Page 407 of Devil’s Disciples

In mid-step, Goose stopped in his tracks. “Is that cash?”

“It sure is,” Tito said. “Hurry the fuck up. Let’s get it and go.”

I was frozen in place. After taking an instant to relish in the thought of adding another heist to my mental repertoire, I patted my hand against Goose’s back and headed for the cart.

Using our night vision for visual assistance in the pitch-black room, we grabbed fistfuls of bills and stuffed them into the backpacks, paying no attention to the denomination. When the cart was empty, I turned toward the door.

“What about the deposit boxes,” Goose asked in a shaking voice. “Should we drill a few? See what’s inside?”

“No,” I blurted. “Too much risk. We’re in the clear. Let’s go.”

“Agreed,” Tito heaved, nearly out of breath from excitement. “Let’s go.”

Prior to entering the bank, Tito wired around the alarm and put the cameras on a two-image loop—permitting them to continuously show the images they were filming—but also allowing them to show the correct time of day. If anyone checked them, and it was highly unlikely they would at one am, they would be none the wiser about the break-in.

After a tool check and a quick scan of the area, we rushed to the exit.

“Night vision off before you step through the door,” I said.

We paused, caught our breath, and removed our headgear. Goose sent Cash and Reno a pre-written text message. Tito opened the door. I drew a deep breath and stepped through it.

The well-illuminated alleyway gave full view of the adjoining parking lot, where the SUV was parked. So far, everything looked like it was going our way. Doing our best to look like three people on a leisurely stroll after a night at the bar—but probably walking faster-paced than we realized—we made our way toward the vehicle, which was fifty yards away.

Despite the operation’s lack of obvious fault, my heart was beating out of my chest. Based on experience, I knew it would continue until long after I got home and into bed.

On our way to the car, Reno and Cash stepped to our side.

“Good haul?” Cash whispered.

“It was a bust,” Goose replied. “Ally couldn’t get the safe cracked. You were right.”

“I fucking knew it!” Cash said through his teeth.

“Just kidding,” Goose said, mid-stride. “We got a huge haul. No idea how much until we get where we can see it. It was dark as fuck.”

I reached for the door handle. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The car’s key fob was programmed to open all the doors and illuminate no lights as soon as I touched the handle. The door locks clicked to the open position. We were so close to escape I could taste it.

Cash opened the rear door. “I can’t take that bitch seriously when she’s wearing that cheerleader outfit.”

My muscles tensed upon hearing him call me a bitch. I realized many men—especially bikers—used the term loosely. Regardless, I detested it—and I wouldn’t stand for it.

I opened the door, tossed my bag on the passenger floorboard, and hopped in. After pulling the door closed, I sat with my jaw clenched tight.

“C’mon,” Goose said. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

I reached for the rearview mirror and adjusted it, so I could see Cash’s reflection. I drew a long breath and let it out. “I’m not going to stand for you calling me a ‘bitch’, asshole.

“Whatever.” He glanced over each shoulder nervously. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you apologize.”

“Fuck that,” he snapped. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll sit here until the cops show up,” I assured him. “Apologize.”

“What the fuck’s wrong with her?” Cash asked, directing his remark to Goose.