📖 Read the gripping opening of my debut thriller.
Thirty minutes and we’re done. Thirty minutes and the bills are taken care of, the house is paid off, and Nora can stop worrying about money. Thirty minutes and I never have to touch another gun for the rest of my life. Thirty minutes.
“Greenlight.”
Marcus’s voice pierces my thoughts. After getting the signal, we rush the doors. Connor’s gunfire erupts, deafening the customers and employees of the bank. Their eyes immediately focus on the four of us. I hope their fear stifles their bravery. I shoulder my rifle and aim, safety still on.
“Everyone hold your hands high above your head where I can see them. No sudden movement, no heroics. We are only here for the bank’s money, though we will not hesitate to take your lives if we must,” Connor shouts, doing his best to suppress his Texan drawl. He still couldn’t stop those dragging “o’s” though.
The civilians do as they were told, though a teller sneaks a button press before raising his hands. I hope the others didn’t notice. This man doesn’t deserve to die for pressing a dead button. Marcus worked that piece of magic well before our grand entrance. I herd the tremulous teller and his coworkers into the center of the room with the customers. Ash and I begin fastening zip ties around the hostages’ wrists and then lay them face down on the floor before fastening their ankles together. I keep praying silently that none of these people try to save the day.
Connor, ever the performer, climbs up onto a chair and begins his rehearsed speech, “Ladies and gentlemen, while our friend drills into this bank’s vault, I want to discuss some ground rules. First, if you move without our instruction, we will kill you. Second, if I see a police officer or a weapon on one of you, we will kill all of you. We are not in the hostage-taking business, we are in the bank-robbing business. Lastly, my associates will be collecting your IDs in a moment. If I see my face on the local news, you’ll be seeing it on your doorstep. I hope everyone understands.” I hate the son of a bitch, but these people being afraid of us might save their lives.
“I’m in,” rings Marcus through my headset.
“Delta, phase 3,” instructs Connor, and Ash hurries toward the vault.
My mind begins drifting. What would Nora say if she knew what I was doing right now? What if she were one of these women being threatened by masked psychopaths with guns? What if it were my child, at the mercy of thugs?
Wait, what is that man doing? His hands…his hands are free.
“You! Get your hands up where I can see them, now!” My rifle is trained on his head. Please put your hands up. Just do what we say, and you’ll survive.
Seconds pass like hours. The hatred in the man’s eyes slices through my heart. I can feel how badly he wants to kill me. Maybe he should. His hands slowly raise above his head, but his gaze stays locked on me. I quickly bind his wrists together and bring him back to the floor before Connor can put a bullet in him. None of these people should die today.
“I’ll put a bullet in the next one that moves, Echo,” Connor growls. He knows I won’t kill one of these civilians. I had my fill of killing in Afghanistan. Ash pulled the strings to get me here, not my penchant for gunplay.
“We’re loaded, team. Get ready for exfil,” Marcus announces over the radio.
Looks like thirty minutes was generous. That much sooner that I can be home.
“Alpha, we’re loaded.”
“I read you, Delta. Charlie, Echo, hold overwatch until the rest of the team has exfiltrated,” Connor quickly barks at Ken and me.
I scan the room, and as I do so, my eyes lock on the little girl quietly sobbing near the back of the room. How long will this moment haunt her young mind? How many nightmares I have inspired today? When will this girl, or any of these people, feel safe again?
While my mind drifts, the man with the hateful stare breaks his ties and charges Ken. Ken manages to shoot, but he misses the man. They collide, and the man produces a knife and begins quickly stabbing and slicing.
“Shoot, Echo! Take the shot! Take the shot!”
If I aim for the man’s hand, I’ll risk missing and hitting someone else. I could shoot him in the leg, but if I hit an artery, he’ll be very dead by the time an ambulance gets here. The man manages to stab Ken again. Why couldn’t you stay on the floor? He stabs Ken again. Why fight back? He raises the knife again, and I decide to put one in his shoulder. It’ll be mostly worthless for a long time, and the bullet could go low and hit his spine or organs. It’s the best shot I have. I squeeze the trigger and my bullet finds its target. The man howls in pain and Ken pushes him off.
“What the fuck is going on in there, you two? Report!”
“Charlie has been injured in an altercation with one of the civs. The situation is under control. We are on our way out now.”
I pull Ken onto my shoulder and carry him out of the bank. I don’t have to look to know the man is still glaring at me. I feel his rage burning my neck.
I load Ken into the backseat of the truck. After we load up, Ash speeds away. She takes side streets until we hop on 71 heading South. I perform triage on Ken while we drive. He’s got a few cuts, but he’ll be fine. The man at the bank had too short of a knife to do any serious damage to Ken’s body armor.
No cops. I knew Marcus was good, but I didn’t realize he was this good. We hop off the highway and head into the hills, riding silently to the rendezvous. As we pull up to the old farm, I see Connor and Marcus waiting for us.
“You mind explaining why you let Ken get carved up in there, Tommy?” Marcus asks in a very accusatory tone. He intimidates the shit out of me with his presence.
“Tell me, Tommy boy, did you let that fuck nearly kill Ken because you want to reduce the number of shares in this job or because you were too chickenshit to pull the trigger?” Connor’s hand grabs my shoulder as if to punctuate his insult.
