In Too Deep

Twenty Eight

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Don, the woman who handled Vicious' money, was not what Nova expected her to be. She was the worst—straight-up I-will-shoot you if you look at me kind of girl. Nova was not embarrassed to say she was terrified of the woman, and she was only five feet two of a hot temper.

After Nova got her fake business cards and the location of the party, Vicious had told her Don was going to be there. She had imagined someone different, not the woman who showed up in leather and black eye shadow. It took Nova a complete minute to grasp that Vicious sent her a demented woman when Don almost cracked open the skull of a drunk rich man who had groped Nova on her way to the restroom. If Nova hadn't intervened, she had no idea what she could have gone. The man could have lost his dick. And when a security guard had tried to kick her out, she throat punched him.

Don, Nova realised was a temperamental woman. Everything ticked her off. She was like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. She would have completely blown everything if Vicious' orders hadn't been to pretend they didn't know each other. Imagine if they had sat together, drank together—they would have both been kicked out, and their plan washed down the drain.

The party had like fifty people, but Vicious' orders were only to get ten men. Ten was small, but they ought to start slow before they jump into high numbers. More people could endanger all of them, so as soon as Nova secured those ten men, she was out of there before anyone could imprint her face on their minds. The less you were in the shadows, the better. The fewer people know what you look like, the chances of them not recognising you.

"You're insane; you know that," Nova said as she got inside the car Vicious got for them and shot the woman sitting in the passenger's seat a dirty look.

She was tall, probably the same age as Nova, or a few years older. Her long black hair was piled up on top of her head in a messy bun, and she had tattoos all over her arms that she covered with a leather jacket which was now discarded in the back seat, revealing the dress she was wearing that didn't leave anything to the imagination.

Don tilted her head to stare at Nova. "Ease up, Vitch."

Nova's brows snapped together. "Vitch?"

The woman threw her another glance with a sharkish grin on her face. "Vicious' bitch; Vitch." She laughed as she said it, or more like cackled and hit the dashboard.

Nova's breath caught, and she couldn't help but send a glare to Don, almost losing control of the car. "I'm no one's bitch!" she yelled, knowing as much as she screamed, the message wouldn't be received. Don looked like those people who lived to annoy the shit out of you for pleasure.

Removing her heels, she tucked her legs under her and nodded her head vigorously, not sparing the third glance. "I'm calling Vicious. Vicious didn't say that. Vicious will —Vicious, Vicious, Vicious," she singsong in a lousy attempt to mimic Nova, which pissed the hell out of her because that was not what had happened.

And that certainly didn't require Nova to be called his bitch. She was doing what he would expect her to do, and besides, she had been in charge. It was her job to be cautious. It was her job to ensure both her and Don stayed in the yellow line and not divert from it.

Nova stepped on the brakes, so hard that Don went flying forward and hit her head against the dashboard and almost slipped out of the seat. She groaned, lifting her head to rub her forehead before straightening back to her previous position.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you bitch!"

Nova beamed and started driving with more speed this time. "Thank you for acknowledging the fact that I'm my own bitch. Should you call me Vitch again, I promise to give you a concussion by the time we reach the warehouse."