Silver Springs

by StrawberryWhorecake

Summary:

Penelope only wanted to cry and scream Fleetwood Mac lyrics in her car while eating pastries and drinking tequila.

Then a handsome man with a gun and questionable morals slid into her passenger seat and ruined everything.

It’s going to be a very long night.

Notes:

This is loosely based on those Tiktoks titled "You kidnap me but I'm really annoying" But I sort of went off the rails.

 

Thank you to cmrr95 for helping me out because I was lost and confused and was worried this didn't make sense, but she assured me it does.

Chapter 1: 21:30

                                                 

 

 

 

Colin stood in the empty stairwell. It smelled like someone had been sneaking cigarettes—sharp, stale, the kind of smell that felt instantly unsafe. A fire here would trap everyone above. Terrible planning.

He was getting distracted.

He paced, listening for footsteps, wondering where Stanton was. The man was never late. Not after weeks embedded in Cowper Financials. Not after months of planning and whispered meetings and greasing palms just to get to this exact moment.

The fluorescent lights of the stairwell flickered, then burned harshly compared to the dark of the night outside. 

Stanton hands off the drop. Colin runs it to Wilding waiting in the car. They deliver the goods, get paid, and vanish for a few weeks. Simple. Clean. Controlled.

This was the kind of job where messing up meant irritating the sort of people who didn’t forgive. They had burned through fake names, burner phones, and half a dozen identities to make sure it went smoothly.

It was all so close to perfect.

The stairwell door burst open. Stanton stumbled through in his tailored blazer, clutching the laptop like it might explode.

“This is it?” Colin asked, sliding it into his backpack. The thing looked disgustingly ordinary. “You’re certain it’s the right one?”

Stanton nodded once. “Yeah, mate. Now get the fuck out.”

Colin did not need more encouragement. He jogged down five flights, pulse quickening, and burst through the street-level door with a rush of cold air. Relief loosened his shoulders for one blissfully stupid second.

Then he heard the sirens. Close. Too close.

Surely that wasn’t for him. They couldn’t have been compromised that fast.

He stepped out onto the pavement and scanned for Wilding. For the small black car they’d boosted the night before. For anything familiar.

Nothing. Empty curb. Empty road. Empty plan.

His stomach dropped. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying not to look like a man who had just stolen something important enough to ruin lives.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

The sirens were definitely getting louder.

Across the street, a small blue car sat idling outside a bakery. A lone woman inside, head tipped back, music blaring. Perfectly oblivious.

Colin looked up and down the road, heart thudding.

Sod it.

He ran for the car.

 

---

Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me.

The bakery’s neon lights reflected across the windshield. Sirens bled somewhere behind the music, but Penelope barely noticed. Not with a bag of pastries in her lap like some kind of flaky emotional support animal. Not with half a bottle of silver tequila swirling warmly in her stomach. She nudged the volume up until Stevie drowned out everything else.

I know I could've loved you, but you would not let me 

Where was Edwina? She called her friend almost thirty minutes ago telling her she needed a ride home. Penelope was in no condition to drive. She wasn’t that stupid.

Stevie’s voice, all velvet ache, tugged at the edges of her composure. Penelope took a heroic bite of raspberry danish to keep the tears down. It did not work. Her eyes burned anyway.

Why did every relationship she had crumble so thoroughly? Her mother blamed her body. Edwina blamed her standards. Her therapist—god, her therapist would have a field day with this.

The tears finally broke loose. Crumbs tumbled down her chin as she sang through them, tuneless and loud.

“I'll follow you down til’ the sound of my voice will haunt you—”

Her passenger door opened abruptly, cutting off her song. A burst of cool air hit her, making her shudder slightly. A tall man dressed in black slid into the seat like he belonged there. Penelope’s jaw dropped and she stared. 

Sure, he was good looking with his brown curls and stubbled cheeks, but this was her car.

“Drive,” he said with an air of authority, the thought of her challenging him had not crossed his mind at all. 

Penelope swallowed the raspberry danish with a harsh gulp. 

“No,” she said quietly. He looked at her, eyebrows raised. She was taken aback for a moment by his eyes, the most remarkable shade of blue she had ever seen. But they glowed with anger. 

He glanced around the car for a moment, the backpack in his lap was clutched protectively to his chest.

“No?” He repeated incredulously. 

Penelope shook her head. “No.” 

The audacity of men had gone too far lately. First, there was Reginald, and now this guy. The entire lot of them needed to be put in their place. Really, she was doing the world a favor. 

Penelope crossed her arms. “I’m not driving you anywhere.” 

“I have a gun in my jacket,” he threatened. 

Penelope shrugged. The tequila gave her a sense of bravado. 

“So?” 

“So?” he repeated again. 

“What are you? A parrot?” She quipped. “Chirp chirp?”

He stared at her for a moment, eyes wide.

“That’s not the sound that parrots—No!” he shook his head. “This isn’t a request, lady. Start driving.”

Penelope scoffed. “I’m drunk, I’m waiting for my friend to pick me up. Even if I wanted to drive you, I can’t.” 

“How drunk?” 

Penelope picked up the bottle of tequila that was wedged between her chair and the door. She shook the half empty bottle, the liquid sloshing against the glass. “This much.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Fine. Then, get out. I’m taking your car.” 

“Absolutely not!” Penelope said. “This was a graduation gift from my father! Just before he died.” 

“It’s ancient.” 

