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Marbella’s Golden Mile, where Torres’ home is located, boasts some of the most luxurious villas and estates in the world with views of mountains and sea, as well as landmark hotels and high-end shopping. It’s a playground for the rich and famous.
We take both SUVs and find a couple of spots at the base of the hill where the hired help was directed to park.God forbid any piece of shit car dare roll up the main drive and intermingle with a luxury vehicle.Ryder stays behind in one of the SUVs, where he’ll be our eyes and ears, working his tech magic and keeping a close watch on the situation.
Wearing the standard catering server uniform—a white, long-sleeve shirt and black pants—Addie, Brighton and Linc will blend right in, circling the room with the other waiters and sneaking off to wherever they might need to in order to find the emerald.
The truth is, we have no idea where Torres stashed the damn thing, which complicates the hell out of this job.
“Remember, this might only turn out to be recon,” Addie says, as though reading my thoughts.
“But we can narrow the possibilities down,” Brighton states.
Linc cracks his knuckles and rolls his shoulders back. “I’m ready to crack some safes.”
“What if it isn’t here?” Hunter asks. “Does Torres have other homes? He could’ve hidden it anywhere.”
“The Man believes the emerald is here,” Addie says confidently. “And he’s never been wrong.”
I can tell Hunter isn’t entirely convinced and wants to ask more questions, but now isn’t the time. She presses her lips together and looks over at me.
“Ready to go for a swim?” I ask, mouth edging up in a grin.
“Not really,” she says, voice flat.
I throw my arm over her shoulders, turning her toward the huge mansion lit up like the New York City skyline at dusk. Her body stiffens, then begins to relax as we walk up the hill to the gated estate. We’ll go in first. Ten minutes later, the others will follow, separated by five minutes each. Once inside, we’ll make sure we all keep our distance and only communicate through our comms.
“Bet you’ve never gone on a mission like this,” I say, keeping my arm around her, enjoying how it feels to have her tucked close to my side.
“Normally, my missions involve piloting a plane. Not a heist.”
The hike up the hill doesn’t take too long, and one luxury vehicle after another passes us. The cars roll through the large, open gates, drive past an enormous fountain and stop at the valet to let their precious passengers out.
“How much money do you think some of these people have?” she asks as a Rolls-Royce drives by.
I can’t exactly get a read on her tone, and I wonder if any of this impresses her? Or does such a blatant display of wealth disgust her?
“Well, considering that car alone is worth around thirty million, I’d say a lot.”
“Thirty million?” she bursts out.
“That’s a Rolls-Royce La Rose Noire Droptail. Each car is one-of-a-kind, designed and built exclusively for the client.”
“Do you know how many planes I could get for that? Well, I’d have to put some work into them, of course, because it wouldn’t be a new jet. But still. What a waste of money.”
The tension building up inside me dissipates at her words. “You’re not impressed?”
Her face screws up. “Not even a little.”
Her answer makes the poor kid in me smile.
“Money isn’t everything,” she observes. “And I’ve learned that people who have a lot of it tend to be the biggest assholes.”
“So, what impresses you?” I ask, studying her pretty profile. I’m desperate to know.
“Depends.”
“On what?”