Heart Thief

0020 Subordinate

"I despise liars," Mr. Quinn growled, his face inches from hers. "You'd do well to remember that."

"Let go! Let go!" Skye gasped, her face turning crimson from lack of air. "It was me, I took it! Just let go!"

Quinn released her with a contemptuous snort. Skye collapsed to the floor, gulping in precious oxygen as angry bruises bloomed across her pale neck.

"From this day forward, you work for me," Quinn declared coldly, turning on his heel and striding from the room without a backward glance.

Hawk lingered for a moment, eyeing Skye's ashen face. He shook his head slightly. "No one has ever touched Quinn property and lived to tell the tale," he said quietly. "Consider yourself lucky. Your previous... assistance... to the family has earned you a reprieve. I suggest you stay on your best behavior. The boss isn't known for his patience, and I'd hate to see your body carried out of here in a few days' time."

As Hawk followed his employer out, Skye gingerly touched her throat. Still attached, thankfully. Quinn's ruthlessness was legendary in Chicago's underworld. The fact that she was still breathing after stealing from him felt like divine intervention.

Skye silently thanked Jake for dragging her to that street race where she'd first encountered the Quinn family. If she hadn't stepped in to save face for them that day, she'd likely be saying goodbye to this mortal coil right about now.

With a groan, Skye flopped onto the hardwood floor. How had she gone from champion street racer and elusive cat burglar to... a servant? Talk about a fall from grace. Her carefree days were over.

She stared at the partially open door, debating her options. Run or stay? After a few minutes of internal debate, Skye decided against fleeing – for now. The fact that they'd left her alone so easily meant they weren't worried about her escape. Better to lay low and get the lay of the land first. One wrong move in the lair of Chicago's crime lord could end with a bullet between her eyes.

The next day, Skye woke to find the sun high in the sky. She stretched luxuriously, realizing it had been ages since she'd slept so peacefully. No worrying about her former associates coming after her, no jobs to plan... it was almost nice.

Then reality came crashing back. Right. Servant. Crap.

She bolted downstairs, nearly skidding into the living room. Quinn sat on the sofa, calmly reading the Tribune with a mug of coffee at his elbow. Skye tried to tiptoe back out unnoticed.

"Come here." Quinn's voice froze her in her tracks.

Skye shuffled over reluctantly. "Look, you didn't tell me what I'm supposed to do," she said, going on the offensive. "No one's given me any instructions. I've never been a servant before – I don't know the first thing about it."

"I won't repeat myself," Quinn said, not bothering to look up from his paper. His tone was arctic, with an undercurrent of smoldering threat.

Skye bit back a retort. This was his turf, his rules. She'd have to play along... for now. She inched closer, tense as a coiled spring.

Quinn finally deigned to acknowledge her presence. "Pack my things. We're leaving for Southeast Asia this afternoon."

That's it? No tirade, no threats? Skye blinked in surprise. Maybe the feared crime lord wasn't quite as cold-blooded as rumor claimed. She turned to go, eager to escape.

"If I look up and don't see you, your next stop will be the morgue." Quinn's casual statement sent chills down Skye's spine. It wasn't an idle threat – just a simple statement of fact.

Skye bolted for Quinn's room, suddenly very eager to prove her worth as a packer. This was her one and only warning. Her life might mean little to Quinn, but it meant everything to her. Time to get to work.

Southeast Asia. A notorious hotbed of underworld activity. And now, Quinn's territory to control.

Skye gripped the steering wheel of the sleek sedan, grumbling internally. She'd never driven in this part of the world before – even something as simple as which side of the road to use was throwing her off. Why was she playing chauffeur anyway? In the rearview mirror, she could see Quinn with his eyes closed, seemingly napping, while Hawk remained on high alert. When exactly had she gone from master thief to getaway driver for the mob?

"Eyes on the road," Hawk said sharply, catching her distracted gaze.

Skye refocused, lips pressed in a thin line. So many rules in this new life.

A loud pop from up ahead made her jump. The identical luxury car in front of them wobbled, then steadied.

"Blowout," Skye muttered. "Hell of a thing for a custom Cadillac. You'd think—"

"Left! Now! Floor it!" Hawk's urgent command cut through her musings.

Before Skye could process the order, gunfire erupted. The Cadillac ahead became a bullet-riddled wreck in seconds.

Skye's training kicked in. She stomped the gas and wrenched the wheel left, launching them down a side street as bullets pinged off their armored chassis.

All around them, the city erupted into chaos. Pedestrians dove for cover with practiced ease – clearly, this wasn't an uncommon occurrence. It was like something out of an action movie, but terrifyingly real.

Skye's knuckles were white on the steering wheel as she pushed the Cadillac to its limits, weaving through narrow streets at breakneck speed. Her heart pounded in her ears, nearly drowning out the sounds of pursuit.

"What's the panic for?" Quinn's voice drifted from the backseat, maddeningly calm despite the mayhem.

Skye shot him an incredulous look in the mirror. How could he be so nonchalant with bullets flying? But there was no time to dwell on it. She had a job to do – keep them alive and get them the hell out of there.