It was the thrill that kept me in the game.

  I grabbed the handle, paused, and then pulled down on it. As the wheel began to turn freely, I glanced in Tito’s direction. His glowing-green image grinned.

  “Eleven minutes for a bank vault isn’t all bad, huh?” I asked.

  He tossed Goose one of the backpacks. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I can’t believe she’s robbing a bank in a cheerleader getup,” Goose said with a laugh. “Good job, Baby.”

  Hell, I’d rob banks just to hear Goose call me Baby.

  With my heart beating in my throat, I turned the safe’s massive wheel. When the pins were all retracted, I reached for the handle. My hands were shaking. “C’mon, help me out. This thing’s heavy.”

  Robbing a bank’s vault can be a rewarding experience or a gut-wrenching disappointment. One never knows until the vault door swings open.

  Banks with transaction amounts below 13.3 million aren’t required to have any cash reserves. Banks that range between 13.3 and 89 million are required to maintain a 3 percent cash reserve. Banks with transactions in excess of 89 million must maintain a 10 percent reserve.

  The reserve can be kept in the Federal Reserve Bank. Most banks take advantage of that secure interest-earning option. Larger rural banks on Friday nights tend to have more money than most, as they anticipate many Saturday cash withdrawals, and don’t want to upset loyal customers by making the statement, we’re out of money. The wealthy don’t like hearing that “their” money isn’t in the bank.

  A Wells Fargo Bank in a small town that’s surrounded by the wealthy is a perfect location.

  That’s exactly where we were.

  Rancho Bernardo was a one-hour drive from San Diego, in traffic. At one am, it would be half that.

  When the door opened, it was immediately apparent it was going to be a rewarding experience.

  A push cart in the center of the vault had stacks of banded bills sitting on it. Upon seeing it, my already overactive heart began to beat even faster.

  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.

  “God damn it Cash, apologize!” Goose snarled.

  “All I did was say I can’t take that bitch seriously. So fucking what.”

  “Apologize,” Tito insisted.

  Cash leaned forward so close I could feel his breath against my neck. “Drive the fuck out of here, you mouthy little Bitch.”

  I was a woman that had been tossed into a testosterone-rich all-man crew. I didn’t regret accepting the offer. In fact, even after Cash’s comment, I remained elated that the club had given me the opportunity.

  But.

  I refused to work with someone who treated me disrespectfully. Cash didn’t have to respect me, but I wouldn’t allow him to openly disrespect me.

  Tension was mounting. Everyone started shouting. Some demanding we leave, others that Cash apologize.

  “Everyone stop!” I screamed.

  I turned in my seat until I was facing Cash. Reno and Tito, seated beside him, stared at me with wide eyes and open mouths.

  “Out of respect for the other men in this crew,” I said through my clenched teeth. “I’m driving out of here. Before we leave the clubhouse tonight, you will apologize. If you don’t, you’re not going to have to worry about how you’re going to spend your cut.”

  He stared. Apparently, he wasn’t used to having a woman stand up to him. Satisfied, I turned around.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” he asked.

  I didn’t respond.

  If he didn’t apologize, he’d simply find out.

  150

  Goose

  We were passed by one CHP officer on the freeway. He didn’t so much as give us a second look. Immediately after we took the exit to go to the clubhouse, a San Diego police officer pulled alongside us at a traffic light. Upon seeing him, my butthole cinched tight.

  Much to everyone’s surprise, Ally rolled down the window and flashed him a smile. When the light turned green, he waved playfully before speeding away.

  If the tension between Cash and Ally could be eliminated, I’d label the job—and our new group— a one hundred percent success.

  In the planning meeting, Ally’s ideas—and her ability to express them—made me proud. Her later recommendation to hit a bank in a wealthy suburb was obviously spot-on. When she opened the bank’s vault, the pride I felt for her grew.

  I realized from years of experience that performing a simple task under duress wasn’t an easy thing to do. Manipulating the lock of a bank’s vault while working against the clock—and in the dark—was impressive.

  Nothing, however, would ever make me prouder than seeing her stand up for herself against Cash.

  We made it to the shop without incident. After dumping our bags onto the dining room table, we separated the money into stacks based on the demonization of the bills.

