Hot-Bites, Volume Two by Jenika Snow
1
Macy
It’s far too easy.
Just “accidentally” bump into them, slip my hand in their pocket, while smiling the whole time, and take what I want. They never know what hit them, never suspect someone like me is stealing from them, right under their noses.
I lean against a brick wall, my hands shoved in my jacket pockets, the chill in the air letting me know winter is still hanging on. City life is busy, with most of the residents too worried about getting to their next stop, and less concerned about some young woman picking their pocket. But then again, that’s exactly what I do.
Businessmen and women hustle and bustle up and down the street, and I watch them, calculate who to pick, almost like an equation that I’m about to solve.
I see a guy, maybe an obvious choice as he seems flustered while he rushes down the sidewalk. He’s young, probably an intern at some ritzy law firm. But his tie is crooked, his shoes scuffed up. He’s probably a college kid without much money, but wants to play the part.
I pass him up, focus on someone I know I can make some money off of.
There, an older man, his suit pressed, expensive looking. His shoes are shined, designer. He’s wearing a Rolex, a diamond ring on his pinky.
He’s who I’ll take from today. No doubt his wallet is filled with cash, and credit cards with high limits.
I take a step away from the wall, about to make my move, when my gaze zeros in on someone else who piques my interest even more.
He’s tall, maybe even hitting six and a half feet. His suit screams wealth, dark material hugging his lean but powerful body. His hair is this dirty blond color, a little long on the top, but not too long that it is unprofessional. He has a day’s worth of scruff covering his jaw, and his focus is trained right ahead, his gaze never breaking, the intent on his face clear.
He screams power.
No doubt his money clip is overflowing. I look down at the briefcase he holds, the dark leather shining, the gold lock on top ensuring that whatever it contains is important and safe. He has a cell phone up to his ear, the hard expression on his face as he speaks telling me that maybe he doesn’t like what the person on the other end is saying.
Yeah, he’s going to be my target.
I run my hands over my jeans, my fingers itching to get to work. I adjust the beanie on my head, a gust of wind blowing the strands underneath it across my cheeks. And then I step out onto the sidewalk and start walking, my focus on him but my head downcast, as if I were paying attention to my feet.
Got to look inconspicuous.
We are just a foot from each other now and I sidestep, slamming into him with enough power that we both stumble a little bit. But I am fast, my fingers sticky as I slide my hand on the inside of his suit jacket, find the interior pocket, and pull out his wallet.
I quickly shove the wallet in my coat pocket then move back, raising my hands and muttering my apologies. Everything happens within a couple of seconds, and as he stares at me, his brows furrowed, he pulls the cell away from his ear and looks me right in the eyes.
I feel my heart jump to my throat. My mouth dries and my body tightens. The look he gives me is intense. “I’m sorry,” I mutter and take a few steps backward, the people all around us moving on either side as if they were water being parted. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”
He says nothing as he continues to stare at me, and I force myself to move away, to start walking. I pick up my pace but keep looking behind my shoulder, unable to help myself. I don’t know what it is about him that has this pull consuming me.
And still he stands there, watching me. Everything seems to slow as I watch as he slips his hand into his suit jacket, realization of what I’ve done covering his face. I swear I could hear the growl come from him even from this distance.
“Fuck,” he mouths and his gaze lands on me once more.
I pick up my pace just as he starts heading toward me, the anger on his face tangible. I face forward and start running, trying to push people out of my way, but the early morning rush of commuters is thick, like the smog that surrounds the city.
I take a left, knowing there’s an alley just ahead. Surely, he won’t keep pursuing me, not with the filth between the buildings, not in his Gucci loafers and Armani suit.
I glance over my shoulder but can’t see him through the thick throng of people. I keep running, my sneakers eating up the pavement, my arms working as I escape. Most of the time they don’t chase me, don’t even know I robbed them until I’m long gone. But this guy is different.
I take a right and head into the alley, sunlight not penetrating this area very well, shadows mixing with the stench of trash coming from the large dumpsters pressed against the brick walls. I slow, feeling like I’ve lost him. I’m fast. You have to be to survive in this line of work. There’s no way he kept up with me.
As I brace my hands on my knees and breathe out, the feeling of someone right behind me has me straightening and turning. I gasp as I look into his face, one that’s set in anger and looks mighty pissed. I go to turn but he has a vice-lock grip on my arm, preventing me from leaving.
“I’ll scream.”
He grins, a flash of straight white teeth, but it isn’t one of pleasure or amusement. “Go ahead.” He holds up his cell. “I’m about to call the cops, so fighting will only make this worse for you.”
I swallow the thick lump in my throat.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly and reach in my jacket to give him back his money. I hold up the wallet, handing it to him. He takes it from me and shoves it in his pocket with a frustrated grunt.
I try to get loose again, but he’s far too strong and determined to let me go.
“I gave you the money back. Just let me go and you can be on your way.”
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even move as he stares at me.
“What’s your fucking problem?”
“Take off the hat,” he says harshly.
“W-what?” I feel my brows furrow. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
I lift my hand and remove my beanie, hoping if I comply he’ll cut me some slack and let me go. I don’t bother smoothing my hair away from my face.
He eyes me and lets go of my arm. “Shit, you’re so damn young.” He rakes his eyes over me and I shiver. His gaze feels like fingers moving over my body.
“I’m eighteen. Old enough.” I see the way his nostrils flare slightly. “I gave you your money back. I’ll just be on my way and you won’t see me again. We don’t have to get the cops involved.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t even speak. I see the lift of a dark eyebrow as he continues to watch me, and then he takes a step back and looks me up and down. “You don’t want the police involved?”
I find myself shaking my head. Something about the look on his face makes me afraid to speak.
“You’ll do whatever it takes to make this right?”
I nod, but my heart is beating out of my chest. The way he’s looking at me tells me he’s got one thing on his mind. It seems impossible and I don’t understand it. A man like him… the very ideas that are running in my head have to be ludicrous.
He lifts his hand and runs it over his jaw. “Then, I want you.”
I wait for him to continue. “Want me to what?”
He grins then and this time it is one of pleasure. “If you don’t want me to call the cops, it’ll cost you.”
“Mister, if I had money, I wouldn’t be trying to take yours.” I do my best to keep annoyance in my voice and disguise the fact that there’s something about him that I find… appealing. I shouldn’t. I should be running and trying to get away from him again. I’ve lived this life enough to know that jail is a bad thing for a girl like me. I’ve managed to stay out, but only because until recently I’ve been underage. Juvie isn’t a walk in the damn park, but jail? Yeah, I can’t handle that. I already know I can’t. Which means I need to ignore this guy and his broody dark eyes and his smile that looks wicked and makes me feel like a woman for the first time in my life.
“I don’t want you to pay me. At least not with money,” he says and the heated look on his face makes me feel funny and not entirely in a bad way.
“Listen, I think—”
“The price I want is you.”
