"West," I agreed, forcing both my hands to wrap around my beer bottle, somehow knowing reaching out to shake her hand would be a very, very bad idea.
It would be like sticking my finger in a socket. Like a live current buzzed through me.
"Is that your bike outside?"
"Yeah."
"You're going to give me a ride to Chaos."
"Chaos?" I repeated.
"The club Teddy is at," Huck informed me as he sat back down in his seat, sighing at his sister's placement perched on top of one of his men, likely knowing it would be a futile fight to bring it up. "And also, no he fucking isn't, Gus."
"He thinks he's scary when he grumbles," Gus told me, leaning forward toward me, smiling. "But it's hard to be intimidated by someone who you know for a fact used to wear Ninja Turtle underwear."
"Don't even think about saying it," Huck warned Remy, slapping the back of his head.
"I hear you're trouble," I told her, watching as her smile went a little wicked as she moved off of McCoy's lap, nearly jamming her tits in my face for a second before she leaned forward, placing a hand on the back of my chair, getting into my space. And, let me tell you, it took real self-control not to let my eyes dip, to look down the shirt like she was clearly daring me to do.
"Stick around long enough, handsome, and you will see it firsthand," she told me, twirling away, joining her friends who seemed a little lost without her.
"She's not exaggerating," McCoy told me, shaking his head. "She puts Remy to shame in the shit-stirring department. She borrowed a Saudi's yacht two months ago. Then somehow managed to convince him not to involve the cops, but host her birthday party there instead."
"Great food. Terrible wine," Remy piped in.
"Your sisters as big a pain in the ass as mine?" Huck asked, looking for camaraderie, making me think none of his men could relate.
"My youngest, yeah. Dee is probably around the same age as Gus actually." If I had to guess, I wouldn't put her a day over twenty-five.
"Her rap sheet puts all of ours to shame," Huck admitted. "Hanging out here on occasion helps prevent those three a.m. calls from the station saying she needs bail money."
"She's on the move," McCoy warned. And, sure enough, the group of girls were making their way to the door.
We all seemed to stand up in unison, Huck tossing cash onto the table as everyone reached for their keys.
I went for mine as well.
Finding them gone.
"What?" Huck asked.
"My keys are—" I stared, then my eyes caught a motion, making me turn to see Gus standing in the doorway, waving my fucking keys around her finger, shooting me a smirk, then taking off.
"I'm assuming those are your keys," Huck guessed.
"She's always had pickpocket fingers," McCoy said, shaking his head.
"Huck," I started, voice serious as I heard my bike turn over.
"Yeah?"
"That bike is full of illegal guns," I warned.
His gaze went from me, to the door, to me again, a deep sigh exhaling out of him.
"Yep. That seems about right."
With that, he turned and made his way to the door.
"Welcome to Miami, man," Remy said, clamping a hand on my shoulder for a moment. "Come on. I'll give you a ride. She'll probably give you your bike back later."
"Probably?" I asked, brows furrowing.
"Yeah, unless she wants to keep it," he informed me as we both climbed into his Mustang in an obnoxiously flashy bright yellow color. "You'll learn real fast that if Gus wants something, there's no way of stopping her."
He was right.
And I was about to find out exactly what Gus wanted.
Namely, me.TWOGus"You steal cars for a living," I reminded Huck after he wrestled the motorcycle's keys out of my hand in the Chaos parking lot.
"This is one of those situations where Pops would say to do as I say, not as I fucking do."
"Hypocrite," I shot at him, rolling my eyes as the rest of the guys' cars pulled into the lot. You could always hear them coming. Che's and Remy's cars had that sports car purr. McCoy's pick-up tended to chug. Why he chose to drive some twenty-year-old Chevy truck with rusted paint and a cassette player was completely beyond me. Especially when their job put them in contact with some of the best cars the world had to offer. Even if he just pieced one together so it wasn't traceable.
"And not to mention, you hated Dad. So you really can't go and quote him now because it suits you."
"You're an epic pain in my ass, Gus," he reminded me, as he often did. But always without any real malice.
He'd been dealing with me in a parental sort of role since we were teenagers. Any hope of reasoning with my somewhat wild ways was long since abandoned.