  As we worked in awkward silence, Baker walked into the room and paused. With his hands on his hips, he looked at each of us. I made the mistake of locking eyes with him.

  “Want to tell me what the fuck’s going on?” he asked.

  I broke his gaze and looked away. “Job went slick, Boss.”

  He shifted his eyes to Ally. “Any particular reason the getaway vehicle didn’t get away? You sat in the fucking parking lot for five goddamned minutes before you left. Longest five fucking minutes of my entire life, I might add. I wasn’t sure what the fuck to do. We didn’t discuss stall tactics. I didn’t know if I was supposed to lead, follow, or sit there with my thumb in my ass.”

  Everyone except for Ally looked at Cash.

  “The ECM had to update,” she said. “It’s unfortunate, but it happens.”

  I had no fucking idea what she just said, but I knew what she was doing. She was keeping Cash out of trouble. I tried to remain straight-faced, not wanting to give Baker the hint that she was lying through her teeth.

  “What?” Baker snapped. “Update?”

  “ECM,” she said matter-of-factly. “The Engine Control Module. BMW issues updates once a year or so for the air-fuel and smog control management systems. They typically self-load at night. They just happened to be loading when we were trying to go.”

  “Sounds like we need a new getaway car,” Baker said. “We sure as fuck can’t have that kind of shit happening in the middle of the job.”

  Tito cleared his throat. “I’ll disable the automatic updates on it. I should have done it a long time ago, but I hadn’t really thought about it until we were sitting there. I felt like a fool. I’ll do it in the morning.”

  “You’ll do it before you go home,” Baker insisted.

  Tito gave a nod. “Will do, Boss.”

  Reno glared at Cash.

  Cash glared back for a moment, and then glanced at Ally. While she sorted money, he gave her a quick once-over.

  Baker sauntered in our direction. “Other than the automatic fucking update, I’m guessing it went well?”

  “Really well.” I gestured to the piles of bills. “Look at this shit.”

  Baker picked up a stack of hundreds, smelled them, and then tossed them onto the table. “Love the smell of success. You all did a good job.”

  “Damned good idea to hit a bank in the ‘burbs,” Reno said. “She knows her shit, Boss.”

  “Agreed.” Baker patted Ally on the shoulder. “No problems with the vault?”

  She shook her head. “No, Sir.”

  I admired Ally’s decision not to throw Cash under the bus. I expected everyone—short of Cash—agreed. It validated her willingness to work with others, ability to be supportive of the entire team, and her respect for authority.

  Concealing Cash’s bad decisions and shortcomings suggested her level of respect for each of us, and especially for Baker. I sorted the stacks of bills wondering just what she planned if Cash didn’t apologize. She wasn’t one to make as bold of a statement as she made without a plan.

  Reno looked at me, winked, and then got Baker’s attention. “Listen to this.”

  Baker’s brows raised. “I’m listening.”

  “We get off the freeway and roll up to a light. Fucker goes yellow to red in an instant. Ally does a short stop instead of blowing through it. Ends up two feet past the little white line. Fucking city cop rolls up beside us. Cocksucker starts eye-fucking us, like, ‘what the fuck are you clowns doing?’ Then, he gets that look on his face, like, ‘As soon as this motherfucker turns green, I’m going to pull your asses over.’ Ally realizes this fucker’s on the verge of being a dick. So, what does she do? Rolls down her fucking window, flashes her SDSU cheerleader outfit, and blows that prick a kiss.”

  Baker looked at Ally and shook his head.

  She grinned and shrugged her shoulders. “A girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.”

  “The light on Rosecrans?” Baker asked.

  Reno nodded. “Yep.”

  “I hate that fucking light. So, what did the cop do?”

  Reno chuckled. “Fucking light goes green, and he waves back at her. Then, the fucker hauls ass.”

  “Like I said. Good work.” Baker surveyed the table’s contents and smiled. “Any ideas on an amount?”

  “Somewhere north of seven hundred grand,” Tito said.

  Baker whistled. “Jesus.”

  It seemed everyone was jumping on the “I like Ally” train, except for Cash. Knowing that sooner or later things would come to a head, I sorted the bills with some reluctance—hoping Cash would pull his head out of his ass before our work ended.