“My therapist says I have unhealthy attachments to inanimate objects and this is one of them. You can’t steal my car.” 

“Then I would be helping you by taking it. Tough love and all that.” 

“It might trigger a mental collapse. They’ll put me in a grippy sock hotel and it will be all your fault.” 

He pulled the gun from his pocket, a small, black handgun. It suited him, she thought. He rested it on his knee that bounced furiously. 

“Do you see this? Now, get out.” 

“No,” Penelope said defiantly. The sound of the sirens was growing louder. Her bravado was slipping slightly. “You drive, but I’m staying.” 

“What?” 

“You can drive wherever you need to go, but I’m not leaving.” She repeated. 

She thought he might have an aneurysm for a moment, but then he muttered a fine through clenched teeth. 

He hurried around the outside of the car to the driver’s seat, Penelope scooted across to the passenger side. 

The man sat in the seat she had only just vacated and sniffed. 

“Do you smoke?” 

Penelope shook her head. “But my ex did.” 

“Smells strong,” he said softly as he started the car and sped off into the London night, streetlamps illuminating them as they passed. 

---

It was a terrible idea. Colin knew it the second he saw her. 

Mascara streaming down her face, words slurred, mouth full of pastry while she was screaming Fleetwood Mac lyrics out of tune in her tiny blue car. He should have left her. He should have ran on foot. 

But the sirens were getting louder and he had begun to panic. 

Surely, they could not have been for him? They could not already be tipped off.

Colin focused on the road, taking quick turns through darkened London streets. He would proceed with the plan. He would make the drop, ditch the tipsy goblin in the passenger seat, and vanish. 

When he thought about it more, she seemed like a good cover. The police would be looking for a man on his own. If he was stopped he could simply say he was giving his drunk friend a lift home. 

Turn after turn through the streets, Colin jumped every time he thought he heard a siren or saw the blue lights. 

The woman rummaged through her bakery bag for a moment before extending a pastry in her hand towards him. 

“Bear claw?” Her voice was surprisingly lucid. 

“What?” He asked, glancing towards her and then back at the road. 

“Do you want a bear claw?” She said slower, waving it in front of his face. 

His stomach growled. He had not actually eaten anything that day as he was so nervous about the handoff. 

“Thanks,” he muttered as he took the pastry, biting into it and savoring the almond flavors. 

“It’s really good,” he said around bites. 

The woman nodded. “They’re the best bakery in town.” 

Colin finished the bear claw and licked his fingers. He noticed the woman was staring at him strangely. 

Well, he had basically kidnapped her. But she had a choice. She could have left the car. 

“I have to make this drop, and then I’ll leave,” he assured her. 

“Where are we going?” She asked. 

Colin shook his head. “The less you know, the better.” 

The woman sighed. 

Colin pulled through the back streets until he saw it in the near distance. The loading bay behind a massive corporate office complex, the offices of the people paying him. He parked down the alley, hidden away from the flickering sodium lamps and the CCTV cameras that swiveled about. 

Colin’s breath caught, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

It should have been dark, the loading bays should have been closed. But they were all open wide, floodlights shining, security all over the place. Were they looking for him?

The security team was sweeping through a delivery truck, while the driver stood by bored. 

“All clean,” the security officer said. 

“Told ya,” the driver muttered, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

Colin relaxed. They were not looking for him. Just a routine sweep of a delivery. He could just wait quietly until—

“You know that guy?” The woman said, her tipsy voice wobbled slightly, startling him out of the silence. 

Colin glanced to where she was pointing and saw the man standing in the shadows of the cargo bay, staring directly at Colin. 

“Never seen him before,” Colin muttered. 

“He’s staring right at us.” 

Colin swallowed. He waited to see if the man was maybe just in a daze. Surely, he could not see Colin from this distance. It was at least a hundred meters. 

But the man’s gaze never wavered. 

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” 

“We should probably leave,” she said. 

The understatement of the century delivered by a drunk bird covered in pastry crumbs. 

Colin threw the car in reverse, tires spun through the damp asphalt as they sped away from the loading dock. 

He took street after street, trying to put some distance between himself and the drop-off point. 

The burner phone buzzed in his pocket, he squirmed to pull it out. He balanced trying to glance between it and the road ahead of him. 

A message from an unknown number filled the screen. 

They know. Don’t come.

“Fuck!” Colin shouted as he threw the phone in the back seat. Months. Months of planning, everything should have gone off without a hitch. How had it all fallen apart so quickly?

The backpack with the laptop was still in the back seat. He glanced at it. What could possibly be on there that was so important anyway? What was worth so much money? So much trouble?

And what was he supposed to do with it now?

“You were supposed to drop off that bag?” She asked, breaking him out of his haze. 

Colin nodded, focusing on the road and how everything sped past. 

“What’s in it that’s so special?” 

Colin didn’t answer. 

“Is it a baby?” 

“What?” The car swerved slightly as he turned his head to look at her. 

“Why would you think that?” He asked, righting the car on the road again. “Why would I put it in a backpack?”

She shrugged. “Well, if you were trying to sneak the baby out of somewhere without being seen. Maybe you’re involved in some sort of illegal adoption scam.” 

“It wouldn’t survive being in a bag! Don’t you think you might have noticed a living baby in the bag by now?” 

She threw her hands in the air. “Well, how am I supposed to know how you run your crooked adoption ring?”

“I’m not—That’s not—” Colin groaned. Why was he arguing with this absolute menace of a woman?

