Reese (Pack of Misfits #2) - Raven Kennedy Page 0,7

argument despite my better judgement.

Before I can talk myself or my rat out of it, I’m already climbing up and across the armrest where the male’s head is currently resting. I skitter up the leather, careful to keep my claws as quiet as possible as I pad over to his neck.

I’d like to say that I take the time to do some very scientific measurements and logistical debates about how best to make it from the armrest where his head is leaning to his necklace without waking him up, but...I don’t. I just got for it.

Keeping my body poised on the edge of the armrest, I extend my arm out and snatch the chain in my hand. Gravity pulls at my upper half, and I nearly fall, but I barely catch myself in time before I face plant into his shoulder.

Whew! That was close.

You’d think that with that near disaster, I’d slow down and try to be a little bit more careful, but I don’t. Apparently, lug nuts are bad for my decision-making skills. But hell, I really, really want one. Or four. Whatever I can get away with.

His shiny necklace is calling to me. Beckoning, even. It wants me to take them and use them in my nest. I’m sure of it. I could do so many things with them! I could stack them, roll them, shove things inside their center...I’m practically giddy at the thought.

I wiggle my butt a little and curl my tail around the arm rest for balance as I lean in once again. This time, I’m careful to dig my back claws in, sinking beneath the leather. So pro.

With more grip, I’m able to reach farther, and my front claw hooks around the chain. I squeak in victory, which is really stupid, considering I’m supposed to be quiet. I freeze, my beady eyes looking up at the male with anxiety.

Don’t wake up, don’t wake up, don’t friggen wake up!

He takes in another long, steady breath. I nearly sag in relief.

Slowly, so as not to wake him, I drag the chain over to my mouth, and I clutch it between my teeth. It pulls against his neck a little, but aside from his foot shifting, he doesn’t move at all.

With my dexterous hold—totally proud of that fact—I grab the small metal clasp. It only takes me three tries before I manage to snap one of the metal beads out of the clasp. Unfortunately, the chain slips out of my claws, and lug nuts go falling.

I watch in alarm as the metal pieces go rolling down his chest. I try to scramble and catch one, but no use, all four go slipping down out of reach. One bounces on the leather, arcing up in the air like an Olympic gymnast, heading right for the floor.

I lunge.

Legs outstretched, whiskers flapping, mouth wide open, tail flicking, I lunge. Looking like a damn flying squirrel, I get some impressive air as I reach with all of my might toward the lug nut projectile that’s flying through the air.

I strain to reach it before it falls. Almost...there…

The edge of my claw nearly touches it. It’s just a hair’s breadth away. Like Michelangelo’s painting of man and God, fingers nearly touching, The Creation of Adam is suddenly The Rat and Lug Nut.

So poignant.

At the last second, my claw curls around it, and then I’m falling. But I manage to yank the lug nut toward me and keep it clamped in my hands, secure against my belly.

Bam!

I hit the floor hard, but dammit, I keep hold of my prize. I lie there, stunned for a moment, staring up at the shadowy warehouse ceiling.

Cheese and mice, that hurt. But...victory!

I glance down at the lug nut, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I nuzzle it. It’s so smooth and polished. I can even see my reflection in its silvery surface. My nose twitches in satisfaction.

“I’d ask what happened to my necklace, but I think it’s safe to say that you happened.”

His voice startles me so badly that I jump to my feet, damn near dropping my prize in the process. A hand clamps around me, and then I’m lifted up in front of the male’s face.

“Easy, Mousey,” he says as I squirm and squeal in his hand.

I huff. Why do people keep calling me a damn mouse?

My rat makes some very unimpressed noises at him for his mistake. He looks down at the couch, where the rest of his lug nuts have fallen. “Your