Page 14 of Her Crew

“Get that outfit and any others you liked,” I say to the closed door. “Bring them to the register when you’re done.” I grab my jeans and head back to the main floor so that I can cool the fuck off.

I also need to find a shirt she can work in. The one she picked is great for my mental portfolio, but it won’t net us any sales. Not in fucking Rumson.

I spot a worn shirt in the corner and grab it from the rack. It might be a touch big on her, but that’s okay. The moth-eaten look will sell it, and being too big is just an added bonus.

The changing room door squeaks open, and I turn to watch her exit. I’m behind a large rack of shirts, so she doesn’t see me as she steps out of the room and begins putting the clothes onto a return rack. I walk over and pick up the discarded clothing before she can hurry away.

“I said you can get them all.” I set the shirt I found on top of the pile. “And this is for work.”

She huffs, then plucks the grungy shirt from the top. “So you want me to look like a cleaner version of my old self?”

I brush her dark hair from her shoulder and lean closer to her. “I want to give you the best chance to succeed in our line of work, pup. Trust me, okay?”

Hurt flashes in her eyes as she realizes that moving forward means going backward. She wants to leave that version of herself in the past, and now I’m asking her to drag it with her.

But it won’t be forever. If she can just do this for a while, we can find something that helps her move forward for good.

“Can you do that?” I ask. “Can you trust me?”

She licks her lips, then nods, and we walk to the checkout counter together.

Chapter 9

Tegan

The van deposits me and Ace on a corner about a half mile from a massive cul-de-sac that Stacks wants us to hit. I wish he could have dropped us off closer, but he doesn’t want any potential customers to witness any type of organized-van situation. That would kind of ruin the sad, lonely story we’re trying to sell, I guess.

My feet move on their own, and I’m already over it. I’m not unaccustomed to walking, but it’s extremely hot, and I’m walking by someone who makes me even warmer.

“How are you feeling about this, pup?” Ace asks.

“Nervous.”

“Don’t be. Just use what you came from as ammunition in a weapon that can change your future.”

“Stop sounding like a salesman.” I give his arm a playful smack. “You sound like you’re selling me a dream that will never be a reality.”

He shrugs and kicks at a small pebble. “I’ve never sold you anything less than a dream, that’s true, but there’s nothing that says it can’t be your reality.”

He stops walking, glances around, and pulls me into a wooded area. When he eases a knife from his pocket, whips it open, and brings the blade toward me, I nearly scream. Instead, I just flinch as he gouges a new hole in the shirt he picked out for me, as if the tattered hem and faded stains weren’t enough.

Satisfied with my attire, he turns his attention to the rest of my look. My eyes nearly cross as he places the blade between his lips so that he can run his hands against my scalp, tousling my clean hair to make it look a bit more unkempt. If he notices the goosebumps rising on my skin or the way I’m leaning into his touch, he doesn’t show it.

He also doesn’t notice how I stare at every beautiful movement he makes. Every rise of that cheek piercing as he curls his lip around the blade. Fuck.

As he pulls away to mess up his own hair, I fight the urge to grip his wrists and beg for more.

“Are . . . are we supposed to be a team or have our own stories?” I ask as he guides us back to the sidewalk. Nerves cause my stomach to flutter.

“It’s probably best if we have our own stories. It adds an unnecessary layer of complexity when you have to match stories. One slip up, and the sale falls through.”

“Can you go over it all one more time for me?” I ask, suddenly panicking.

Most people would probably be annoyed with me, considering this is the third time I’ve asked, but Ace just repeats the plan like it’s no big deal.

“When we get to a house, I’ll take the lead. The goal is to get them to fork over cash for both of us, and they’ll even tell us how to get it out of their pockets.”

“Right,” I say, remembering. “I’m supposed to look around and figure out their interests.”