Page 6 of Pack of Crooks

That’s a deal I can make. “Okay, okay. Tell me more about thisomega wantedad.”

“So, at first I was like you, thinking some pack wanted a little fuck toy, but look at the minimum qualifications.” She points at the screen and my gaze follows.

“Must know how to pick a lock.” My face scrunches and I keep reading. Must know how to steal without being noticed. The ability to bypass security systems—well, that’s easy enough thanks to Mom. She slept with a technician for a while to learn how to override security panels and then forced me to break into people’s houses to take things we could pawn.

“Proficient with Microsoft Word and Excel. Previous admin experience is a plus?” I rear back at the last one. “I’m confused. Do they want a thief or a secretary?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I understand the last parts, but you meet most of the others.”

It’s not as bad as I thought, but there’s not a lot of information to go on.What could it hurt to apply though?“Okay, what do I do?”

“Well, that’s the thing. They’re doing interviews tonight. In person only.”

“What if it’s a trap? The cops or something?”

Milly sighs. “I thought about that too, but it came from an established profile, one that I’ve worked with before. It’s legit.”

“I don’t know,” I say, biting my cheek. I trust Milly. Random strangers? Not so much.

“Seven-figures once the job is done.”

“I’m sorry, what?” That can’t be real.

“A million dollars, Haze.”

A million?“And what’s the job?”

Milly shrugs. “It says you have to interview and get the job first. They’re not going into details, but obviously it involves some sort of theft, which you’re a pro at.”

It sounds too good to be true, but a million dollars? I could get us a new car. Two new cars. A house. Oh my god, Lottie would be so happy. No more repossessions. Fine, you know what? Fuck it. “I’ll go get ready.”

She nods. “That’s my girl.”

“Don’t think I forgot about the foot stuff,” I whisper over my shoulder as I approach the bedroom. Our small apartment only has one bathroom, but luckily Lottie falls asleep fast and sleeps hard, so she won’t notice me heading into the en-suite.

I tip toe inside, climb on top of the toilet, lift the ceiling tile and tug out the worn black duffle bag I keep stashed there. As quiet as possible, I take out the wigs and fake noses. I did one year of theater in high school—and not because I enjoyed acting. The theater club was the best place to learn how to do hair and makeup. To put on wigs. The fake noses I had to research, but the internet is full of tutorials.

Maybe the disguise is overkill, but the people who live on the darknet don’t fuck around, and I’m not about to lead them straight back to Lottie. I add a touch of a perfume that masks the primary note of my scent, making it more vanilla than strawberry. The fruity scent is still there, but it’s muted.

Wearing a wig styled in a short black bob like Milly’s and a nose that’s longer and wider than my own, I head back into the main room, softly closing the bedroom door behind me.

Milly takes me in. “Cute wig.”

I wiggle my head so it sways. “Thanks. How do I look?”

“Different enough,” she says with a nod. “I sent you a pin. Text me when you get there and when you leave.”

“Okay, Mom,” I tease, but it’s nice to know someone cares about me. With Milly watching over Lottie, I slip onto the lamp-lit sidewalk and follow the directions on the map app. It’s almost eleven, so I keep as close to the shadows as I can, clutching the gun inside the purse I carry on particularly dangerous jobs. The switchblade knocking against my knuckles is a last resort if someone tries to rob me.

The location—which looks to be an old warehouse—isn’t too far away from where we live, and I act as casual as possible as I turn the corner, but the sight of a line of omegas outside the building has my steps slowing.

What. The. Fuck?

Dressed to dazzle, the cluster of omegas creates a scent wave that’s like a tsunami of sweetness. My hackles rise on instinct. A few omegas in a room together is fine, but over three dozen in one place? That’s practically asking for a fight to break out.

Omegas, much like cats, can be vicious, territorial assholes. I’m surprised someone hasn’t staked a claim on the sidewalk and picked a fight with the rest of the omegas for daring to stand on it. With my nose wrinkled, I edge toward the line. Every omega turns at my approach.

They’re obviously all here for the same reason. I honestly didn’t think I’d have this much competition. Stopping at the end of the line, I glance at the omega directly in front of me. “Are you here for. . .” I trail off like I’m nervous.