Page 5 of Rio's Release

“I’ll make sure. Trust me.”

I shake my head. “I’d feel better if you picked somewhere else.”

He checks his map app again. “The only other place way out there is a small post office. That’s not going to draw the attention you want.”

“He’s right, Rio,” Zig agrees. “That isn’t going to summon the same response as a school.”

I drag a hand down my jaw and blow out a breath. I don’t like it, but I’ve got to trust my brother doesn’t fuck this up. He’s our explosives guy. I have to trust he knows what the hell he’s doing. “Okay. But I swear to God, you hurt a kid, I’ll bury you myself.”

“Let’s run through this thing,” Zig suggests, breaking the tension. He pulls dark ski masks and goggles from his bag and tosses them at each of us.

“Hell, these things are a pain to see through,” Mauler complains, dropping the goggles over his eyes.

“Deal with it,” I bark and point to a spot fifty feet from the spray paint. “You’ll be waiting behind the dumpster. I’m over here inside the back door. When I open it, it’s going to surprise the guard. You’ll have to be ready for that. You rush him and get him inside and on the floor. Make sure he doesn’t get on that fucking radio or near an alarm button. Zig, you’ll hit the cameras with spray paint. I’ll deal with the teller in the ATM room. The rest of you watch the other employees.”

We run through it several times, trying to prepare for any scenario we can come up with until the heat of the day drives us back to the two rental cars.

As we climb inside, I realize we’re going to have to drop Bagger off early and leave him without a car until the job is done. I twist and look over the front seat. “You got somewhere near this school you can stay out of sight?”

“Yeah. No one will see me. I promise, I got this, brother.”

My head is pounding, and his words do nothing to ease the tension.

CHAPTER THREE

Blitzy’s

Shelby—

“When are you moving out?”

My father’s question hits me the moment I walk in the door. He’s sitting in his recliner, watching the game show he never misses. I’m exhausted, and my feet hurt from standing all day in heels, so I snap without thinking.

“Geez, I’ve only had this job three weeks.”

It’s the wrong thing to say to my father. I know it the moment the words leave my mouth. No one corrects him. No one backtalks him. Ever.

The recliner claps shut as he surges to his feet and stalks toward me.

“What the hell did you just say to me?”

I scramble backward and hit the wall near the staircase. His fist flies toward my face, and I duck, but he lands it. My cheek and eye explode in pain, but I manage to dash up the steps, escaping him. My father is a big man, and he hates climbing these stairs. It’s probably the only thing that saves me. But his thundering words follow me up.

“You think you’re so high and mighty now you got a big job at the bank? You start paying rent on your next payday or you move your skinny ass out. You hear me?”

I don’t answer. I close my bedroom door and lock it, then move to the tiny bathroom and run cold water over a washcloth. I press it to the side of my face and look at my reflection. What has my life become?

Since my mother died almost two years ago, things have gotten progressively worse. She was the buffer. With her gone, Dad’s let his rage and general dissatisfaction with life loose on me. My father and I have never been close. Mostly, I’ve tried to stay out of his way. Now this small house seems to be closing in on us. I want out just as badly as he wants me out, but a bank teller, especially one who just graduated from high school, doesn’t make much money. Not nearly enough to pay rent on any of the decent apartments I’ve found.

I return to my bedroom and drop onto my bed. Digging out my phone, I text my BFF.

ME: I’ve got to find a place. I can’t take it here anymore

JENNY: You can come stay with us. I told you my mom said it’s okay

ME: I don’t want to impose

JENNY: Then chip in some money. Whatever you can afford. I know it’d help her make ends meet since my dad walked out on her

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