Tattoo (Take It Off #7)(2)
Author: Cambria Hebert

A thud echoed behind me as I was pulled to my feet. He placed the gun between my shoulder blades, holding it there and directing me until I was standing right in front of the large keypad that opens the safe.

“I don’t know the combination.” I lied.

“Then you better hope you’re physic because you got exactly ten seconds to open that vault before I shoot you.”

Well, if that wasn’t motivation, I don’t know what was.

On shaking knees, I stepped forward, pressing a number on the pad. Then I pressed a couple more. When I hit the release button, nothing happened. But I didn’t expect it to. I just wanted it to look like I was trying to open it. I wasn’t opening it.

“See,” I said, my voice trembling. “I don’t know.”

I heard the distinct sound of sirens and screeching tires and gave a sigh of relief. The cops were here!

Of course, I barely had time to celebrate because the thieves did the one thing that had the power to make me reconsider opening that safe.

Brandy was snatched off the floor and a gun was pressed to her head.

“So help me, God, if you don’t open that shit right now, I will splatter her brains all over the wall.”

Brandy started screaming and shaking. The man looked at me intently like he couldn’t hear her pleas. His eyes were empty inside, completely devoid of any kind of feeling. It was like he had some weird ability to shut off his emotions.

It made me wonder if he was a vampire.

I shook my head, telling myself that thinking about vampires was a sign I was cracking under pressure.

“I’ll open it.” I promised. Risking my life for the bank was one thing, but risking someone else’s life for the bank was an entirely different entity.

After a few punches to the keypad, the lock clicked free and my stomach clenched. Someone twisted a hand in my hair from behind and pulled, practically ripping the strands from my scalp. I was tossed onto the floor, landing in a heap next to Brandy, who was still crying.

I backed up, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, as three men walked into the safe, the sounds of opening duffle bags like a stab to my heart.

“Thank you,” Brandy whispered, and I turned my face up to look into her red-rimmed, bloodshot brown eyes.

“No money is worth anyone’s life,” I whispered back.

The voice of who I assumed was a police officer boomed through the air, so loud that it came through the walls of the bank for all of us to hear. “The bank is surrounded. Release the hostages immediately,” he demanded over an intercom.

Laughter floated out of the vault, and I figured that meant they didn’t plan on letting us walk out of here. Silly me, I thought police presence would actually deter the robbers.

A large black duffle bag was tossed out of the vault, landing a few feet away. Crisp green bills were poking out of the top. Another one followed.

“Yo! Hurry up!” the guy guarding the door yelled to his friends, waiving around a rather large gun. He turned toward the vault, disregarding the people cowering on the floor.

One of the women lying behind him jumped up and made a run for it, right toward the exit. The gunman turned and fired off a shot, catching her in the leg. She fell onto the floor with a high-pitched scream.

I watched in morbid fascination as a puddle of dark red formed around her.

People in the bank were sobbing openly now. Some of them were pleading for their lives.

I heard someone outside yell, “Shots fired!”

My eyes traveled around the room, seeking out the man whose name I couldn’t remember. Our eyes locked for one long second. It was like we were the only two people in the room. He wasn’t crying or begging for his life. He wasn’t sweating or looking for a way to save his ass.

He was standing there, in the center of the room, calm and strong, like this situation wasn’t that big of a deal. He made me feel better, more in control.

Another duffle flew out of the vault and one of the men stepped out. There had to be millions of dollars in those bags. Not only would it ruin this bank, the people who did business here, but my father as well.

My newfound strength made me brave.

I stepped in front of one of the bags, giving a level look to the men who intended to take it. “If you leave now, you might get away.”

The man standing directly in front of me smirked and the smirk turned into a full-blown smile. I realized my mistake then.

I tried to entice them with freedom, with the thought of getting away unscathed. These men didn’t care about that. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have realized that from the beginning. None of them were wearing ski masks or those plastic masks that looked like creepy clowns or animals. They weren’t even trying to hide their faces.

Men who didn’t hide their faces in a situation like this were either really desperate or really meticulous and had a fail-proof plan. They planned to be long gone before anyone could recognize their faces.

I wasn’t going to stop them.

No one was.

The man standing in front of me raised his gun, pointing it right at me.

And then he pulled the trigger.

1

Brody

I jerked awake and forced my body to lie still and listen to the sounds going on around me. A man could tell a lot just by listening. I liked knowing what I was dealing with that day before I even got out of bed.

The only sound I heard was the hum of the air-conditioner. I sat up, pushing the blankets down to my waist and leaning against the cheap wooden headboard. It was easy to forget I was alone. It was easy to forget I was no longer working a case, that I was no longer pretending to be someone else.

I’d spent so much time with other people (mostly criminals) and not being myself that I honestly wasn’t sure who I was anymore. It was the reason I was here in this little hotel room—because I didn’t have a place of my own. I hadn’t had a place of my own for two years now.

The prospect of starting all over again, of reinventing myself once more, was not an exciting one. It exhausted me just thinking about it. Maybe some guys could toss aside their undercover identities like yesterday’s trash, but I couldn’t.

I glanced at the clock beside the bed and did a double take. It was already after ten. I couldn’t remember the last time I slept so late.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had a day off either. But now here I was with two full weeks stretching in front of me. Empty days to fill and no alarm clock demanding I get my ass out of bed.

So what did a guy with essentially no life outside of work do when he found himself with time off? He went fishing. I tossed the covers off the bed, letting them fall partially onto the floor and not bothering to fix them. That’s what maid service was for.