Jaded, p.3
Jaded, page 3
“No one noteworthy,” I shrug, lifting the mug to my lips.
Lexi tilts her head, shooting me a look out of the corner of her eye. “Uh-huh…”
I exhale sharply, giving up any attempt at being nonchalant. “Fine. I met a guy.”
I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to talk about him, but because I kind of do.
“He’s not like anyone else I’ve ever met at a bar. Not some desperate trust fund idiot looking to impress a girl with his daddy’s money…although his friend certainly fits that bill… but he had a presence. Control. Like he was used to people waiting on his next move.” I shake off that thought, avoiding trying to figure him out right now. “His watch alone could probably net me fifty grand.”
Lexi nearly chokes. “FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS?” She looks like she just had an out-of-body experience. “From one watch?”
I smirk and give her a slow nod. “I’m telling you. He was next level… in every way possible.” I give her a quick wink at that last part.
Now she’s hooked. She pesters me until I spill all the details, down to what I took from him and how I got out of his hotel room without drawing attention. When I finally finish, she just stares.
Shock? Amusement? Disapproval? Even I can’t tell sometimes. Then, “Well, what was his name?”
I shift in my seat and mutter, “Lochlan.” Taking another slow sip of coffee, “Lochlan… something. He didn’t tell me his last name, actually, but he told me to call him Locke.”
Lexi instantly snatches her phone off the coffee table and taps the screen furiously.
I scoff, “You’re Googling him? Seriously?”
She doesn’t even look up. “Uh, yeah? You robbed a guy who had an amazing suite, a watch that could resell for fifty grand, a knife on his dresser… and who knows what else was hidden! That’s not some random rich dude, Arden.”
I roll my eyes, stretching against the cushions. Trying to give the illusion that he was nothing more than another target. Even if absolutely everything felt different. “Lex, I always do this. He was just another —”
Lexi’s breath catches, and she whispers, “Holy shit.”
My heart instantly drops into my stomach. “…What?”
She slowly turns the phone around, holding it out like it’s the final piece of evidence in a murder trial. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth hangs open in disbelief.
The bold headline at the top of the page reads, “Crisis King: How Lochlan ‘Locke’ Bishop Buries Scandals Before They Break.”
The article is paired with a photo that looks like the paparazzi took it. Him stepping out of a sleek black SUV, his face half-hidden by his hand as he walks away.
I blink a few times, then squint. “No fucking way.”
“Oh, fucking way!” Lexi squeals, continuing to scroll. “Owner of Bishop Strategies, private PR. Crisis management firm for the ultra-wealthy. He’s the guy who cleans up celebrity scandals before they have the chance to hit the press.” Lexi keeps reading, but I lose track of what she’s saying, and all her words blur together.
I’ve stolen from CEOs. Trust fund babies. Tech bros. Tons of men too rich to notice, or care, when their wallets or suitcases were lighter.
But this? Lexi’s right, he’s not just another rich asshole. His whole life is about Hollywood glamour and celebrities. He has connections. He might even be dangerous.
I exhale slowly, setting my mug on the coffee table. “Shit.”
Chapter 5
LOCKE
I stand across from Nate, watching him rub his temples and glare at me like I’ve just told him I lost millions at the blackjack table. The obnoxiously large kitchen island is the only barrier between us. Which is probably a good thing since I can see how badly he wants to punch me right now.
I scan the room, waiting for him to say something. The suite is nice, sure. But at this point, I’ve stayed in too many of these places to care. They all blur together after a while. Perfect. Polished. A facade. The only thing remotely interesting about it is the little thief that was here last night.
I shove that thought down, trying to ignore the fact that my clothes still hold traces of her perfume. Bright citrus mixed with jasmine and a hint of vanilla. I shouldn’t enjoy it, so why am I?
