take a deep breath, and leave everything else to me.”

I bite my lower lip and lean my head back against the black leather seat. I have some serious trust issues, most of which were caused by the asshole sitting next to me, so forgive me if I have trouble handing over the reigns, so to speak.

“Eight minutes,” Gill says as I close my eyes and struggle to slow my breathing. “Eight more minutes.” I open them back up and glance in the rearview mirror, looking for any sign of the police, any sign of flashing blue lights and the end of freedom as I know it. A dark chuckle cuts through the silence, drawing my attention back to Gill, to his strong jaw, the rough edge of stubble that grazes his chin. Even ten years apart couldn't dampen my desire for him.
Shit.
Well, at least I know there's no second chance for us, no way to rekindle the relationship we once had. This right here is a professional exchange and that is it. Period. End of sentence. “By this time tomorrow, you'll be lounging by the pool at the hotel.”

“In
Seattle?
” I ask, raising an eyebrow. A scrap of blonde hair escapes my bun and I tuck it back. “In October? I find that highly doubtful.”

“Maybe,” Gill begins, his voice that edgy purr that always set my nerves on edge, “it'll be an indoor pool? And heated? Or maybe you'll be immersed in the warm, warm waters of a jacuzzi?” The way my stepbrother says
warm
makes me question my own sanity. Shouldn't be legal to make a simple syllable sound so … dirty. “Wherever you find yourself,” he continues as the car slows and we make a left turn towards the airstrip, “I can promise you, it won't be behind bars. You have my word on it.”

x x x

“I've never flown on a private plane before,” I tell Gill after our flight, the two of us comfortably seated in a dull gray rental car, some sedan named after a horse or a deer or … a bull, maybe? Yeah, I think it's a Taurus or something. “And I don't ever want to repeat the experience.”

Gill smiles at me, but he doesn't laugh. Once again, he's too absorbed in the execution of his brilliant beyond brilliant plan to pay me much attention. Honestly, it's all sort of starting to get to me: his sudden reappearance, his lack of emotion, his too tempting offer.
All I need is a key, a code, and a clue, Regi,
that's what Gill told me when he came waltzing into his father's apartment in the trendy Parisian
arrondissement
known as Le Marais.

The area reminds me in the best of ways of New York's SoHo neighborhood: trendy boutiques, haute cuisine, and lots of high-end vintage shopping. Also, like SoHo, it's way above my pay grade as a jewelry store sales associate. So, every morning before work, I'd diligently walk my ass over to my stepdad's place and enjoy the views of the courtyard and the bustling Rue Amelot.

That particular morning, Cliff and I were sitting at his kitchen table, cups of coffee clutched in our hands, reminiscing about the States, my mom, life in general. We were laughing so hard about our first few weeks in France all those years ago, about being whiny expats, about Cliff's still admittedly terrible French, that we didn't hear the front door open. Like an ethereal memory, Gilleon was suddenly just there, drifting across the polished wood floors like a ghost. Cliff's adopted daughter, Solène, shouted some horrible French curse words that even
I
didn't know and snatched my pepper spray out of my purse before I could remind her that the dark haired, blue-eyed bad ass standing in the doorway was her … brother. Well, as much her brother as he was mine, really.

I felt all kinds of things in that moment—fear, hope, anger, the dying embers of a once requited love—but Gill? Shit. From the look on his face, from the dull, familial hug he shrugged over my shoulders, he didn't feel anything for me. I mean, not that I cared. I've long since moved on, to be honest with you. As Solène is proving to me, preteens might well be capable of holding onto some serious grudges and unrequited passions, but as an adult, I just can't do it. Takes too much energy, gives too much pain, and offers absolutely zilch when it comes to the future. Still … I'll just be glad when this is all over, I have my payout, and Cliff, Solène and I are cozied up in some sweet Seattle digs. Gill'll leave again and things can go back to normal.

“I'm gonna call home,” I say, not even bothering to think about the massive international phone charges I'll be racking up. From this point on, I am officially rich. Yup. That's right.
Loaded.
Regina Corbair is now capable of buying a house in Mount Baker, a vintage car like the one in
Supernatural—
holy crap, Sam and Dean are
hot
—and adopting some ugly mixed breed dog of questionable parentage. A friend of mine once picked up a short-legged, half-hairless beast more akin to a rat than an actual pooch from a Native American reservation in California. She paid eight dollars for the creature and loves it like the kids she doesn't have. Considering the amount of green that Gill promises I'll be swimming in, maybe I'll fly down to Cali—first class, of course—search out the sister I haven't seen in years and camp out at her place on the reservation until I find the right canine companion. Hell, I don't even have to work anymore, so why not?