  Despite my lack of effort, we eventually finished sorting. After counting and re-counting the money, Baker entered it in the books.

  “Seven hundred and eighty grand is a damned nice bank job,” he said.

  “Agreed,” I said.

  Tito patted Ally on the shoulder. “Good job on that vault.”

  “Thank you.”

  Reno followed with a congratulatory remark regarding her quick thinking when it came to the cop. We all shared a laugh about him thinking a college cheerleader was flirting with him. When the laughing and storytelling ended, it was three thirty in the morning.

  Exhausted, Baker resigned to his upstairs loft.

  The rest of us meandered to the elevator as a group.

  In its normal snails-like pace, the elevator descended to the basement. Not one word was spoken. After the doors opened, Cash stepped out and turned around.

  “I appreciate you not telling Baker what happened,” he said, directing his comment to Ally. “And, I’ll apologize for what I said back at the bank. But I don’t have to respect you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Respect’s earned, and you haven’t done shit to earn it. That’s just how shit works with me.”

  “I’m fine with that,” she said. “Now, apologize.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I just did.”

  “No. You didn’t,” she insisted. “You said, ‘I’ll apologize for what I said back at the bank.’ So, apologize. After you do, I’ll consider this squashed.”

  He looked at each of us and then at Ally. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “As serious as a dose of dick cancer,” she deadpanned.

  After digesting her response, he forced a sigh. “I’m sorry for calling you a bitch.”

  “Apology accepted.” She spread her arms open wide. “Gimme a hug.”

  With reluctance, Cash hugged her.

  He broke the embrace and stomped to his bike, obviously mad about the entire situation. After bidding farewell to Reno and Tito, Ally and I walked to the SUV.

  I reached for the door handle and paused before opening it. “You took his wallet, didn’t you?”

  She peered over the hood. “Sure did.”

  Ally planned everything she did. She didn’t take Cash’s wallet out of spite, or for bragging rights. There was a reason behind it.

  “Why?” I asked.

  Her mouth twisted into a smirk. “You’ll see.”

  151

  Ally

  A week had passed since our bank job, and the situation with Cash hadn’t changed. I’d given him his wallet back, claiming that he’d dropped it in the back seat of the SUV. I didn’t expect the gesture to change anything, but I hoped my continued existence would prompt him to slowly begin treating me with respect.

  I wasn’t so lucky. Nothing had changed yet, anyway. Although I tried not to express my frustrations around the other men, Goose knew how I felt. Talking about it in bed on a Sunday morning would ensure I could make it through another week without doing or saying anything I’d later regret.

  I rolled to my side. “There’s a difference between respecting someone and treating someone with respect. A person doesn’t have to respect me to treat me respectfully. My problem with Cash is that he does neither. I’ll earn his respect, one of these days. Until then, I wish he’d stop being a dick.”

  “I understand the respect thing,” Goose said. “Believe me. I can like someone and not respect them. Hell, I could be friends with them, for that matter, and still not respect them. But I’ll always treat them with respect.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I try to treat everyone respectfully. It’s how I was raised. If someone gives you reason not to respect them, it still doesn’t mean you’re disrespectful toward them. You just walk away. They’re not worthy of your time.”

  He grinned a guilty grin. “Thank you.”

  “What was that weird smile about?”

  “You and I are more alike than I thought we were,” he said. “My parents did something shitty and disrespectful. After that, I couldn’t find a way to respect them. I walked away, and never looked back.”

  He’d mentioned the day we met that he left home at eighteen and hadn’t talked to his parents since.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

  “Not really,” he said. “It’s not that big of a deal, though.”

  “Obviously it is.”

  “No. I mean I’m not still torn up about it. It happened. It’s over. I’ve moved on. I’ve forgiven them. But I’ll never forget what they did.”

  “Do you want to tell me what it was?”

  He fluffed his pillow and plopped his head down on it. He gazed at the ceiling. After a moment of silence, he began.

  “Ghost’s grandfather died when he was two or three. He didn’t have a dad, so his grandmother and mom were his parents. They all lived together. His mom was always playing the good cop role, and his grandmother was more of the bad cop. She was strict on him, but he respected her for it. You know when you’re a kid and you hate authority?”

 

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