Nate exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “Let me get this straight, brother.” That last word, dripping with annoyance. “You brought a random girl from the bar back here last night. What was her name? Aiden? —”
I exhale sharply. “Arden.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He says, waving a hand in my direction. “You brought her here, fucked her, and then, sometime before you woke up, she slipped out with your overpriced watch, our father’s cross, and your knife?”
I shift my gaze to the floor, rubbing the back of my neck. It’s a little more embarrassing when it’s all laid out like that.
Nate leans forward, bracing his forearms on the counter. “You couldn’t keep it in your pants? Couldn’t wait until the next Hollywood event to pick someone a little more… I don’t know, suitable? You had to go for some low-life girl in Vegas?”
His eyes narrow as he continues his lecture. “And now you think you’re going to hunt her down? For what?”
I keep my expression neutral. Maintaining the controlled mask I’ve perfected over the years.
I could lie. Tell him I’m just after the cross. That it’s sentimental. Maybe that’s part of it... but the truth is, I’m curious. I want to know why she did it, if she does this often, if she even hesitated, and if she felt the same magnetic pull toward me that I did toward her. But, even more than that, I think she might actually be useful.
When I finally speak, I do my best to keep my mask in place. “She might be exactly what I need for the Jaxon Wilde situation.”
Nate blinks. Then laughs, a single, humorless chuckle.
“You’re kidding.” He shakes his head. “You want to hire her?”
He stares at me for a moment, waiting for a response, but I just stare back.
“You actually might be insane, Locke. You’ve truly outdone yourself this time.”
Right on cue, Sebastian strolls in, completely unaware of the hellfire he’s just walked into. It only takes him one glance between us to realize.
“Are you guys fighting again?” He stretches, looking obnoxiously refreshed for someone who drank half the bar last night. “Come on, give it a rest, Nate. Locke finally got laid. You should be happy! Maybe he’ll actually be in a good mood for once.”
Nate levels a very flat stare at him. Then at me.
He exhales sharply, pushing back from the counter. “Fill your idiot friend in. Then, let me know how you plan on fixing this.” He grabs his phone, muttering, “Unbelievable.”
He turns back to me, unimpressed. “You owe me.”
The door slams shut behind him. Sebastian raises a brow at me, waiting.
I grit my teeth into a forced, razor-sharp smile. “Well,” I mutter, “that went well.”
Sebastian isn’t just some idiot I keep around for entertainment. We’ve known each other for almost our entire lives. Our fathers ran their slice of the Irish mob together. Now they share a prison cell, while we take advantage of the money and connections they left behind.
That’s why I need him. I deal in power and influence. I run with the people who pull strings behind the scenes. Sebastian? He knows the streets. He’s not afraid of the people who learned to navigate them out of necessity rather than convenience. Even though his upbringing was the furthest thing from rough, he’s always had a way of gaining their trust. When we combine our skills, this entire city belongs to us.
The head of casino security looks like he already regrets letting us into the surveillance room. He keeps glancing at the closed door, like he’s waiting for someone to walk in. Or praying for it.
“You said she took something?” the man asks, voice gruff.
“Yeah,” I reply. “A watch worth more than your entire camera system.”
His jaw tenses, but he clicks through the footage anyway. He keeps glancing at Seb, who isn’t saying a word. Just watching, arms crossed, eyes scanning the monitors.
A few minutes in, I spot a blur of black satin in the sea of flashing lights. “Stop, that’s her. Back it up three seconds.”
He rewinds. There she is, weaving through the maze of slot machines, casual and calm as if it’s just another day. The doors glow with the blue light of dawn as she slips outside.
Seb moves closer, squinting at the screen. “What street is that?”
“First,” the security guard answers quickly. “Looks like she took a right. Probably headed down Fremont Street.”
“Thanks,” I say, pressing a folded $100 bill into his palm. “For your trouble.”
The moment we step outside, Seb pulls out his phone. “Calling in that favor. I need as much camera footage going south on Fremont Street as you can get. Look for the girl in the photo I’m sending now.” He hangs up and sends the message as we walk.
