Page 35 of Mile High Heist

“Fuck you,” I spat, bracing myself. I would scream. I would scream so loud, they’d hear me from the ground.

Suddenly, Peter stumbled forward, his face pinching. He grimaced, one hand flying to his stomach.

Did nearly raping a girl give him indigestion?

It passed a second later, and the killer was back to his regular programming. “How many others are with you?”

“None, you creep. I just work here.”

He didn’t believe me. His arrogance bled through. “I’m worthy of more than just you,” he said with a slight sneer. “One pathetic girl. Don’t insult me.”

I said nothing, my jaw suddenly wired shut.

He opened his mouth, then grimaced again and hissed in pain. He hunched over as if nursing a stomachache.

Someone knocked on the door.

A voice came through: “Hey, man. I really need to use the bathroom.”

I nearly sobbed.

It was Ryle.

The pounding continued, louder. “Hey, you. Guy in the light blue shirt with the douchebag haircut. I know you’re in there. Come on, I’m busting!”

Peter was still fighting whatever weird digestive attack had overcome him. Sweat broke across his brow.

I tried to reach around him for the lock. He caught my arm, shoving me back into the sink. “No,” he snarled. “We’re not done.”

Outside, Ryle muttered: “fuck this.”

Then I heard him jimmying the lock like he had with the briefcase.

Peter swayed to one side, his lip curling into a sneer. “What did you do to me?”

I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a petrified squeak.

A murderous expression crossed his face. When he moved toward me, I knew it was with intent to kill. I was out of time. Ryle wasn’t going to make it.

I sucked in a breath to scream—

And then the door exploded open, smashing into Peter’s back. He stumbled forward, gripping the wall for balance.

I looked at the doorway in relief. Except it wasn’t Ryle who stood there.

It was Madoc.

His face was blank as he took in the scene. His eyes swept over Peter, clocking his sickly pallor.

Then he looked vaguely amused as he turned to me. “What did you do?”

“N-Nothing,” I stuttered, crossing my arms. I was trembling like a leaf.

Behind Madoc, Ryle peeked in, relief clear on his face.

Peter grunted and threw himself past Madoc. He staggered out of the bathroom clumsily, his face pale, eye sockets looking bruised.

I didn’t understand what was happening. Was he drunk? Drugged?