Page 11 of Pack of Crooks

I have to get up, but his hands on my thighs keep me in place. “Where do you think you’re going, baby?”

“I didn’t find the key,” I say, voice tight. “Guess it’s time for the next girl.”

He hums, chest rumbling as he glides his hand upward—trailing over my core, then up my stomach, between the curve of my breasts, before wrapping firmly around my throat. “I want my wallet back,” he says low enough for only me to hear.

Swallowing, I nod as he tightens his hold on my neck. “I have to go.”

“So soon?” he practically purrs. “We’re just getting started, pretty thief.”

I shove one arm between his forearm and my body, pushing out and twisting out of his hold and off his lap before scowling at him. “Good luck finding an omega.” Before any of them can stop me, I rush through the warehouse, praying I don’t twist an ankle in the dark. I burst into the night, sucking in a deep breath and immediately wrinkling my nose at the overwhelming wall of omega scents.

“Good luck,” I tell the omega at the front of the line, quickly making my way down the sidewalk, heading away from the warehouse and rushing home to grab Killian’s wallet.

Since he’s busy interviewing omegas, his house is empty, and if he wants his wallet back, I guess I can do him a favor and hand deliver it. If something else he owns happens to go missing while I’m there. . .oops.

four

MADDOX

Obsession is a strange affliction. Some say it’s a sickness, but I’ve never felt sick. I guess it helps that my obsessive tendencies don’t revolve around things that bring anxiety and fear. My obsessions are learning how to break into safes a dozen different ways, mapping out escape routes for our latest job over and over until I form the perfect plan.

Excitement is all I’ve ever known when it comes to my tendencies. . . and as the taste of strawberries lingers on the back of my tongue, my mind reels. Replaying the interaction with the omega again and again.

I’m already calculating the steps between me and her.

What it would take to get her in my lap again.

How to keep her there until I own her body and soul.

The first time I tried a strawberry, I was probably five. I never liked them. The texture was always weird, too many seeds, rough bumps seated in soft flesh that made my skin itch and my stomach turn. So why is it that all I can think about is going to the store to get the biggest container of strawberries just to smell her again. Better yet, maybe I should grab her before she getsoutside and drag her back in here. The fruit alone wouldn’t be enough.

Riding the sweet scent was a musk of desire that was distinctly her own, and I want to smell it again and again and again. To bury my face in the crook of her neck and inhale until my lungs are drowning with sweetness.

“What the fuck was that?” Ezra murmurs.

Blinking, I turn toward him, reeling in my thoughts before I get too far off the deep end.

“An angel,” Kill says with a groan. “Fuck, I’m so hard.”

“Me too, asshole.” I glare at him, not that he can see it through my mask. “You’re the genius who told her to sit on our laps.”

“Mmm,” he says, and I can practically hear his smirk. “She felt good though, didn’t she?”

Yeah she fucking did. Too good. Like a distraction. Like an omega that would make me want to do everything but what we’re here to do.

Ezra stands and heads to the seat she vacated, flipping it over and laughing. “Oh shit.”

“What?” I ask as he shows us the bottom of the chair. The key that had been taped there is missing. “When?—”

“Remember the pickpocket who tried to steal my watch then took my wallet?” Kill asks.

How could I forget the idiot let someone pull one over on him? “You’re not saying that was her.”

“At first, I didn’t recognize her because of the wig and nose.” He pushes back his mask, eyes steady on the chair, alight with ideas that’ll definitely lead to trouble. “But I knew there was something about her. That omega is my thief from earlier. Sunshine and strawberries.”

Ezra sets the chair down and pulls out his phone, cueing up the security footage. “I don’t know how she. . . oh. She found it when we were taking our seats.”

Before we even told her what she had to do? My mind spins. She’s used to checking over things then. A habit. What made her so wary? Did someone. . . fuck. All the omega did was sit in my lap and I’m already starting to obsess. What had she called me?Kitty. If anyone else had done it, I’d be pissed, but coming from her pretty mouth, all I wanted to do was see how much she could make me purr.