An Eye For An Eye (Fast & Furious | Hobbs/OFC)

Chapter 10

It was the way Owen spoke that made the words sit uneasy in the back of Beth's mind. Of course she was going to improve her skills. What else was there to do besides work? Once the cars were armoured, she'd have to wire in the GPS systems with their inbuilt tracking devices, make certain the radios worked and the frequency was clear. God forbid any of them have some fun.

"Right, and you haven't been channelling Mum with all your bloody whispering. What are you two planning? Revenge on Toretto? Things have changed, Owen. We need to stay focused."

"Well someone should bury him for what he did to our family." She shut the folio and handed it to Little Nobody, giving Deckard one long hard look before she picked up the pace. Hobbs was only a few metres ahead of them but his stride was still much bigger than hers. It took her thirty seconds to catch up to him then a few more to match his pace. "Hey, Fed, how long till this tour finishes?"

"Why? You got somewhere better to be?"

"Yes. The warehouse."

". . . I'm gonna guess this little chat means you want your knife back." It was strapped to his belt just behind his revolver, concealed by his holster.

"No, you can keep it. It was a little too light for my grip." Combat knives were meant to be carried around constantly, unlike a good solid kitchen knife. She preferred the latter any day over military-grade equipment. They were far more accessible and could be left in plain sight without anyone batting an eyelid. "I just don't want to be stuck with Moe and Curly all afternoon."

"Ah, well, you'd have my sympathies if you weren't hellbent on being a pain in my ass."

"I wouldn't say hellbent."

"You got a star tattooed on your knee."

"It sends a message."

"The kind that paints a target on your back if anyone sees it."

"Who else was going to do it for me?" Those days were long behind the mob, she thought. Men didn't carry their crimes like brands of honour or marks of war anymore. Call her a little outdated and nostalgic but after everything, a small tattoo was the least she could've done. "Women don't get congratulations for killing a man with their bare hands where I come from."

"So what do you want?"

"Exercise privileges. There's no treadmill in your gym."

He came to a halt and rounded on her, hands on his hips. The lack of a treadmill was unfortunate but Hobbs couldn't do anything about that. Equipment and furnishings had been the CIA's domain. "You want me to let you loose after you've been here for less than two hours? Try utilising a little quid pro quo."

Elizabeth looked at him incredulously. Did he hear himself? "You kidnap my brothers and I, threaten them with prison time if I don't work for you, try to split us up, hold prison over my head as if it's a guillotine—"

Deckard whacked Owen in the shoulder and gestured towards Hobbs. He'd caught the last few words and heard the tone of their voices. None of it sounded good. "You take her, I'll take him."

"No. I've got him, you deal with her."

"I'm not keen on getting punched again, Scarface."