She leaned over slightly, placing her head between her knees. 

“I think I need to eat something,” she groaned

“Eat your bear claws.” 

“I’m out! And I think I need something greasy.” 

“Well, I need to get out of this part of town.” 

“I know a place,” she said.

 

Which is how, not twenty minutes later, they were tucked in a booth of a greasy spoon caff built under the railway arch in South London. It was the kind of place with pictures of food taped to the wall. Cash only. The waitress judged and ignored them in equal measure. 

Colin’s coffee rattled as the trains passed. The woman was shoving handfuls of chips in her mouth, washing it down with a giant soda.

“Why here?” He asked her. 

She shrugged. “Police never look for fugitives near greasy chips.”

“So,” she began as she licked the salt from her fingers. Her mascara-stained eyes were looking more clear than when he first got into her car with her earlier that evening. 

Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Colin noticed she was actually very pretty. Bright blue eyes, red curls, curves—lots of curves. 

“What’s your name?” She asked. 

“Colin,” he said. He did not really see the point in hiding his identity from her. And it was only his first name and not the one he used on jobs. 

“I’m Penelope,” she offered with a smile. “So far our hostage/kidnapper relationship is off to a good start.” 

“You’re not a hostage,” Colin said. “You can leave whenever you want to. In fact, I encourage you to leave.

“Then give me my keys.” She held out her hand. 

“I need your car.”

“I come with the car.” 

“Then you’re stuck with me until I get a new car.”

“What’s your plan?” She asked. “Since you were supposed to drop that bag—” she pointed to the backpack in the booth beside Colin. “But the dock was being watched. What’s your backup plan?” 

Colin silently fidgeted with the handle of the mug.

“We’ve been planning this for months. There’s never deliveries on Tuesdays. That loading dock should have been completely empty and dark. Our man on the inside should have turned off the cameras.”

“And you had no plan for if your location was compromised?”

Colin looked up at her, brows furrowed. “Why are you talking like that? Are you undercover?” 

Penelope laughed again. “No, I just read a lot of mafia romance.”   

Colin groaned and buried his head in his hands. 

“It’s usually the Russian mafia,” she continued while eating her cheeseburger. “I’ve read so many they’ve sort of started blending together. It doesn’t help that so many of the men are named Nikolai.”

Colin felt like he might explode. This wasn’t real. This was a nightmare. He was going to wake up at home, in his flat, and everything would be fine. 

Beside him in the booth, the backpack buzzed. Across from him, Penelope froze. Their eyes met. Colin glanced around them, there were no cameras in this greasy shop, he doubted they were the first to use its walls to hide from someone.

Slowly, he pulled the zipper and opened the bag, as though the laptop might explode if he handled it too quickly. His knee bounced under the table involuntarily.

The silver laptop inside was so ordinary, so inconspicuous, but was worth so much and was now so dangerous. 

A ping sounded out from the laptop, it buzzed again. 

Colin pulled it from the bag and laid it gently on the table, Penelope stared quietly. He opened it, but was faced with a login screen. He sighed. 

“I don’t know how to get in,” he said. Penelope turned the screen towards her. The laptop pinged again. 

“Sounds like a location ping,” she said casually. Colin’s breath quickened. 

“How—how do you know that?” 

Penelope shrugged. “I used to date a guy who worked in IT. He was kind of boring, but he can also hack. Do you remember when that digital billboard in Soho was taken over and shown all that footage of the melting ice caps? That was him!”  

“He’s like an eco-terrorist?” 

Penelope thought for a moment. “Yeah, but more passive, I guess. Less bombs. He spends all his time messing with the navigation systems of whaling ships.” 

“Is this the ex that smoked?” Colin asked. Penelope’s face turned white. “The one who had you crying in your car and screaming along with Stevie Nicks?”

She looked away. “I never said anything about a man.” 

Colin thought he saw something vulnerable beneath her feral street cat facade. “But it’s not too hard to make that assumption. I can’t imagine what would have a pretty girl like you crying drunk in her car eating danishes except a bad breakup.”

Penelope blushed and Colin realized what he had just said. His breath caught and he took a drink of his coffee. This night was too crazy, that’s the only reason for his slip. 

“It wasn’t this guy,” she said softly before shaking her head and focusing again on Colin. “So what’s in the laptop?” 

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. The job was to get it to the buyer.” 

“And the buyer was supposed to be at that loading dock?” 

Colin nodded. 

“Who is the buyer? Maybe I can help you.” 

Colin furrowed his brows. “I don’t see how you could help me. And I’m not saying. This man is dangerous. The less you know about him, the better.” 

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Well, do you have a computer guy? Someone who can hack into this and turn off the ping? Because they’re tracking you.”

Colin was silent. The sounds of the caff echoed around them. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights, the waitress pouring coffee for the drunk at the counter.

Cho was their tech man. He could get into the laptop, but Colin didn’t know who was compromised. The text he received said They know. Who knew? The buyer? The Cowpers? Someone else entirely? He didn’t know who was safe to reach out to. 

Penelope took a bite of her cheeseburger. “We could go to my guy,” she said. “We’re still friendly-ish.”

“Friendly-ish?” Colin asked as he reached across to steal one of her chips. “Sounds promising.” 

Penelope shrugged. “Unless you have a better idea.” 

Colin did not.

Chapter 2: 23:00

“Soooo,” Penelope drawled out in the car once they were back on the road. Colin took her directions well and now they were speeding through London. The silence around them was awkward. 