“You all knew when I joined this crew that I wasn’t going to kill any civilians. I had to get a clean shot. Besides, it wouldn’t have been much better to shoot Ken either, would it?”
“Motherfucker, you take that tone with me and I’ll…”
“Lay off, asshole. You try anything like that, and I’ll fucking eviscerate you.” Ash growls at Connor.
“Shut the fuck up, all of you,” Ken groans, “the fucker got me a few times, but Tom handled it and stitched me up. Can we please get back to the business at hand?”
“Fine. Connor and I will be driving the haul to my fences and launderers. You all will be receiving your cut after the money is cleaned. In the meantime, Mr. Scorvella is giving you each $50,000 now to tide you over. Do not make any dipshit mistakes and draw attention to yourselves. Mr. Scorvella has deep pockets and deeper connections, and he’d have us all dead in a month if one of you try to fuck him over.” Marcus explains.
Marcus was the one who put this crew together, the only one of us who knew the entire plan from the Scorvellas. He hands us each a manila envelope with cash inside. We leave the rendezvous site in pairs, Ken and Frank likely heading to a cheap sawbones to tidy up my hastily done stitching. Connor and Marcus each leave in large SUVs loaded with our haul. I rode here with Ash, and we leave in her Challenger.
As her car roars down the road, I feel the tension rise. I know she’s just as pissed as the others about my fuckup. I’m just waiting for her to explode at this point.
“I’m sorry you had to shoot that guy today,” Ash says softly.
Her words take me by surprise. I’ve rarely ever heard her use that tone.
“There are always variables like that in these jobs. I was hoping we could avoid this on your first and only. I know it’s going to eat you alive inside, trust me, I know the feeling. Just know that you had no other choice and that you saved Ken’s life. He gets to go home to his kids tonight because of you. Plus, the guy you shot will get to play the hero in all the news reports. Fucker will probably ride that high for years.”
“Thanks, Ash. I appreciate it. I appreciate all of this. You don’t know how much this is going to help me.”
“Fuck off with that soft shit, T. You know I always have your back when you need help.”
Ash drops me off only a couple of hours before Nora’s shift ends. I leave the clothes covered in Ken’s blood in a bag in the trunk. Ash will burn it along with hers outside of town. I hurry into the house to shower and whip up some sort of dinner.
*
That night, Nora and I are cuddling on the couch. I rub her growing belly while we watch the news. I feel like scum while they cover the robbery. Absolute fucking gutter trash scum. That feeling only worsens when a picture of the man with the knife appears on the screen.
“Sadly, a new development has come to our attention. Orris Rogers, Iraq War veteran, and son of the late police commissioner Harold Rogers has succumbed to injuries received while valiantly attempting to stop the robbery. Rogers was rushed to St. Luke’s Hospital, but surgeons were unable to save his life. Rogers is survived by his wife and three children.”
I’m drowning. Not only did I manage to kill a fellow soldier, but I also took away a husband and a father. I can’t let Nora see the shame on my face or feel the cold sweat secreting from my body. Oh God, please don’t let her know what I’ve done.
“I hate living in this city sometimes. It’s just so violent here, babe. I can’t understand why you want to raise our daughter here,” exclaims Nora. Her words pull me back to reality.
“Sweetheart, I was born and raised here. I know this city is far from perfect, but I’ve been to other parts of the world. Trust me when I tell you that home is the best place to raise Bethany,” I say, trying to calm her and myself down.
“Tom, not every place away from home is like Afghanistan. Can we please just look further south for a safer area? You can still visit your family as much as you want, but we need to leave Kansas City.”
“Sugar, I’m tired. Can we talk about this in the morning?”
“That’s what you always say,” Nora retorts, though her eyes and tone begin to soften, “Okay, I’ll let it go for tonight. I love you, babe.”
“I love you too, darling,” I say warmly, though my blood still runs cold through my heart. Nora has calmed down, but my heart has not.
As we embrace, a crash erupts from the kitchen. I jump up to see a masked man stepping through the broken sliding door. Before I can shout or scream, he raises a handgun and fires. Pain overloads my system and all I can do is gasp for air as I drop to the floor. White hot pain is burning inside my chest as my fingers feel the entry wounds.
Through the pain, I hear Nora screaming. What have I done? What the hell have I done? Through the fog of pain, I see the man grab Nora while others walk over me from outside the house. They tie her hands and feet with zip ties and tape her mouth shut. The man carries Nora over to me and lays her down next to me. The look of sheer terror in her eyes is too much for me to bear.
“I’m so sorry Nora. I’m so sorry.” Tears stream down my face as my mouth and throat fill with blood. I’m fighting to stay conscious as the man grabs my face.
“You fucked the wrong people, cabrón. Now it’s our turn.”
God have mercy on Nora. Be with her, help her. The man pushes the gun to my temple, and I close my eyes.
“Fucking coward,” exclaims the man as he punches me. He grasps a handful of my hair and turns my face toward Nora. I see her wretch and twist with despair before the man shoots her. I try to scream, but only manage to vomit more blood. I weakly lunge for the man’s gun, a move he rewards with another shot to my chest. He spits at me before standing back up and walking out of my view. As I fade into darkness, I reach for Nora. Her face is the last thing I see before I finally black out.
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