Page 25 of Thunder

“You’re not going on this one, Maddy,” Bullet says.

“You neither, Eliza,” Rook says. When Eliza frowns at him, he adds, “I don’t want any chance of you getting arrested. Especially for something as petty as this. Save your criminal record for the good stuff, sweetheart.”

“Okay, my love,” she says. “I’ll only get arrested for the big crimes.”

As we finalize the details of our heist, my thoughts turn to Lia. She will retaliate when she finds out what I’ve done. Just what sort of schemes does she have in store?

"Marcus?" Bullet's concerned voice pulls me from my internal turmoil. "You with us?"

"Always," I reply, my voice steady despite the storm brewing within me. “Rook, scout the location. I’ll see you and Bullet back here just before dawn. It’s time for us to be the world’s worst dinner guests.”

* * * * *

The deserted streets of Costa Oscura stretch out before me, the inky black sky providing little comfort. It's several hours before dawn, and the city is as quiet as a graveyard. We stand outside the community event hall, our breaths visible in the chilly air. The anticipation hangs heavy around us, threatening to choke the life from my lungs.

"Remember the plan, Thunder?" Rook's gruff voice jolts me from my thoughts. His ex-military instincts have him on high alert, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of trouble.

"Of course," I reply. This heist isn't our usual style, but we've got no choice. This is war, and sometimes you have to do desperate things to achieve victory.

Like stealing food from a community supper.

“Let’s do this,” Bullet says.

Rook, Bullet, and I make our way toward the back door of the hall, taking care not to make a sound. Each step feels like an eternity, my shoes feel so heavy it’s like they’re made of concrete. The tension between us is palpable, and I can't help but wonder if they feel the same unease that's gnawing at my conscience.

This is the right thing to do, but it feels wrong all the same.

"Almost there, man," Bullet whispers to me, his loyal eyes offering me a brief respite from my inner turmoil. “Don’t fret the rest, just keep your mind on the prize.” That's one thing about Bullet—he's always had my back, ever since we were kids.

"I know. We’ve got this," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. We're doing this for a greater cause. At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

We reach the door, and Rook produces a lock pick from his pocket. With practiced precision, the lock clicks open, and we slip inside. The kitchen is a treasure trove of gourmet dishes and ingredients laid out in a precise order. Bullet lets out a low whistle, and even Rook emits a grunt that almost sounds positive.

"Damn, these look too good to steal," Bullet murmurs, echoing my own thoughts.

"Keep your mind on the mission," I tell him, forcing myself to do the same. We can't afford any slip-ups now. Not when we're so close to pulling this off.

“You think we can spare a few minutes so I can have just one of these?” Bullet says, eying one of the menu cards set up in front of the rows of plates. “Says they have wagyu steak in one of the fridges. Can you imagine? Let’s fire up the grill. We deserve one of these.”

“There’s time for that later. Hurry, let’s get this stuff loaded and get the hell out of here,” I say.

We work quickly and silently, loading the boxes of food into our van parked in the alleyway behind the event hall.

"Let's get out of here," Rook says, his voice strained with urgency. He knows as well as I do that the slightest mistake could bring this entire operation crashing down around us.

"Agreed," I reply, my heart pounding in my chest like a jackhammer.

This may be for a greater cause, but it doesn't make it any easier to stomach. I slam shut the back doors of the van and Rook and Bullet both hop inside.

“I’ll go back, take one last look around and wipe the counters down, make sure we didn’t leave any fingerprints.” A cheeky idea strikes me. “Maybe I’ll even write a message for those fucking resort people. Let them know they’re not welcome here.”

No sooner do I step away from the van and toward the entrance to the event hall than a voice shatters the silence like a gunshot.

“Marcus, just what the hell are you doing here?”

My blood runs cold. Every muscle in my body locks up.

I know that voice, and I never expected to hear it here. Not now.

---