“Do criminals get days off?” She asked. “Or is it like a freelance thing?”

Penelope expected him to sigh, groan—maybe even laugh. But instead Colin hummed thoughtfully. 

“I guess it is like freelance,” he said, answering honestly, surprising her. “You spend a few months on a job, if it goes well you can be set up for a year.” 

Colin sighed. “Or at least, that’s what I was hoping.”  Colin shook his head. “What do you do?”

Penelope’s eyes widened. “What do I do?” 

“Yeah, like for work.”

Penelope glanced out the window. “Well, I used to write. Sometimes I still want to.” 

“Why don’t you?” 

Penelope shrugged. “A lot of things got in the way, I suppose.”

Colin hummed softly while turning down a side street. They stopped at the red light. 

Penelope glanced at her phone. “My friend who was supposed to pick me up never called me back.” 

“You think they’re ok?” 

“She probably got distracted by that peacock again—she swears it’s taunting her specifically.”

Colin froze, he turned his head slowly towards her. “There’s…a peacock?” 

“Light’s green,” Penelope said. Colin cursed and started driving. 

“It’s in the park near her flat,” Penelope continued. “Edwina’s a mess.”

Penelope closed her mouth, realizing that she was oversharing. It was a bad habit of hers. 

“You are the expert on messes.” The evident sarcasm in his voice made her snort. 

“I’m not usually this much of a mess. Well—actually that’s a lie. I am. But it’s usually quiet messes. Subtle messes.”

He laughed, and something in the sound felt unguarded, like he hadn't meant to let it out. Penelope felt it land somewhere low in her stomach, embarrassing in its intensity. She had the sudden urge to lean closer, to watch him soften again.

She wanted to make him laugh again. To smile. 

It was the strangest feeling. One she was unfamiliar with. 

Colin’s laugh faded, but the warmth of it hung between them like steam off a cup of tea. Penelope swallowed, unsure what to do with the strange fizzing in her chest.

“Anyway,” she said, tugging at her sleeves as if that would hide it, “Freddie’s place should be… two more turns. He’s the one with the neon-green bike chained to the railing. Don’t get him started on the topic of street bikes versus mountain bikes. It doesn’t end.”

Colin huffed another small laugh. “Neon green? That’s a crime all by itself.”

Penelope pointed ahead. “Left here.”

The streets narrowed, rows of old brick buildings boxed them in. A delivery truck double-parked made Colin mutter under his breath. 

They parked, Colin looked suspiciously around the dark, quiet street. Once he was satisfied they entered the building.

Penelope led Colin up the stairs to Freddie’s flat. The sterile hallway echoed around them. Colin’s head was on a swivel, twisting around towards any noise that echoed in the hall.

She wasn’t sure why she was helping him. Maybe it was because Colin was interesting. Cute, in that brooding, I-might-be-a-criminal-but-I-have-feelings way. And she didn’t exactly have other plans tonight.

Penelope knocked. No answer.

“Maybe he’s not home,” Colin said.

“He doesn’t do anything,” Penelope muttered. “He probably can’t hear us over the hard drives.”

She started pounding on the door unrelentingly. The hallway shuddered with every knock.

It flew open. Freddie—Alfred, technically—stood there in sagging joggers, a faded White Stripes tee, and hair that looked like it had lost a fight with a pillow. Blue monitor light spilled out behind him, painting him in a cold glow.

“What do—God. It’s you.”

“Freddie!” Penelope dragged out his name. “Is that a new tattoo?”

“You know it isn’t.” His eyes cut to Colin. “New boyfriend of the week?”

Colin blanched.

“No, he’s just a friend,” Penelope said. “We need a favor. Can we come in?”

“If I say no, are you going to leave?”

“Probably not.”

He sighed and stepped aside. Warm, dusty air rolled out past him, carrying the smell of old electronics, takeaway curry, and something vaguely herbal trying to mask it.

Colin stepped in. The living room was a nest of laptops, cables, half-assembled rigs, and a leaning tower of external hard drives blinking in asynchronous rhythms. Every flat surface was claimed by tech, vinyl, or mugs.

“Freddie, this is Colin,” Penelope said.

“Alfred,” he corrected. “I don’t like being called Freddie.”

“But Alfred sounds like an old man,” Penelope whined.

“I’m thirty-five.”

“How about Alfie?”

He recoiled. “Worse.”

Penelope shrugged. “Freddie was a hipster ten years ago when hipsters were a thing,” she explained to Colin.

“That explains the Jack White vinyls,” Colin murmured, eyeing a stack leaning against a 3D printer.

Freddie glared. “Are you only here to critique my music taste and call me the wrong name?”

“We have a laptop we can’t get into,” Penelope said. “Can you help us?”

Freddie looked between them, suspicion and curiosity fighting it out behind those wireframes. He crossed his arms, making his biceps bulge slightly. Penelope had forgotten how fit he was. The tattoo sleeve was also something she had been into in the short time that they were dating. 

But then she had to remind herself that he was boring. So painfully boring.  

“Why?” 

“Why what?” Penelope asked innocently. 

“Why do you need into this laptop? Is this something for your uncle?”

Penelope coughed slightly at the mention of her uncle. “What? No,” she said, cutting a glance to Colin who eyed her curiously. 

“This seems like something illegal,” Freddie said. “I’m not sure I should get involved.” 

