Go figure. He was already in a pissy mood, and now he was going to get arrested. It wasn’t as if he was a kid anymore, either. There was no way the cops were going to believe him stealing a Jag was a prank gone wrong. He was too damn distracted to be careful tonight. He never should have gone out in the first place.
Just great. First he accidentally kidnaps a woman, and now he gets bagged by a cop? And why was this fucker toying with him instead of just turning on the sirens, already?
The car he was driving jolted forward. Had that fucker just hit him? He edged ahead, but the other car was crowding him, zigzagging back and forth as though the driver was pissed Luke was driving too slow. The next collision snapped his head forward.
Not a cop.
His car fishtailed and he fought the wheel, trying to stop it from veering off the road onto the sidewalk or into oncoming traffic. There weren’t a lot of people around, but if he crashed into a building the cops would be on him in a heartbeat. Who the fuck was this asshole?
Slowing to a halt, he pulled over on the side of the road and threw the Jag into park next to a deserted parking lot.
Cocksucker.
There was no way he’d be able to bring this car in now. The F-Type coupe he’d taken earlier was exactly what had been listed on the order sheet—down to the color—and had been sitting in an unattended parking lot. It was almost too easy. Maybe it had been a sting. Atlas had been warning him the authorities were starting to crack down on high-end car theft, but he’d been too distracted to give the job the caution he should have.
The sedan pulled over behind him, but rather than wait, Luke got out. In the still, dry heat of the night, his boots crunched on the fake grass to the sidewalk, prepared for whatever this asshole decided to dish out.
A big man unfolded from the driver’s side of other vehicle. Shit. He knew the guy. Not a cop. It was just fucking Vander, their old rival Marcel’s second in command after Lurch. Marcel had been dead and buried for almost a year now. He’d shot Fox and tried to run him off the road, then slammed into a guardrail in exactly the wrong way.
“What the fuck do you want?” Luke growled. Marcel seemed to have chosen Vander for size rather than intelligence, but that didn’t intimidate Luke. The buzzed hair was supposed to make him look tough, but he had a mean face and didn’t seem to do much hard thinking. “You guys getting so bad at boosting cars that you have to steal what’s already stolen?”
Vander rattled a dry laugh that was altogether mirthless. “Didn’t Marcel tell you to stay out of our area?”
Pissed, Luke shoved him backward with one hand. He needed to stay calm so this didn’t escalate too far, but right now he just wanted to break this motherdick’s face. “Marcel is dead. Even when he was alive, we didn’t agree on territory.”
Marcel’s goon shoved him back, but his heart didn’t seem to be in a physical altercation. “One of these days there’ll need to be a reckoning.”
“A reckoning?” Was the guy going to draw a sword or something? Who said things like that? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re a smartass, you figure it out.”
They stood staring at each other in the dim light of the streetlamp. The wind skimmed dust up from the sidewalk, threatening to blind them if it got any stronger, and the palm trees that lined the street rattled their protest.
“So Marcel gets himself killed trying to murder Fox, and you’re blaming us?” Luke asked, glaring at the idiot. After all this time they were still bitter about something that had never been Fox’s fault in the first place. “Maybe he should have learned how to fucking drive before he tried a stunt like that. We haven’t done shit to you people. Marcel fucking shot him, and for what? Territory? Grow the fuck up.”
This time Vander swung at him, but Luke stepped aside and the blow missed entirely. As long as Vander didn’t draw on him he’d be fine. When he missed, Vander seemed to recover his self-control and drew back a step.
“What the fuck do you want, really?” Luke asked.
“I’m just here to deliver the message. You need to move your shitty operation out of Vegas. We gave you enough time to relocate, but you fucked around and tried to keep your shit on the down low, but we’re done. Leave now or you’re not gonna like what happens.”
Luke shrugged. “What are you going to do, Vander? Shoot me?” He threw his arms wide, inviting the other man to do his worst. “Either do it or fuck off. Some of us are trying to work.”
A minivan slowed, and the family it contained gawked at them as they passed. It slowed the next car, which made people look at them, and then the next. They were drawing too much attention, but at least that might keep Vander from doing anything more than mouth off.
“You’ve been warned,” Vander growled, walking back to his sedan. He paused melodramatically before he got back in.
“Just remember, it’s not just your cousins you have to worry about.”
Luke’s thoughts immediately strayed to Ophelia, and his sister, Macy, then he hoped his expression hadn’t given him away. He didn’t want to give these guys anything to work with.
“Yeah, yeah. We’re not stupid enough to leave ourselves vulnerable that way, so have fun with that.”
Vander got in his sedan and drove off. The thought of Vander and Lurch getting their hands on Ophelia made him shake with rage. Macy was tough, but Ophelia had grown up sheltered. She was strong in a different way than his family. Her circle played mental games—not dangerous ones. And he doubted she had a black belt in martial arts or carried a gun.
She needed a bodyguard or something.
He got into the Jag and drove off, bringing the car to the drop-off point and leaving it there even though it wasn’t worth much with the damage. Better than abandoning it where the police could check it for evidence. Because of Marcel’s group being sloppy with a few jobs, the police had created a small task force to focus on high-end car theft in the area. Atlas was keeping an eye on the force’s internal emails, but they needed to be careful.