Moments later, image replies start coming in. Grainy shots from traffic cams, hotel exteriors, even a convenience store. In one clip, they circled her. Another highlights a neon sign she passed.
I pull out my phone, zooming in on the map to trace her path with my finger. “This is the store she passed. There are three pawnshops within a few blocks of it. She definitely hit one of them.”
Seb nods, looking over my shoulder at the cluster of red dots. “Then let’s start knocking on doors.”
I nod in agreement as we head toward the closest shop.
Chapter 6
LOCKE
The air inside the Treasure Trove Pawn Shop is thick with stale cigar smoke. Sebastian slouches against a glass countertop, letting me take the lead while he idly scans a case of overpriced vintage cameras. He’s just here for the show.
I brace my hands on the counter before me. “I’ll make this easy for you…” I trail off, giving him an opportunity to introduce himself.
“Milo,” he reluctantly mutters, lifting his chin and exhaling a puff of smoke into the air. “And what are you yappin’ about?”
I pull out my phone and place it gently on the counter. When Milo glances down, it’s me staring up at him, smiling and holding a glass of whiskey. I zoom in on my wrist, giving him a clear view of what I came here for.
“You’ve seen this watch today, correct?”
Milo’s poker face is shit.
His eyes flicker, just for a second, but I see it.
“Can’t say I have,” he mutters, his eyes shifting as he takes another long drag of his cigar.
Sebastian lets out a quiet chuckle. “That’s weird. Because every other shop we visited said you’re the only guy in town with the balls to even look at something that pricey.”
Milo shifts on his feet, setting his half-smoked cigar in a nearby ashtray.
“Look,” he sighs, lacing his fingers together. “Let’s say, hypothetically, someone did walk in here with a watch like that. That would be a very hot item. The kind of thing you don’t just flip overnight.”
“Exactly.” I shoot back. “Which means you still have it.”
He stiffens instantly. “I don’t —”
I raise my hand, cutting him off. “Don’t lie to me, Milo. It’s insulting.”
He stares at me for a moment, narrowing his eyes. I don’t move. I don’t blink.
Milo sighs, letting his shoulders sag. “Fine.” He reaches into his coat and sets the watch carefully on the counter. “Here it is.”
I pick up my watch, turning it over in my hand and holding it up to the light. Just how I remember it. “I’ll give you twenty grand for it.”
“That’s it?” Milo bellows, throwing his hands up in disbelief. “That’s not even enough to cover my cut!”
Sebastian raises his eyebrows and steps toward the counter. “It’s cute that you thought you’d get one. Better luck next time.”
Milo taps his fingers against the counter, his mouth pressed into a tight line. “Why even pay? Just take it.”
I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice to a near whisper. “Because you’re going to call her. Now. Unless you want her thinking you pocketed more than your share.”
The color instantly drains from his face.
Sebastian lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he moves again, joining me at the counter’s edge. “What’s wrong? Suddenly have morals?”
Milo shifts again, like he’s weighing his options. Protect the thief or risk facing whatever consequences we decide to hand out if he doesn’t do what we say.
“Look,” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “She’s gonna be pissed. If you bump it up to thirty grand, it might go over a little better.”
Seb barks out a laugh. “She’s lucky she’s getting twenty. Have her here in the next fifteen minutes or it goes down to ten.”
Milo exhales sharply. “Okay. I’ll call her. Just don’t turn this place into a crime scene.”
He grabs the shop’s phone and turns his back on us to dial.
I slip between two shelves stacked with dusty stereo equipment, keeping a clear line of sight to the front door. Sebastian drifts toward the other side of the store, plopping a ridiculous cowboy hat onto his head as he makes his way to a crate of old vinyl records.
The shop is silent, aside from the hum of the cheap fluorescent lights overhead and Milo’s uneven breathing. He keeps glancing toward the back storage room like he’s considering hiding in there until this is over.