Penelope rolled her eyes. “You’re probably doing something illegal here right now!”

Freddie shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s for the greater good. I have no idea what you two are involved in.”

“Remember when I covered for you when you tried to probe the security servers for that luxury watch company to prove their cyber security was a joke?”

Freddie frowned. “That wasn’t you. That was your uncle.”

“Who loves his darling niece Penelope and would do anything for her.” 

“Please,” Penelope added softly, hoping to appeal to any part of him that might still have fondness for her. 

Freddie inhaled slowly. “I’m already regretting this, but let me have it.”

Colin pulled the laptop from the bag and Freddie took it, he walked over to his desk. 

Colin and Penelope followed him, Freddie adjusted the frames of his glasses and pulled a USB drive from his desk. 

He plugged it in, explaining as he went. “This is just a little interface program, it helps me bypass the screens.” 

Freddie went on to explain things in a technical jargon that flew over Penelope’s head. She tuned him out, as she did constantly when they dated. But soon he was into the computer. 

“Can you disable whoever is tracking us?” Colin asked, leaning over the desk. 

“I can,” Freddie said with a few more clicks. “What’s so important about this anyway?” 

Colin shook his head. “I actually have no idea. I was just paid to grab it. The drop went sour.” 

Freddie hummed. “There doesn’t seem to be much on here.” 

“Really?” Colin asked, incredulously. 

Freddie opened a folder. “HR orientation videos. A lot of them,” he scrolled through. “Stopping Sexual Harassment, Violence in the Workplace, Don’t Steal Our Pens.” 

“Is the last one really called that?” Penelope asked. 

Colin stood and began pacing. “This is what I’m risking my life for? A human resources computer? Fuck, Stanton must have nabbed the wrong one.” 

“Don’t be too sure,” Freddie said, with a half smile. “They’re encrypted.” 

“What?” Colin stopped pacing. 

Freddie squinted at the screen, tapping a few keys. “These aren’t just HR videos, they’re… acting as a cover layer.”

Colin blinked. “Covering what?”

Freddie exhaled through his nose, the kind of sound he made when he was fascinated and annoyed in equal measure. “A hardware-bound crypto wallet. And—hang on—transaction logs. A lot of them.”

“What?” Colin asked. 

“And an address to a supposed data mining facility outside of Atlanta.” 

“There are no bitcoin mines in Georgia,” Colin said. 

Freddie frowned. 

“What’s wrong?” Penelope asked. 

“The address doesn’t look right,” Freddie pulled out his phone and typed. 

“Aha!” he said. “The address leads to a cornfield.” 

Freddie looked back at the laptop, scrolling through pages of what—to Penelope—looked like text gibberish.

“It’s all a fraud,” he said. “This laptop is proof, whoever wants this laptop either wants to bury or leverage it.” 

Penelope could see Colin’s jaw working. He would not tell her anything about the people wanting to buy the laptop or who might be chasing him. She might be able to help him if he would only open up to her. 

But he seemed like the brooding silent type who wanted to do everything on his own. 

Freddie tapped a bit more. 

“Location tracker is off,” he said. “All remote access is disabled.” 

“Thanks, mate,” Colin said. “I owe you one.” 

Freddie closed the laptop and handed it to Colin. 

“Just keep her away from me,” he said, turning to Penelope. “We’re even now.” 

Penelope sneered at Freddie and was about to say something withering when Colin said:

“No problem. Come on, Penelope.” Colin’s voice was low as he took her hand and led her to the door. 

Colin’s hand was large and warm and Penelope found herself obsessed with how it encompassed her own. For the first time in a long time, Penelope found herself completely pacified. 

Usually, when a man tried to tell her what to do, Penelope argued and fought. They were so bossy, pompous. But Colin…Colin was different. 

Once they were in the hall, Freddie slammed the door behind them and locked his five large deadbolt locks. 

Colin adjusted the backpack on his shoulders and looked warily down both sides of the hall. They rushed out of the complex and into the street. It was late and quiet, only the occasional car rushing by. Lights from the surrounding apartments flickered across the glass of her car’s windows. 

They sat silently in the car for a moment. Colin behind the wheel, Penelope in the passenger’s seat. Their breath slightly fogged up the glass. 

“What now?” Penelope asked softly, breaking the fragile silence.

Colin released a breath. “I suddenly feel bad for dragging you into this.” 

“You didn’t feel bad for basically kidnapping me?” she asked with a laugh. 

Colin smiled. “Were you ever really kidnapped? You look like you’re having the time of your life.”

Penelope smirked. “Maybe. My friend Edwina would lose her mind over this. She reads those dark romances—you know, the ones with stalkers who send love notes in blood. Not guys who just… get in your car and refuse to get out.”

Colin’s laugh came easier this time, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

He cleared his throat as he started the car. “I appreciate your help with the hacker, and I understand if you call the police when I’m gone. But it’s becoming obvious to me that the people I’m dealing with are worse than I thought. I can’t keep you involved in this.” 

Penelope frowned. It made sense, If she wasn’t a complete loony, she would have been panicking and screaming when he first got in her car. But she never felt afraid of him, even when he brandished his gun. She knew that he was a good man. (Well, as good as a hired thief who got into her car and sort-of kidnapped her could be.)

Now, she found herself completely reluctant to part from him and she couldn’t exactly figure out why. 

