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Before I could whirl on him, he had me.
The barrel of a gun pressed to my temple. His gloved hand snaked around my waist, securing me to him, enveloping me in the scent of him.
Rook.
What the actual fuck?
“Everyone down on the ground, hands behind your head,” he shouted. “Now!”
His warped image reflected back to me in the old mirror backing on the other side of the counter. Unmistakable eyes, even distorted, but the rest of his face was concealed beneath a black ski mask.
A muted shot hissed in my ear, and I snapped my head up to see he’d fired a round into the kitchen, a silencer on the barrel of his gun. It wasn’t a kill shot, but a warning that had the knife brandishing cook with the Kurt Russell moustache dropping his knife and raising his hands in defeat.
“Any other heroes want to take their chances?” Rook hissed, and I could hear the smile in his words.
The gun pressed back to my temple, and I realized what was happening and had to keep the smile off my face, wear a stricken look of horror instead.
It was a con.
A motherfucking con.
Adrenaline flooded my veins, making my fingers twitch and my breaths come heavy. My face heated, and my vision swam. It probably only added to the effect ofarmed robber takes hostage.
“No,” I cried. “No, please!Pleasedon’t kill me.”
It was easy to summon the tears, they were always there, held back by the force of a strong dam I’d had in place since I was barely a teenager. They poured freely now, streaking down my face.
Rook stuffed a wad of white cloth into my hand, and I took it, hands shaking.
“Open it,” he ordered me, and I clumsily found the opening to the pillow case.
He gave my waist a little squeeze that I felt all the way to my greedy little cunt.
Fuck.
“You,” he hissed, momentarily training his weapon on the waitress lying on the ground muttering prayers to herself. “Get up.”
She tripped as she stood, stumbling into the counter.
“Just do what he says, Cher,” her plaid wearing hero called from where he lay face down on the dirty linoleum flooring next to his stool. “It’s okay, doll. Everything’s gonna be—”
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Rook groaned as Cher stood. “Fill it,” he ordered her, the cold steel barrel back at my temple.
When she hesitated, he cocked it back and I felt theclickall the way to the marrow of my bones. Like a current of electricity plugged straight into my flesh. I gripped the countertop, a hard breath gushed past my lips at the sensation of beingalive.
Curiously, I peered toward the gun. Not many handguns needed manual cocking. I was no expert, preferring my blades, but Dad showed me a thing or two.
It was a Browning Hi Power. Semi-automatic. A sleek black number with a worn mahogany grip. He held it like an extension of his arm.
Why was that so damnedhot?
Cher hurriedly emptied the register, pulling out wads of fives and tens and a few twenties. Nothing to get excited about, but right now, I didn’t care, this was the most fun I’d had inages.
I forced a whimper as she cautiously stretched her arms over the counter and dropped the bills into the pillowcase.
“You want the money out of the safe, too?” she asked, her voice a meek whine.
Was this bitch serious?
