Page 32 of Casual Felonies (Wildlings #1)

RAMI

“So, Rami,” Baba says, approaching me with a warm smile. “How’s it going with Truett? You two obviously have chemistry, but before the whole awkward boyfriend exchange with your dad, Truett struck me as someone who likes to keep it casual.”

I run my hand through my hair, the texture Truett added alive on my fingertips. “It’s new, whatever this is, but it’s more than just a fling.” My cheeks go hot as I remember what we did last night. “I like him a lot more than I should, but I can’t seem to help it.”

Baba sends a fond look to Dad, who is teasing Maverick. “I know that feeling all too well.”

As we’re smiling, Honoré sits forward, looking at his phone. At the same time, Maverick’s hand goes to his chest.

“Something’s wrong,” they say at the same time.

Maverick looks to Honoré. “Is it Holmes? Is something wrong with Holmes?”

Maverick always knows when Holmes is in trouble, and it’s just now occurring to me how difficult it’s been for Holmes to keep his real job a secret.

Honoré shakes his head, looking right at me, his expression making my heart beat double-time. “Holmes just texted me. He heard a shout and squealing tires, then raced over to Truett’s car. The driver’s side door was left open, and Truett was nowhere to be seen.”

Dad grabs his phone and starts texting immediately. Seconds later, he’s nodding at the screen. “Jake’s on it. He’ll grab the security feed from the garage.”

As we crowd around Dad’s phone, the door to the stairs opens, and Holmes jogs in, quickly making his way into the living room. “What happened to him? Did you see?”

“Jake’s sending me the feed right now.”

Dad taps the link that comes through, and we watch, breathless, as a van pulls up and three men in black military gear jump out.

They black-bag Truett before he even knows what’s happening.

He fights back, swinging blind, until one of them slams the butt of his gun into the side of his head.

Truett crumples, and they toss him into the van like he’s a sack of potatoes.

The video loops and plays again. It’s worse the second time.

Baba holds up his phone. “Wimberley’s scrambling a response. We’ve got a description of the vehicle, and they’ll have air support within the next five minutes.”

“What can we do?” I ask.

Baba shakes his head. “I’m supposed to tell you that we wait for the guys in the helicopters to take care of everything, but…”

Silas disappears down the stairwell with Cupcake, not even bothering to wait for the elevators, and Dad isn’t in the living room anymore.

Just as I’m wondering where the hell Dad’s gone, he comes back from the bedrooms, putting on his combat gear from last night, his boots loose on his feet as he zips up his pants.

Dad’s half-dressed presence goes off like a military command. H and H race back to their rooms, as does Baba, and Maverick is left standing in the living room, baffled. “What’s going on? What’s happening? ”

Oakley stands there, impassive. “What, exactly, is Wimberley scrambling?”

“Don’t have time to explain it right now, but we will tell you what we can when we get back,” Maya says, also heading toward the back.

Maverick’s confused concern is now bordering on hysteria. “You are coming back though, right?”

No one has an answer for him.

I race to my room. God, I can still smell True in here, the sex we had, that musk on his skin I can’t get enough of.

I cut through the bathroom into the walk-in closet, panic flaring as I snatch clothes off the shelves.

Standard running gear’ll hafta do. Breath tight and shallow, I change right there on the closet floor.

Stepping into the bathroom, I curse myself, then pivot back to the closet to punch in the code for my wall safe. Out comes the gun and a spare magazine. My hands are shaking as I check the weapon and move through the room.

“Get it together, Bash,” I chant to myself.

Also, fuck those guys for kidnapping my boyfriend.

By the time I make my way back to the living room, my fathers, my sister, Holmes, Honoré, and Silas stand there, looking ready for an incursion.

While everyone looks pretty fucking intimidating, Sy is a terrifying specter in black combat gear, more weapon than man, and he’s wearing his darkest sunglasses.

He’s left Cupcake behind, like maybe he only needs support in the absence of overwhelming violence.

By comparison, I look like a gym dork who got lost on the way to the gun range.

We are clearly beyond hiding our intentions, so while Oakley looks unhappy with the situation, the quiet set of his jaw makes me think he accepts that he’s not gonna have all the answers yet. Mav, on the other hand, has clearly been pushed beyond his limit.

“Holmes, if you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on…” He pulls at his hair with both hands. “Why are…? Why are all y’all in combat gear? ” Mav points to Sy. “Why is he wearing those goddamned sunglasses looking like Death’s fucking right-hand man?”