“So let me just drive somewhere inconspicuous, I’ll leave and you can have your car back and get back to your—”

There was a loud knock on the glass. Penelope turned, breath caught in her throat as she saw two police officers staring into the car at them. 

 

---

Fuck. 

That was the only thought going through Colin’s mind at the sight of the police.

“Can you lower your windows, please?” One asked. 

Penelope pressed the button for the window, Colin noticed her hand was shaking. Was she afraid of him? That he might do something to her to keep the cops off his back? 

It was him they were after. He was surprised that it took them this long to find him. Were the police tracing the laptop’s signal? But it couldn’t be them. They’re not that advanced. 

Colin supposed it was the end of the line. He released a breath and rested his head on the steering wheel when they spoke. 

“We’ve been looking for you all night, miss,” he said. 

Penelope stiffened. Colin blinked. They were looking for… her?

Notes:

Totes, if you're reading this: I know you know what line I was foaming at the mouth to use.

Chapter 3: Midnight

The cops outside Penelope’s window shined their bright flashlight into the windows. 

“You’ve caused a bit of a stir,” the other said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. Her voice was surprisingly steady for how nervous Colin could tell she was. 

The light shone on Colin’s face. 

“And he is…?” the cop asked.

“A friend,” Penelope replied. 

“Has she done something wrong?” Colin asked. He did not like their insinuations; Didn’t like it even more that Penelope was frightened. 

The cops exchanged a glance. 

“We just need her to pop down to the station for a quick chat.” 

“Nah, I don’t think she will,” Colin replied. Penelope looked at him, her eyes wide. 

The officer ignored Colin and continued talking to Penelope. “We need to ask you a few questions regarding an incident at a flat belonging to a Reginald Fife.”

Penelope shrugged. “I said I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This will go a lot more smoothly if—”

Colin snapped. He slammed the car into gear and floored it. The tires squealed, the police officers shouted as Penelope’s little blue car fishtailed and sped down the street. 

Penelope squeaked and went to fasten her seatbelt quickly. 

Colin turned down several small streets, his eyes in the rearview mirror each time. When he felt like he had enough space between him and the cops, he slowed down but didn’t stop. The police would radio in what happened. It wouldn’t be long before more were looking for them. 

“Who the fuck is Reginald Fife and what did you do?” 

Colin was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that the police were after Penelope. He thought she was innocent, some poor girl crying over a broken heart in her car. 

Penelope inhaled. “He is—was my boyfriend. As of this afternoon, we’re through.”

Colin didn’t look away from the road. “What happened?”

The streetlights sliced across her face as they passed under each one. Bit by bit, her expression soured.

“What happened was that he had two side chicks and a shady crypto startup,” she said. Her arms crossed, defensive. “Three months of my life wasted on that man.”

Colin glanced at her. “Right, but that alone doesn’t usually result in police officers tapping on your window.”

A tight beat. Penelope fussed with the hem of her shirt, the sparks of shame and pride flickering in her eyes.

“Well…” she said softly. “There may have been… a small fire. At his flat. That I may have… started.”

Colin’s mouth dropped and an incredulous laugh bubbled out of him. He glanced at her, the short, curvy redhead with smeared makeup. 

“You set his flat on fire?” 

“Just a small one!” She shouted. “His flat is posh, it has a sprinkler system. He and his skinny blonde bird were in no real danger.” 

“Oh my god,” Colin said, letting the back of his head hit the headrest. “This whole time I thought I was just a crook dragging some poor girl into a huge mess. I mean, you obviously were a few biscuits short of a full tin—”

Penelope huffed. “Rude.” 

“ —but I didn’t think you were setting men’s flats on fire.”

There was a beat of silence. 

“Why didn’t you just let the police take me?” She asked quietly. “That obviously would have been the solution to one of your problems.”

Colin’s jaw worked for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure how he should answer that. When he saw her there, frightened and small, the police flashlight shining in her eyes; he had been filled with the sudden urge to shield her, to protect her. 

Which didn’t make sense. He wasn’t even sure she needed his protection. She was built like a coyote that got into an espresso machine. 

But still, he could not shake it. Maybe it was her height. She was such a tiny thing. Maybe it was her bright blue eyes that seemed like they could pierce his soul. Maybe it was her curves that taunted him. 

Colin shook his head. 

“You helped me,” was all he said. 

“What should we do now?” Penelope asked. 

Colin’s mind worked through all the possibilities. Who could he trust? What could he do? He was not sure who on his team was safe, or even still alive. Now the police would be searching for both of them and her car. 

He might have to find someone else. 

Someone he had not spoken to in a long time, but Colin wasn’t really seeing any other option. 

“I’m going to visit my brother.” 

---

The club sat on a street where the pavement gleamed with spilled cocktails, and expensive cars lined the curbs like smug metal peacocks. Even though Colin and Penelope stood out with their clothes and the general disaster aura around them, the doorman still pulled the velvet rope aside the moment he got a good look at Colin’s face. 

Inside, bass thrummed low and deep enough to rattle bone. The wallpaper was some gilded nonsense he remembered arguing about with his brother. Framed photos showed men in suits shaking hands with various Bridgertons, monuments to deals Colin wanted nothing to do with. The carpet felt softer than it had any right to be—one of those expensive ones that swallowed footsteps and secrets alike.

Colin hated every square inch of it. 

The door to the back room awaited him like an accusation. That door only opened for people with the right surname. Unfortunately, he had it.

