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Once we approach the door to the break room, Wes whispers, “Keep one of them alive.”
Of course.
“On my count,” I murmur. “One, two, three.”
Wes kicks the door open. Before the trio inside can react, we’re already shooting. Two of them slump to the floor, blood gushing from the bullet holes in their heads. The third, I shoot in the shoulder. He cries out and clutches at his wound instead of reaching for a weapon.
Setting his gun on the table, Wes pulls out his knife and flips it open. He kicks a chair out of the way and advances toward the guy.
“No,” he chokes out. “Please don’t. You can take it all if you want, I don’t—fuck,”he screams as Wes stabs him in the stomach.
“You’re not getting out of here alive, buddy.”
“Please,” the man cries as Wes slashes across his chest.
“I’m getting really sick of that word,” Wes growls. He kicks the guy, forcing him to slam into the wall. “It doesn’t do any damn good.”
“Just take it,” the man rasps. He falls to his knees, his face ghostly white from blood loss. “Just take the money.”
“All I want is your life.” Wes grabs a handful of the guy’s hair and yanks his head back. His knife slides across the man’s neck beautifully.
I watch with delight as blood pours from the wound. The man gasps and gurgles as blood dribbles from his lips. He reaches out,almost like he’s begging for help, but his hand drops to his side in seconds. His eyes go blank, and his body slumps to the floor.
With a satisfied grunt, Wes steps back and surveys the mess we just made. His eyes narrow at the space behind me, and I whip around.
Four duffel bags sit on the floor. I yank open one of the zippers and laugh. It’s full of cash.
“Fuck,” Wes mutters as he joins me.
We open up all the other bags. There’s gotta be tens of thousands of dollars here—maybe even hundreds.
I nudge the masks discarded onto the floor next to the bags. “Did we just kill a group of bank robbers?”
“Looks like it.” He grabs his gun from the table.
“And we’re just supposed to… leave all this.”
“Charlotte didn’t tell us to take it, so yeah.”
“Goddamn,” I groan. There’s just so much of it.
“Let’s go.” Wes brushes past me, pausing in the doorway when I don’t move.“Kellan.”
“Coming! I’m coming.” With one last longing glance at the bags, I follow him out of the warehouse.
As we walk back to our bikes, I pull out my phone and call Char.
“Finished?” she asks, not bothering with a greeting.
“Finished. There’s a lot of cash in there.”
“There is,” Char says.
“Is it just gonna sit there?”
“You know better than to ask stupid questions, Ambrose.”
I smile. “Take care, Char.”
