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Big Mike held up the necklace, grinning. “This will fetch at least two hundred grand.”
He anticipated Kara’s reaction. Fury. Frustration. And laced through those emotions would be determination to find the thieves. His ex wouldn’t be satisfied with a police report or letting authorities handle this.
His gaze flickered to Dylan. Guilt was carved all over the teenager’s expression, which became neutral as he realized Jace was studying him.
Jace turned his attention to the jewels. “Nice,” he drawled. “But you can’t hide them here. Place isn’t secure enough. Where are you gonna move them?”
Big Mike frowned. “Marcus is coming for them tomorrow.”
Keeping his expression calm to hide his excitement, he nodded. “I get it. Too hot to move until tomorrow.”
Maverick, a former tech worker, whistled. “Sweet. That will buy a lot of software.”
Big Mike frowned. “This is all for Marcus, dolt. Not us. We’ll get our take later.”
The biker scooped up the jewels, stuffed them into a small black bag and walked behind the bar. He uncovered a safe hidden behind a loose panel on the wall. He unlocked the safe, placed the bag inside and spun the dial to secure it.
Jace headed for the fridge and popped open a cold one, needing it. He rolled the bottle over his forehead, relishing the coolness, and then took a long drink.
Snake, who had opened the safe and stolen the jewels, stretched. “I need to score some action. Mike, let’s get out of here.”
“No can do. Someone has to watch the store.”
“Gator’s here. Let him do it,” Snake told him.
“Yeah, but Gator needs sex, too.” Maverick winked.
“I’m getting plenty of that tomorrow night,” Jace quipped. “Gonna wait for the good stuff. You guys go.”
Eyes narrowing, Mike seemed to consider. “Gator, you watch the store. I swear, if I come back and anything’s wrong...”
Jace picked up the handgun. “I won’t let anything happen.”
When they left, Jace went upstairs and texted Rafe that the deed was done.
He returned downstairs to check on the two teenagers who drove the crotch rockets. Seated on the big orange sofa in the game room, they were playing a loud video game on a big-screen television.
Dylan wasn’t with him. He was sitting on the sofa in the other room by the window, staring at his phone and looking miserable. Jace joined him.
“Seat taken?” he asked.
Dylan looked up, a little too pale. A little too shaken. “No.”
“Everything a-okay?”
A shrug. “My mom’s gotten worse. I told her I’d be out all night. She still worries.”
His mother’s cancer had advanced, from what Jace had overheard. Must tread carefully here, because Dylan looked as skittish as a new colt.
“Chemo can be a real bitch.” The casual statement belied his true emotions. He felt for the kid, who had been dealt a raw hand in life.
“The chemo isn’t too bad. It’s the money.” Dylan bit his lip, his brown eyes filled with worry. “Insurance isn’t paying anymore.”
Jace wished he had enough money to help the kid out. He knew his pain. He had some savings, but it would look suspicious if he gave Dylan money, might blow his cover as a down-and-out mechanic.
“There are ways. Start a GoFundMe,” he suggested.
Dylan’s expression turned moody. “Yeah, whatever. Lance promised me a cut from tonight’s job. A small one because I still owe him a lot for the bike.”
