The sunlight bounced off chrome, almost winking at him like fate itself had laid out a red carpet. Vincent lingered by the curb, pretending to tie his bootlaces, while his gaze clung to the motorcycle. The rider had just hopped off, leaving his helmet dangling from the handlebar and the keys—oh, sweet mercy—the keys still lodged in the ignition.
Vincent's grin widened. God must be drunk today.
The man disappeared across the street, slipping into a small grocery shop to ask directions. Vincent didn't even glance around; opportunity wasn't something he hesitated over. He strolled casually up to the bike, slid the helmet over his head, and swung one leg across the seat in one fluid motion.
The engine purred to life like it had been waiting for him. The vibration beneath him was intoxicating, raw power chained only by his grip. His pulse quickened. He twisted the throttle, and the machine roared, sending a shiver down his spine.
The shop door creaked open. The owner, clutching a slip of paper with directions, froze. His jaw dropped as he saw Vincent revving his precious ride.
Vincent lifted one gloved hand, extended his middle finger in a flamboyant salute, and blew the man a mocking kiss through the visor. "Thanks for the wheels, sweetheart!" he shouted, though the words drowned in the engine's thunder.
With that, he kicked the bike into gear and tore down the street at killer speed. Horns blared. Pedestrians cursed. The wind howled in his ears. Vincent laughed wildly, heart hammering as if every second could be his last.
---
The strip club was lit like a fever dream, bathed in purples and reds, shadows twisting in the corners. Smoke curled toward the ceiling, mingling with the heavy bass vibrating through the floorboards. Vincent parked the stolen bike two streets away, strolled in with the cocky swagger of a king, and ordered a whiskey at the bar.
"Ay, Vinnie!" a voice called.
Vincent's grin widened before he even turned. Austin. His childhood friend. His partner-in-trouble before prison became Vincent's second home. They'd stolen apples from carts as kids, snatched wallets together in back alleys, and kissed the same girl on dares. Time hadn't dulled Austin's sharp edges—if anything, it had polished them into something dangerous.
He sat draped across a leather booth, flanked by two strippers who looked more amused than enamored, as if they knew they were perched next to a man who paid in both cash and trouble. His dark hair was slicked back, his gold chain glinting beneath the flashing lights.
Vincent slid into the booth with the grace of a man who owned the place. "Austin, you son of a bitch," he said, raising his glass. "Still keeping the economy alive one lap dance at a time?"
Austin barked a laugh and clapped him on the shoulder. "Vinnie, fresh out the cage! Didn't think they'd ever let you breathe free air again."
"Neither did they," Vincent said, tossing back his drink. His eyes flicked to the girls and he smirked. "But look at this welcome committee. You shouldn't have."
The stripper on his right leaned in, trailing a painted nail down his arm. "He talks too much," she teased.
"Talks too much, steals too much, lives too much," Vincent shot back, earning a throaty laugh from both women.
They drank. They laughed. Vincent flirted shamelessly, sliding bills into garters, whispering nonsense that made the girls roll their eyes and grin. But underneath the haze of alcohol and neon lights, there was comfort here—familiar faces, familiar sins.
Austin leaned closer, lowering his voice so the music covered his words. "You still chasing petty scores, Vinnie? Or are you finally ready for something with teeth?"
Vincent arched an eyebrow. "Depends. Are we talking payday or suicide?"
Austin smirked, revealing a gold tooth Vincent swore hadn't been there before. "A family across town just went on vacation. Big house, big toys, big safe. Place is a gold mine. Easy pickings."
Vincent tilted his head, considering. His gut told him Austin's definition of "easy" had shifted since they were kids. Back then it was apples, cigarettes, the occasional purse. Now Austin wore tailored shirts and carried himself like a man who had connections in dark places.
Still, the temptation clawed at Vincent. Freedom had a price, and whiskey and strippers didn't pay themselves.
He drained his glass, slammed it onto the table, and leaned back with a wolfish grin. "Lead the way. Let's make some ghosts angry tonight."
Austin chuckled, satisfied, and the two clinked glasses in a toast to bad decisions.
Vincent's eyes gleamed in the low light, a predator's glint masked by charm. He was free, reckless, and already chasing his next high. Whatever waited in that house across town, he was too drunk on adrenaline to care.
The night stretched before him, promising only trouble. And Vincent was ready to embrace it with open arms.
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PLEASE SUPPORT BEAUTIFUL LADIES AND HANDSOM GENTLEMEN,
WITH CHARM,
VINCENT 😉