Pushing Her Limits (Masters of Adrenaline 3)

Disappeared? Hopefully the vampire owners weren’t eating the help.

Gilbert directed “Thomas” to take the next car—a Lamborghini Aventador. The haughty couple in the vehicle emerged, dressed in black designer couture, and the man handed the keys to Fox. He drove off toward the parking lot. Or the side exit from the lot.

Easy as that. This place seriously needed better security.

“You don’t think the vampires are eating the valets, do you?” Atlas glanced around nervously, messing with the guy.

Gilbert shrugged. “Man, I’ve seen weirder shit in the service industry.” He gestured Atlas toward the next car. “And just remember, if anyone offers to pay you for sex, you have to wait until your shift is over. Crimson frowns on valets doing sex work in the parking garage.”

“Like we’d have time,” Atlas replied.

Gilbert laughed. “No shit, but you’ll get offers. A guy got fired for it two weeks ago.”

As Atlas took the keys to a Hummer, he could see Fox jogging back. There were no Hummers on the list for tonight, so this one was actually going to the parking garage, unlike the Lamborghini, which Fox had probably driven directly off the lot to Addison, who was waiting nearby. Luke was going to follow her to the drop point and bring her back in a few minutes.

They got into a smooth rotation, chatting with Gilbert, who was hilarious and full of stories when they had downtime here and there. They got another three cars out to Addison before Fox gave Atlas the signal. Time to ditch Gilbert. Atlas felt bad leaving the guy holding the bag.

Fox drove off to the garage, and Gilbert grabbed Atlas’s arm as he was about to move toward the next car. Fuck. The guy was cool and he really didn’t want to deck him.

“Hey,” the valet said. He looked searchingly at Atlas for a moment. “See you around.”

“What?” Atlas asked, not sure what the guy’s game was. He shouldn’t have realized they were leaving just yet. Their shift wasn’t over for another couple of hours.

“If I know anything in life, it’s valets. You aren’t valets.” The guy’s blue eyes held amusement. “But you’re good eggs. I won’t notice you’re not back from your break for at least a half hour. Thanks for not leaving me alone for the whole shift.”

Atlas arched a brow, not sure how to respond. He decided to go with playing dumb. “Huh? Break time after this one? You sure you’ve got this?”

“Yeah.” Gilbert rolled his eyes. “I notice the guys who tipped were safe.”

He gave up the pretense. “Sometimes there are rewards for being a decent human being. You should tell your manager they need better security.”

“Oh, I’ve been telling them that for about a year,” Gilbert said, shrugging. “Apparently I don’t get paid to think.”

Atlas handed the guy the tips from his pocket. “Here. Mine and Oscar’s. You’re too good for these people.”

He accepted the money with a grateful smile. “Don’t I know it. But hey, it puts food on the table. This will help.”

Atlas gave him a nod as he took the keys from Crimson’s next visitor, and drove off to park the car in the garage.

Somewhere in the dark his family waited for him.

***

Dry Nevada air burned his lungs, but it was nothing compared to the screaming in his thighs. Maybe running so far had been a mistake. He’d needed to work off some of his irritated energy, though, rather than snapping at everyone.

He jogged the last mile to the house, his eyes adjusted as much as possible to the dark, but the moon was the barest sliver and didn’t light the way. Without streetlights this far out, staying on the road was a matter of feeling it beneath his feet. He’d already fallen twice tonight.

The nondescript four-door was a blob of deeper black in the darkness.

He stopped just before he careened into the ass end of it. Who the fuck was parked in the dark across from the house?

Curious, he crept around the vehicle. Just as he’d decided no one was in it, a light flared inside. The smartphone screen illuminated the face of the woman who’d been the reason for his newest punishing exercise regime.

Little bitch. Now she was spying on them? Actually spying?

On a whim, he yanked the driver’s side door handle, and Mila squeaked and fell sideways, landing against his cooling abdomen. Hurriedly, she pushed away from him and righted herself in her seat. She peered up, squinting to see him in the weak light from the car’s interior.

“Oh, um . . . hi,” she whispered.