Sebastian breaks the silence first. “Relax,” he says coolly, still flipping through records. “We’re not here for you.”
“That’s what worries me,” Milo grumbles.
Time drags on. A minute. Three. Five. Ten.
When the bell over the door finally jingles, Milo startles, the ashtray rattling against the counter.
She bursts through the door like she owns the place. Confident, quick, absolutely no hesitation. Her pitch-black waves hang loose around her shoulders, with sunglasses pushed up on her head.
She glances around, her eyes snagging on Seb, who keeps his back to her. She doesn’t seem to notice me behind the shelves.
When she spots Milo at the counter, her expression sharpens.
“There better be a great reason for you calling me back here so soon,” she snaps.
Milo clears his throat, then mutters, “Watch sold.” He hands over the envelope of cash I just gave him.
“I thought you said it would take a while,” she says, suspicion creeping into her voice.
“Yeah, well… things changed.” He nudges the envelope toward her like it’s a bomb ready to explode.
She picks it up, flips it open with one hand, and counts. She’s quick, efficient; I can tell this isn’t her first rodeo.
“What the fuck is this?” She spits. “I know that watch sold for more than this. Don’t fucking play me, cabrón.”
Her eyes never leave him as she moves behind the counter, jabbing the envelope into his chest. “¿Tú crees que soy estúpida? You think I don’t know what that thing is worth? I work too hard to get ripped off!”
Milo holds up his hands slowly, expression calm, voice steady. “Easy, sweetheart. Trust me, that’s all I’ve got.”
She snorts in disbelief, stepping closer. “Don’t make me laugh.” She turns away from him and mutters, “Pinche pendejo!” mostly to herself.
From behind the shelves, I can’t help the grin tugging at my lips. Oh, she’s a firecracker. She’s hot when she’s mad, too. Somehow, it’s even hotter that she doesn’t know I’m watching. My eyes linger, dragging up and down her body as she peppers Milo with more Spanish insults.
She walks back around the counter, heading toward the door as she shoves the envelope in the back pocket of her skin-tight jeans.
Milo doesn’t make much of an attempt to defend himself. Maybe he’s feeling guilty.
But just as she reaches the door, he calls out, “I swear I didn’t take a cut. That’s all I got for it.” He waits for her to glance back at him, eyes narrowed, before adding, “Just take care of yourself.”
Then, she walks out the door.
I send Seb a quick text before following behind her.
Me
I’ll take it from here. Grab a car and wait for my call.
Seb
Better watch your back. She’s vicious.
Chapter 7
ARDEN
the next day
The walk home from the park is normal. Zoe skips ahead, her small hand in Lexi’s, giggling about something I’m only half-listening to. Something about the swings, or the ducks. Something innocent.
I should be relaxed, but I’m not. Since yesterday, something has felt off.
I try to shake the feeling as we enter the building and take the stairs up to our floor. Lexi is still talking, shifting Zoe’s backpack onto her shoulder as she digs around in her purse to fish out her keys.
That’s when I see it. A hotel keycard neatly tucked against the doorframe. On our front door.
I stop dead. Of course, Lexi clocks my hesitation immediately.
“What?” she asks, frowning.
I don’t answer. Instead, I snatch the card from the doorframe and shove my hand into the back pocket of my jeans.
Her eyes narrow at me. “What was that, Arden?”
My pulse pounds against my ribs as I take the card out and flip it between my index finger and thumb. White words stand out on the black plastic: ‘The Founder’s Suite.’ His room. His bed. That night comes flooding back, and I feel like I might be sick.
Lexi’s face shifts, confusion giving way to understanding.
Her voice is sharp, clipped. “That’s his, isn’t it?”
I swallow hard and nod.
She exhales through her nose, jaw tight, “Okay, not to state the obvious, but that means he knows where we live.”