Will guarded it, same as always. Former boxer. Built like a refrigerator that learned resentment. Will’s gaze flicked over Colin, unimpressed.

“Is my brother in tonight?” Colin asked.

Will looked past him to Penelope. She was taking in the room with a sharp, curious focus that made her seem out of place and weirdly powerful at the same time. Will’s mouth twitched, either interest or annoyance; he was not sure.

“I can check,” he said, as if he didn’t already know. He slipped inside.

“Your brother owns this place?” Penelope whispered, her gaze now on Colin and not the chandelier or the gilded photos. “Who are you?” 

He opened his mouth—ready to insist that it didn’t matter, that this world wasn’t his anymore—but the door swung open. Will stepped out, expression unchanged, and jerked his chin to let them into the back lounge.

The lounge was the same, only quieter. The music from the main club was muffled through the walls. And there he was, sitting on a large plush couch smiling at them like a cat. 

Benedict Bridgerton. 

Benedict was the type of man who moved through a room like he owned the oxygen. Sleek suit, lazy confidence, the kind of smile that could charm your bank account. 

“Brother!” He said with too much cheer. He motioned to the couch across from him. “Please, have a seat. Would you like a drink? A drink for the lady?” 

Colin did not miss the way his brother’s eyes leered at Penelope. He knew why. Penelope was interesting in a way that the normal club goers weren’t. She was not of their world and Benedict loved those who were different. He clenched his jaw. 

“No, we’re fine,” Colin said, taking a seat, and pulling Penelope down with him. He kept her close. Her warmth, her scent. It was calming to him. Especially here, in this place where old secrets screamed back at him. 

“Who is your friend?”

“Penelope,” Colin said. “And this is Benedict.” 

“Penelope…?” Benedict led, Colin realized he did not know her surname. 

“Just Penelope,” she said with an air of finality. Colin was curious himself, but brushed it off. He could ask her later, when they were alone.

“Well, Colin and Just Penelope. What can I do for you? You both look like you’ve been hit by a truck so I’m assuming that this isn’t a friendly visit.”

The smile his brother gave him didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I have something,” Colin said without much preamble. “Something I was hired to acquire and deliver. But my team was compromised. I don’t know by whom.” 

“So vague,” Benedict laughed, leaning back against the couch’s plush cushions. “And how does your…friend fit into this?”

“Don’t worry about her,” Colin said sharply before cursing himself. His reaction had only given Benedict all the confirmation he needed. 

His brother’s eyebrows rose. “Ah, I see. Well, If I had someone so lovely, I’d bring her everywhere as well.” 

Benedict winked—bloody winked at Penelope. He watched Penelope the way some men watch a locked safe—curious, calculating, already guessing at the weight of what was inside. Colin’s pulse spiked. Penelope shifted beside him. 

“She’s far too good for whatever hole you’ve been hiding in.”

Penelope stood quickly, causing Colin to jump. “Bathroom,” she said. “I mean—Do you have a bathroom I can use?” 

Benedict chuckled as he motioned towards the back wall, where a small hallway was nestled. 

Once she was gone, Benedict leaned in closer. 

“I’m assuming your vagueness was due to not wanting to get her involved in whatever lowlife, criminal bullshit you’re involved in,” he said with an air of disdain. “Spill it.” 

Colin tried to fight his irritation. It wasn’t as though Benedict was a paragon of virtue, the man just never got his hands dirty. Which was why he and Anthony disavowed themselves of Colin years ago.

But, as much as he hated it he needed his brother’s help right now. He inhaled deeply. 

“My group was hired by Research & Utility Business Yields to take a laptop from Cowper Financial. We weren’t told what it was, we didn’t ask. The drop was compromised. I don’t know who else on my team is arrested or dead. I still have the laptop. I don’t know what to do with it.” 

Benedict whistled lowly and took a drink of the whiskey in front of him. 

“R&U. Cowper. You’re in some deep shit. What’s on the laptop?” 

“Proof that R&U are defrauding their investors.” 

“You do know the simplest solution, yes?” 

Colin shook his head. 

“Give the laptop to Anthony. Bridgerton Capital could use that information to leverage R&U.” 

Colin’s stomach dropped. He did not want to do that. Did not want to get sucked back into Anthony’s world. 

Colin shook his head. “No.” 

Benedict shrugged, unmoved. “Then what do you want from me?”

“A place to lay low,” Colin said. “Long enough for me to figure out what happened to the rest of my crew.”

His brother went still—not long, just the kind of calculating pause that meant he was slotting Colin’s problem into whatever mental filing system he used for debt and leverage. Then he nodded.

“I can manage that.” Benedict’s smile curled. “But I’ll need a moment alone with your new friend.”

Colin’s pulse spiked, anger sliding through him like someone had struck a match behind his ribs. Penelope could handle herself—she had literally committed arson before dinner—but Benedict was another beast entirely. Too charming. Too perceptive. Too used to pulling people apart at the seams just to see what made them tick.

And there was something about Penelope…something he did not want stained by Benedict’s brand of interest. Sweetness under chaos. Warmth under bullshit bravado. A brightness that didn’t belong in rooms like this.

It made no sense. She was a walking catastrophe in a cardigan.

But the idea of Benedict getting her alone felt wrong in a way Colin had not prepared for.

Penelope approached them, back from the bathroom. Her ruined makeup was washed from her face, allowing Colin to see her properly for the first time. Fuck, she was beautiful. Penelope sat back down beside him. 