Sy smiles at that description, which doesn’t help things.

Dad approaches Mav, putting his hands on his shoulders. “We are going to get Truett, and then we are going to come back and explain everything we can to you and Oak, okay?”

Oakley, for his part, appears somewhat mollified. Maverick’s eyes blaze. “Why aren’t we calling the police? And why is Rami, of all people, armed?”

Rude.

Silas gestures at my gun. “Oh, you won’t need that ,” he says, as if I’ve charmingly brought along a pocketknife to an atomic war.

Oh. Right.

I race back to the room and put the gun and spare magazine back into the safe. By the time I return to the living room, Maverick’s temperature is a little lower, but he’s still not happy.

Oakley asks, “Is there anything we can do?”

Baba shakes his head. “Stay here with Maverick,” he says, ignoring my cousin’s strenuous objections. “You’ve talked to Hedy about getting into the psych rotation at Wakefield Regional, right?”

Oak’s brows meet in the middle. “Yes…”

“Give her a call and let her know what’s happening. She’ll know what to share with you and Mav.”

With that, Dad, Baba, H and H, Maya, Silas, and I take the elevator down.

“Whose car are we going to take?” I ask. “Silas and I only have two-seaters.”

Dad points to the two SUVs in the far corner of the parking garage.

“Where did those come from? ”

“That’s what we drove last night,” Baba explains. “You might not remember because?—”

“Oh yeah. Trauma,” I joke.

Sy’s the only one who laughs.

We split into the two vehicles, Dad driving one, Baba driving the other. I’m with Dad, Silas, and Holmes.

Maya and Honoré are with Baba.

Dad starts the SUV as Holmes taps the display on the rearview mirror. “All right, we’re synced with Ammi,” he says, using the Arabic word for uncle.

Silas gets in next to me in the back and holds up a hard plastic case.

“I brought goodies.”

He presses his thumb to an embedded scanner and opens the case like an old-school game show host, revealing half a dozen pistol-like…things.

“These look like Star Wars blasters, Sy,” I observe.

The originals, not the remakes, thank God.

“That’s just because Uncle Odd has a weird sense of humor. But yeah, these are the next generation. I wasn’t supposed to take them out of the armory,” Sy confesses with an unconcerned shrug, “but they’re way too pretty to be locked in some cage.”

“Uh, totally.” Switching to a safe subject, I point out what appears to be the firing mechanism. “Can I assume that these are point and shoot?”

“Yep. It barely weighs anything but is more destructive than the rifles.” Silas pops his brows. “I have the best toys.”

Dad narrows his eyes at Sy in the rearview mirror. “Are you saying Pocket doesn’t know you took those from the armory?”

Sy answers by way of a bone-chilling grin and shows Holmes the contents of the case. They exchange a fist bump and Dad shakes his head, though he can’t seem to help his smile. “Okay, that does look like fun.”

Dad’s phone notification goes off just as he’s putting the SUV into gear. He hands it to Holmes as he backs up. “See what Jake has to say.”

Holmes pulls up the message. “Looks like whoever took Truett pinpointed his location by hacking into a tracker already on his vehicle.”

Silas and I exchange a guilty look.

Dad is a bit more philosophical. “And now we know why we don’t use Uncle Mads’ trackers to stalk our boyfriends.” He grimaces. “Though Ryder is gonna be high-pissed that someone managed to hack it. I wouldn’t wish her digital retribution on my worst enemy.”

Ryder is Uncle Mads’ digital security specialist, and let’s just say middle age has not mellowed her. When she found out some gross older guy at Harvard tried to spike my iced coffee with a date-rape drug, she erased his entire existence.

Asshole didn’t even have a birth certificate after she was done with him.

A shiver runs through me. “Fuck.”

Dad laughs, and we head out of the garage, following the blinking light on his display, Baba’s SUV right behind us. Truett is already miles away, and I take heart when Dad puts the pedal to the metal.

Still, the gridlock on Mo-Pac won’t let us close the gap fast enough to stop my brain from spiraling, and time plus my imagination is a dangerous combination.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, son?” Dad asks, zooming around some asshole going slow in the fast lane.

“I keep going back and forth between imagining what they’re doing to True and wondering what Brantley was thinking right before he was killed. Was he scared? Was he even aware he was about to die?”

“They’re driving too fast to be doing anything to Truett,” Dad says. “He’s probably not a very cooperative victim, I assume, so any danger he’s in at the moment has to do with them reacting to whatever he’s throwing their way.”