Page 93 of Rescuing Mary

“Obviously.”

“Seriously, I always know exactly what she’s thinking. It’s refreshing. She’s not scared of me at all. Which, because of my size and looks, is a fucking miracle as far as I’m concerned.”

“I can see how that could be a good thing.”

“It is. Of course, I’d never do anything to hurt her…and she knows it. Makes it hard to get her to do what I want and need her to do, to keep her safe. And now I really need to go. I don’t want to miss a minute of our lunchtime.”

“You’ll call after you talk to the doctor?”

“Yup. Later, Ghost.”

“Later, Truck.”

Truck clicked off his phone and stuck it in his back pocket. Then he grabbed the two lunch bags he’d packed back at his apartment and climbed out of his car and headed for the entrance.

He opened the door and stepped inside the bank—right into the middle of complete chaos.

The second the five men came into the lobby of the bank, Mary knew they were in trouble. All her warnings had gone unheeded by Jennifer and now it was time to pay the price.

The men were dressed in jeans and T-shirts and none had coverings over their faces, which didn’t bode well in Mary’s mind. They should’ve been worried about concealing their identities. The fact that they weren’t was a bad sign. She recognized three of the men from giving them tours of the vault, but the other two were strangers. All five men were white, and she could see they had tattoos up and down their arms.

She should’ve been freaking out, but Mary was strangely calm. She and the other employees had trained for situations like this, and while she was scared, Mary wasn’t about to do anything that would put her life, or anyone else’s life, in danger.

Three of the men branched off and immediately began to corral the customers and employees. The other two came up to the counter where she and Rebecca were sitting and pointed pistols right in their faces.

“Up, bitches,” one said.

Mary immediately held her hands in the air, making sure both men could clearly see them. She scooted off the chair she’d been sitting on and stood. While one man held them at gunpoint, the other leaped over the counter, knocking off the odds and ends that had been on the surface. Mary could hear Rebecca sniffing as if she was crying, but she didn’t take her eyes from the man in front of her.

“We meet again,” he sneered as he stared at her.

Mary’s chin went up. She wasn’t going to cower to anyone. She’d already faced down death twice and won. No punk-ass kid was going to make her break now.

Mary knew she’d have to work really hard to hold her tongue and not antagonize the men though. She might be able to harangue and be a bitch to Truck and his friends, but that was only because she knew they wouldn’t hurt her…because they were honorable, good men.

These guys? She instinctively knew they wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet into her. She’d seen a lot of men and boys just like them growing up. They’d been taught to think women were beneath them, and any attempts to show them they were wrong were met with swift and immediate retribution.

“Get the keys to the vault, bitch,” the one boy sneered.

Mary didn’t think he was much older than eighteen, if that. She nodded to a drawer at the end of the counter. “They’re in there,” she told him.

“Then get them,” he spat impatiently.

“I didn’t want you to think I was reaching for a weapon or a secret panic button,” Mary said calmly, even though inside she was anything but calm.

“I don’t care if you do or not, I’ll blow your ass away before you can try anything. Now hurry the fuck up,” he growled.

Mary shivered, but hurried to do what he wanted. She vaguely heard others around her crying and the thugs yelling, but she was focused on her task. Once she had the keys in her hand, the man grabbed her arm and forced her toward the back. The other herded Rebecca into an office with the other hostages. Mary didn’t like that she was separated from everyone, but she tried to keep herself calm.

Just as they were about to go into the vault, the last place she wanted to be alone with a gun-wielding gang member, the door to the bank opened.

She turned to see who had entered—and stared in shock as Truck walked into the bank.

She glanced at the clock. Eleven twenty-six. He was right on time for their lunch together. Dammit.

“Truck.” His name came out involuntarily, and the second it did, she winced.

“Get your hands up!” one of the gang members yelled, and Truck immediately did as ordered. Two brown paper bags dropped at his feet as he complied.