Code Name Heist (Jameson Force Security 3)

It’s why I became a thief when I was thirteen.

Not for the thrill.

Not to buy myself the latest trendy athletic shoes so I’d fit in.

I did it to contribute to our little household.

My first heist was a TV and Blu-ray player from our neighbor’s house when they were on vacation. I jimmied the back door, snuck in late at night, and took the electronics. It was easy to fence—I approached the bad kids in school—and they took it off my hands.

I used the money to buy groceries that week, lying to my mom by saying I’d done odd jobs for some of the neighbors.

It only escalated from there, and I grew to love it. While other kids were making money running drugs for gangs, I’d been learning how to break into houses and businesses for high-end merchandise that would fetch a decent price in the right places.

I’d honed my skills to perfection. With my contacts in the black market, I was hired by others to steal.

By the time I graduated high school, I was earning enough money that my mom was able to retire. I even went to Europe, dabbled in some high-end art thefts for hire.

It all came crashing down when my mom found out exactly what I did for a living. I had never intended for her to know, but I came under suspicion in a local car heist. When the police took me downtown to ‘talk,’ it was her wake-up call.

After seven hours of interrogation, she’d confronted me once I’d been released. The police couldn’t crack me and had no choice but to let me go, but one look from my mother and a soft plea to tell her the truth made it all come tumbling out.

Every bit of it.

Told her the entire sordid story of my life of crime.

But my mom—greatest human being ever born—forgave me without hesitation. Hugged me and said she understood.

And then she begged me to clean up my act. Made me promise on ‘her life’ I would do something more worthwhile with my future.

She was my hero, and I couldn’t disappoint her again. Because of that, I joined the Marine Corps. For six years, I gave the United States my all. It’s where I met Jerico Jameson, who, in turn, introduced me to Kynan McGrath, which led me to this job with Jameson Force Security. I loved my time in the military and the bonds I’d formed, but I couldn’t help but feel it wasn’t something I wanted for a career.

So, at the age of twenty-six, I got out.

Tried to walk the straight and narrow.

Tried hard.

Mom had been doing well. She enjoyed her life, and she was even dating a guy I kind of liked. I, on the other hand, hadn’t found satisfaction in anything I tried.

That nagging unfulfillment made me return to my life as a thief. I’d headed straight to Europe, thinking an ocean between my mom and me would alleviate my guilt at being dishonest and doing what I knew would cause her so much disappointment.

For almost seven years, I did what my mother hated. I planned, I stole, and I lied to my mom about what I did for a living. She thought I did civilian contracting for the military, and I sent a lot of money home to her. I took a cut for myself, using it to lead a playboy lifestyle of traveling the world, fucking beautiful women, and dressing in the finest clothes. The rest, I donated to charity to help ease my conscience.

Focusing on Sin, I watch as she studies a photo of a man William had pinned to a corkboard on the wall.

She’s still beautiful and alluring, which is dangerous as hell to me. I’d kept all the good memories at bay, only allowing the dark bitterness of her part in my circumstances to fester.

Now, being near her again, knowing her betrayal was born from caring about me rather than her enmity… it seems to push much of that bitterness away.

“Okay,” William says, turning to face us. Sin straightens and I lean forward attentively, but Neal continues to surf his phone.

William isn’t someone to fuck with, though. He has a dozen people who would kill to take Neal’s place on the team.

“If you have a moment, Neal, I could use your attention. If you don’t, how about taking your arse out of here because I have no use for you.”

His head popping up, Neal flushes red. There isn’t an apology, though. He merely places his phone on the table, eyes on William.

“All right, this is our mark,” William says, shifting to tap a knuckle on the photo of a white male who appears to be in his late fifties. He has dark hair going bald on the top, and he’s a little on the portly side.