Another Ferrari Pista, this one black, pulls up next to the curb. The tinted window lowers, and, from it, a carbon copy of the guy in front of me appears. “Sin, come on, man. We’ve gotta boost.”
Sin? Thinking hard, I try to place the name. I know I’ve heard it someplace, but for the life of me, I can’t remember where.
With his gray eyes fixed on me, Sin skims my cheek with his knuckles. “Be ready.”
“I’m not going out with you.” My voice is lower, huskier than before.
“You sure about that?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. Ten minutes ago, I had my life all planned. I’d finish working on the cars, and the overtime would cover the rent on this place, my college application fee, and some basic food. I’d work my ass off over summer and hope to God I earned enough for the first semester. Then I’d ace my classes, apply for a full scholarship and, if that fell through, I’d try for a student loan. Either way, I’d move forward and never look back.
But now…?
I’m stupidly thinking about a date with a stranger.
Taking his keys from his pocket, he drops them into my hand. “A friend will pick my car up later.”
I glance from him to the keys and back again. “You never told me what you want fixed.”
Sin backs away, his killer smirk firmly in place. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”
For the first time, I look past his handsome face, and foreboding knots my stomach.
Hoping this isn’t what I think it is, the keys a sudden dead weight in my palm, I practically choke on my own stupidity. “Wait! You can’t leave your expensive car here.”
He either doesn’t hear or doesn’t want to, because seconds later, the Ferrari speeds off.
Grabbing my cell, I frantically type Sin’s name, followed by the words “twin” and “Bayside” as I hope like hell the ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach is hunger.
Holy shit.
I can’t read fast enough.
Son of the notorious mob boss, The Collector. Twin to a certified womanizer. Accused but never convicted of arson, drug running, violence, murder.
Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I quickly scan the garage to make sure I’m alone, then I pop the trunk. “Please let me be wrong, please let me be wrong,” I chant, my eyes clenched shut. “I don’t want to let some drug-dealing mob asshole use the garage as a drop-off point.”
Peeling one eye open, my heart stops, then kicks into overdrive. A black duffel bag sits innocuously in the center.
Tearing it open, I choke back a string of curses.
Thousands of dollars’ worth of cocaine.
Illegal drugs.
“Goddammit!” Tearing my fingers through my hair, I curse my fucking dad for not finding an honest way to pay the bills.
“Well, Dad, you might have been a pushover, but I’m not.”
Screw this.
Knowing what I need to do, wondering if I’ll live through the night once I do it, I grab my phone to call 911.
“That’s my car,” a female voice snaps behind me.
Dropping my cell, I spin.
A girl wearing designer everything saunters toward me as she points to the Ferrari. “I’m here to pick it up.”
Panic freezes my heart.
She plants her hands on her hips. “Hello, do you speak English? I said, I want my car. Give me the keys.”
It hits me like an uppercut knocking me flat on my ass.
There’s no escape.
I can’t call the cops. The Collector owns this town and everyone in it. If people like Sin, his brother, and this rich bitch are pawns in his dealings, then what chance do I have?
Angry at my dad, myself, and this whole damn situation, I throw the keys at her. “Take your car and get the hell out of my garage.”
Grabbing the keys midair, she narrows her eyes. “Careful who you throw shit at, bitch. You don’t want to make an enemy out of me. Trash like you is easy to dispose of.”
My heart pounding, my breath short, I level her with a look. “Get off my property.”
“Your funeral, trash.” Sliding into the driver seat, she starts the engine.
A second later, she’s peeling out of the garage.
Dropping to my knees, I curse my father and the shitstorm he created.
Chapter Two
SIN
Present Day
* * *
Her first mistake was standing me up.
Her second mistake was being MIA every time I went to her piece of shit garage. That insult’s punishable, and I’m going to cash in on it with fucking interest.
Her third mistake is not blending in with the other dicks as they leave the auditorium. Her faded jeans and worn T-shirt do fuck all to hide what’s beneath. Chick’s got curves for days, hair a man can wrap his fist around, and a mouth begging to be fucked.
My cock twitches, but I’m not sampling the goods until she begs me to.
And she will beg.
Jaw tight, I stand. “Let’s go.”
Students pause as we walk past. People shit themselves over money, power, and good looks. They either don’t know what to say or start tearing off their clothes like it’ll make a damn difference. It doesn’t. They’re all disposable.
Saint glances at Temple, who’s still fucking oblivious, and smirks. “Is that the chick from the garage?”
I nod.
“Nice rack.”
I glare at him. “Shut the fuck up.”
The prick chuckles. “Dude. Seriously?” He eyes her again, and it pisses me off. “Okay, maybe I can see it. Hot mechanic chick from the wrong side of the tracks. She doesn’t look like much out of those coveralls, but I’d still fuck her. Then again, you already tried that and got stood up. Since I look just like you…” Grinning, he wags his eyebrows as he trails off. “Maybe I should tell her I’m the twin with the bigger cock.”
“Keep it up and I’ll break your legs. Won’t be able to fuck anyone then.”
The asshole outright laughs. “Don’t tell me the elusive Sinclair Brandt is finally dick whipped over a chick.”
I glare at him.
Still laughing, he holds his hands up. “Okay, okay, you win. You’re still an ornery bastard.”
Ignoring him, I look back at Temple and scan her curves. “She’s perfect.”
“No way, man. She asked the cops for an extra daily patrol outside her garage. It’s going to be hard using her garage as a drop now.”
“That’s why she’s perfect. She’s a fighter.”
“I call bullshit,” the prick says. “She just doesn’t want to go to jail like her old man.”
“Let’s test her. Angel hacked Dad’s files, and she’s got what we need. I’ll prove it to you.” Taking my cell from my pocket, I shoot off a quick text to Eve.
Saint shakes his head. “Bro, I’m telling you, it’s a waste of time. She’s not the one we want.”
I shove my phone in my back pocket. “Thousand bucks says you’re wrong.”
Saint grins and holds up his fist. “You’re on, motherfucker.”
I bump it before glancing at Temple again. You’re mine, babe.