I smile and search around inside my purse. The expression only lasts so long as it takes me to realize that my phone is missing.

“Gill.”

“You didn't really think you'd get to keep the phone, did you?” he asks, again letting that low, deep rumble of a laugh seep into his words. This time, I'm ready; my shields are up and the sound doesn't so much as scrape across that barrier I erected so long ago.

“Guess I'll call them when I get to the hotel then,” I say, sitting back with a sigh, letting the patter of Seattle rain soothe my nerves. As much as I fell in love with Paris, I missed the hell out of the Pac Northwest. I can't explain why but something about it says home to me. Must be the dreary weather, cheers me up somehow. It's like, how can I be upset when the sky's already weeping for me?

“Unfortunately, you'll have to wait until they land to see them. Right now, phone calls are too risky.” I give Gill another show of my 'ugly face' and stifle the urge to say something mean. It's not his fault, really, just nerves. No matter what happens from this point on, I have to take responsibility for my own actions. Gill might've made the proposal, but I'm the one that went along with it.

“So … how exactly does this all work?” I ask, wishing I was the kind of person that was okay with comfortable silence. To me, though, all silence is awkward, punishing. I have some sort of strange compulsion to fill it. “I mean, you deliver the diamonds to your client and poof, he hands over some cash?” Gill's full lips twitch, but he doesn't respond right away, probably mulling over what he can and can't say to me, what might break some rule of thievery that I'm not in the privilege of knowing. “Sorry,” I say, before he tries to placate me with some bullshit that I'm not likely to believe. I hold up both hands, palms out. “I don't even want to know.”

“I'll answer your question if you answer mine,” Gill says, a bit of wry humor sneaking into his words. I stare down at my bare toes, at my purple painted nails, and I try to remember when, exactly, it was that I lost my high heels. The day's a complete blur, a twisted snarl of shock and adrenaline, a fuzzy, blurry memory that I know won't come into full focus until I'm completely relaxed and at ease. Stressful situations are like that, you know? In the heat of the moment, they're just smears across your consciousness, a series of actions you take from muscle memory and reflex. Afterwards, when you're lying in the dark and the full force of your decisions comes crashing down, that's when things get high def.

“What's your question?” I ask, my stomach tightening with anticipation. I have no clue why. I mean, I trust Gill as a business partner, as a master of his trade, but otherwise, he means nothing to me. So why is my body trying to act otherwise? “If you tell me, I'll give it some serious consideration and then perhaps I'll take you up on the offer.” I turn and lift my chin, giving him my haughtiest facial expression; it only makes Gill laugh.

“Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

Gill's question catches me completely off guard, and my cheeks go up in flames; my jaw clenches.
Shit.
Yes, Mathis caught me by surprise this morning, showing up at the jewelry store with brioche in one hand, coffee in the other. He practically ruined the entire gig with his romantic notions. Still … the gesture was kind, and I'm already starting to wonder if I'm going to miss him.

“Didn't seem relevant to the situation,” I say, knowing that's complete crap. I let my gaze fall on the window, on the water droplets clinging to the glass and then spinning away like leaves in a storm. Absently, I smooth my hands over my white pencil skirt, straightening out the wrinkles. As of now, this is the only outfit I have. For Gill's plan to go off without a hitch, I had to leave it all behind, everything I owned. Well, all except for my mother's things. I'd rather die than let go of those. I lean against the car door and let the comforting pressure of my purse dig into my side, just to make sure it's still there. “I'm sorry he tried to tackle you, but you did have a gun to my back.”

“He's a handsome guy,” Gill says, and I swear to God, it sounds like he's gritting his teeth.

“Gill, don't,” I say, glancing over and finding his usual calm expression sitting pretty on that rugged face.
Son of a bitch.
“We're not friends anymore.”

“We could be,” he says, his voice even, no hint of what he's really trying to say with those words.

“Oh?” I ask, more than a dollop of sarcasm creeping into my tone. “You planning to settle down in Seattle? Getting to know your sister, maybe?” My words have such a double meaning, one that I hope Gill doesn't notice, that I end up being the one clenching my teeth. Old anger rides over and through me, but I ignore it, letting it seep away into the sudden silence. Gill's lack of an answer is all I need to know that he's never going to change, never going to stop doing what he does best: stealing shit. He might call himself a thief, might be able to pull off jobs that nobody else can, but so what? In all reality, he's just a common criminal and that's it. Nothing—and I mean
nothing
—is more important than family. But my stepbrother apparently thinks so, so screw him. “If you want to tell me how I almost screwed everything up and got you arrested, go ahead, I deserve it.”