He had to force himself to look away, at least in front of Benedict. 

“So what will it be, Colin?” His brother asked with a small grin. 

“Not up to me,” he replied while motioning towards Penelope who shot him a curious look. 

She glanced between the two men. Benedict broke the silence.

“I’ve graciously offered my brother a place to lay low for a bit, but in return I would like to speak with you.” 

“Me?” She squeaked.

Benedict nodded. The lack of makeup on Penelope made her look younger. That and her silence since they entered the club made Colin realize that his brother was underestimating her. 

Which would only work in their favor. 

 

---

Penelope ended the call with her uncle and shoved the phone back in her bra. The moment that Colin brought her into his brother’s club, she knew this was something bigger than a missed drop off of a stolen laptop. 

Colin was involved in something big and she could not let the police chasing her for something as silly as setting Reginald’s bathroom on fire be the reason  they were caught. 

She called her uncle and played the part her mother had taught her. She cried, she pleaded. She said the police didn’t know what they were talking about, Reginald was a bastard who betrayed her. 

Uncle Jack promised to fix the problem, but he had sighed—heavily. Penelope knew it was only a matter of time before he washed his hands of her. She would have to be careful of the favors she asked in the future. 

When she returned, she noticed Colin glowering at his brother, who wore a smile smooth as fake silk. 

Benedict wanted to have a conversation with her? About what, she did not know. But it seemed like his assistance would only be exchanged if she spoke to him. 

“Fine,” she muttered, noticing the way Colin’s jaw clenched. 

Benedict smiled sweetly to his brother. “Give us a moment, will you?” 

Colin’s gaze floated between them, as though he couldn’t decide what he should do. Finally, Colin stomped across the lounge, leaving them alone. 

Benedict smirked at his brother’s retreating form and then turned to Penelope. 

“Tell me, Penelope…if the police came through that door right now, how quickly would you turn on him to save yourself?”

Penelope kept calm. Slick men in slicker suits trying to rattle her wasn’t something she was unfamiliar with. Portia Featherington taught her everything she knew about playing men’s egos.

“Why would I need to turn on him to save myself?” She asked calmly. “Especially when I’ve done nothing wrong.” 

“Because Colin is the kind of man who wrecks everything he touches. Including himself.” He said. “You don’t know what he does, do you? Not the details at least. And yet you followed him here. Brave…or foolish.”

“Foolish,” she answered. Definitely foolish. There was no other explanation. Drunk or sober, Penelope knew what she was. 

Benedict let that settle between them, his eyes narrowing like he was studying a jewel for flaws. “Foolish people have a tendency to die young in this world.”

Penelope lifted her chin. “Not me. I’m lucky.” 

“Lucky,” Benedict repeated, as if tasting the word. His gaze flicked over her—not lecherous, just disassembling her like a watch to see what gears were inside.

“Luck runs out,” he said softly. “Especially for people who pretend it’s a skill.” 

Penelope swallowed. She kept her gaze level. 

“Then I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.” 

He gave a soft laugh—low, amused, not quite kind. 

“You don’t care about me,” she said flatly. “You’re trying to figure out whether I’m going to make Colin’s life easier or harder.”

Benedict tilted his head as if she’d pleased him. “Clever girl.”

“Colin doesn’t bring people home. When he does, I want to know why. And he is desperate. Desperate people are dangerous. They love too hard, burn too bright, and make reckless choices.”

Penelope swallowed. “Colin isn’t reckless.”

Benedict’s laugh was quiet, almost sympathetic. “He’s dangerous in ways he doesn’t think about. He walks into a room and people follow him without knowing why. That sort of man can tear things down without ever meaning to.”

Penelope’s heartbeat thudded, both flattered and annoyed. It almost sounded like a compliment. Almost. “I’m not his problem.”

“Not yet,” Benedict murmured, eyes gleaming. “But you’re in his orbit now. That never stays simple.”

She glared at him. “You’re making this bigger than it is.”

“I didn’t. Colin did. And you’re still with him. That tells me something.” 

“You don’t know me.” 

He smiled again—that slow, feline thing that made her feel as if she’d been peeled open and read like a manuscript with poor self-esteem. “I know enough. You’re lying about something. Something big. I can hear it in your breath and see it in your hands.”

Her fingers curled reflexively.

“But,” he continued, almost lightly, “you didn’t flinch when I questioned your loyalty. And you didn’t throw Colin under a bus to save your own skin. That tells me something more important.”

“What?”

“That he’s put his trust in the right person. For once.”

Penelope blinked, unsure how to respond to that.

Benedict leaned back. “I’ll help him. I’ll give him a place to disappear for one night.”

“Because you trust me?” She asked, not actually believing that he could ever trust anyone.

“Because you’re interesting,” he corrected, letting his eyes drag over her in a way that was not lecherous, just maddeningly perceptive. “And I want to see what happens next.”

Before she could form a retort, Colin reappeared—tense, guarded, eyes flicking between them with the air of a man expecting to walk into a crime scene.

“Everything all right?” He asked Penelope.

Benedict didn’t wait for her to answer. “Everything’s perfect,” he said breezily. “Your lady friend passed the test.”

Colin stiffened. “She’s not—”

“Save it,” Benedict murmured, already waving them toward the door. “I’ve got a safe house. Try not to get each other killed along the way.”

As Penelope followed Colin out of the lounge, she felt Benedict’s gaze on her back—curious, calculating, and far too aware that she was lying about something important.