Stealing His Thunder (Masters of Adrenaline 1)

Chapter 2

A Miata wasn’t one of Fox’s usual marks, but there’d been an order for one. Fox didn’t like to disappoint, even if it meant stealing a car he’d usually drive past. People who were willing to drive stolen cars usually wanted something more expensive.

He slunk through the suburban neighborhood. The silence of people confining themselves to their homes so early in the evening always gave him the creeps. They rolled up the sidewalk at ten PM in this part of town. It made his job easier, but where was the challenge when the worst he had to worry about was the occasional yapping shih tzu? Work like this always made him wonder why he hadn’t chosen a more exciting profession.

He was in the Miata and down the street in a matter of minutes. A light hadn’t even flicked on in the house.

Driving past the tidy yards and prim houses, he hit the radio button. No need to listen for sirens tonight. Music of the easy listening persuasion poured from the stock car speakers and he gritted his teeth, stabbing at the search button until a rock station replaced it. Even the rock station was boring.

A cop car cruised toward him, visible from several blocks away. As the cars passed each other, the officer didn’t even slant a glance his way.

Maybe it was best that it had turned out to be a boring job, considering his mind had been wandering for two days straight.

He made the drop and one of the guys drove him home. The road to his house was empty, as usual, and he had to admit he was disappointed.

After the girl’s threat, he’d been surprised she hadn’t staked the place out. Either she’d been scared off, or she was full of shit. Neither pleased him.

The gutsy little hellion had gotten his attention then fucked off. There was something about her that made his baser instincts sit up and take notice—or maybe it was just that he hadn’t gotten laid since they’d relocated to Vegas from Miami. The girl-next-door look and wide blue eyes gave the impression she was sweet and innocent, but her attitude made her a menace. Fucking adorable. How could he resist?

It was better that she was gone, but since their . . . encounter . . . he’d been feeling restless. Women like Addison didn’t drop into his lap every day. Unfortunately.

When his ride pulled into the long, circular driveway, the house, which was hidden from the road by brush and a steep hill, came into view. There were so many lights on he was pretty sure the electric company was on the verge of declaring a state of emergency.

Atlas and Luke were home. Finally.

He always thought he couldn’t wait to be alone, but they’d all lived together for so long that when the house was empty for more than a day he got antsy. Quiet was irritating unless he was working.

“How was Chicago?” he called as he walked into the foyer.

“Windy!” Atlas hollered back from upstairs.

Fox shook his head in exasperation. “Why is my brother such an idiot?”

“It’s genetic,” Luke replied from the kitchen.

“Accurate. But only because that would include you, fuckstick,” Fox said, smiling to himself, pleased to have things back to normal. Stashing his bag in the wall safe took no more than a minute, but by the time he was done his brother and cousin had already come into the room and sprawled out on their respective couches.

“Nah,” Luke disagreed, raking his fingers through his dark hair. His newest tattoo caught Fox’s eye again. He’d gotten it done just before he and Atlas had left to visit their family, leaving Fox behind to hold down the fort. It was good work, of course. Loke and the other guys at Fitte did the best tattoos he’d seen, and that was why they’d done most of Fox’s ink. “You get it from your mother’s side of the family. I’m a fucking genius.”

“Yeah? Well think fast, genius.” Atlas grabbed the TV remote off the coffee table and tossed it at Luke’s head.

Their cousin caught the remote and flipped on the television that dominated most of one wall. “I get to decide what we watch for once? It’s a fucking Christmas miracle.”

Atlas flipped Luke off and turned back to Fox. “Chicago was fine. If things with Marcel’s crew get too fucked up, Dad and Uncle Scott said we could hole up there until we decide where to go next.” Atlas opened a bag of chips and started stuffing his face, like usual. Considering the crap he ate it was a miracle he was all muscle. Fox was built, but Atlas looked like he made a living as a MMA fighter. Luke was made more like Fox.

“It would blow to get pushed out of town now though,” Luke grumbled, flipping through the channel guide. It was annoying starting over somewhere new if only because it meant all the channels were in the wrong place. “I like this house. The last place had no pool. It was like being in prison.”

Fox sat on his couch, leaning back into the cushions. “You’ve been rich too long. You want to see what really being in prison is like? Keep being slow.”

“Slow?” Luke barked a laugh. “I’m not the one who’s slow. That’d be Atlas, over there. Maybe it’s the fucking junk food.”

When Atlas completely ignored the insult and kept eating, Luke got bored of ribbing him and finally chose a channel. Zombie guts sprayed across the screen. The Walking Dead. There went his appetite.

“What did you do all weekend?” Luke asked.

“Stole some cars. Kidnapped a girl.” Fox shrugged. “You know, the usual.”

For a moment neither of them seemed to have heard what he’d said. Atlas’s blue gaze shifted over to him first. “Kidnapping? Isn’t that on your list of hard limits?”