Chapter 1
The suburbs. The whole damn Elko city feels like a giant suburb, with white picket fences and trimmed-to-perfection lawns. Everyone here drives a Prius, sets the alarm clock for 7 AM, and goes to lose themselves in the same character-obliterating routine they call work. That’s if they're not already retired and are waiting for their last years to drain away on a mosquito-protected porch, thinking that's all there is to life.
There are times I would kill for decent entertainment. I don't mean the extreme Californian one—take a pill, pop a vessel. I dream of having other kinds of fun, rather than watching monotonous exhibitions in a museum. It's not that I'm not fond of museums. It's just that the pieces on display sometimes make me feel as lifeless as they are. I'm afraid that if I keep staring at them for too long I'll turn into one of those characters immortalized within a picture at the Museum of History. I think I saw a photo there of a coyote digging between some rocks to feast on a dead body. I would be that—the dead body. That's certainly how I feel at times, forced to live in a place where I don't belong. I’ve been here for six months and already it feels like six years.
Sometimes, I just think I'm jealous of the people who live in the perfect white picket fence houses. Feels like something I'll never have, at least judging by the way things have been going lately.
I was supposed to be so much more than this, and I'm beginning to think I had just been living on empty promises for too long. My life used to be so different. I used to believe I could conquer the world, and get myself a cozy tiny island in the Bahamas where I would build my own white picket fence fairytale. But that’s only a dream I had before reality gave me a slap on the face, sending me spinning to the ground.
I didn't spit a tooth out as you see in movies, but I did spit my heart out.
I was twenty-two when it happened, the slap that changed everything. The death of the person I loved most in this world—my brother, Michael. He'd been ripped away from me without warning, or maybe I just foolishly ignored all the red flags, blinded by the power of the all-mighty dollar.
I try not to think about what happened too often. It always manages to set me off course when I do, and I'm already drifting under the scorching sun with little chance of ever seeing the shore again.
I instantly shake my shoulders, like I could ever get rid of the past this way.
I never do.
However, I've been daydreaming for too long, thinking about all the what if's and fucked-up decisions when what I really should be doing is my job.
“Pump three. That will be $28.99. Cash or card?” I ask while chewing on a piece of gum just to fit into the picture.
I don't even like gum.
I don't like a lot of things, like my job at the gas station, or the mid-life crisis guy staring back at me like he could see through my blouse if his googly eyes would gaze for long enough at my boobs.
“I asked cash or card?” I repeat, hoping to get him out of his trance and fucking out of my face. Christ, he seems even more lost than I am. And that says something about a person.
“Cash,” he finally snaps back to reality, plucks out of his wallet two ten dollar bills, a five and four one’s then sets them on the counter in front of me.
Mr. Generosity. The guy was just eye-fucking me a second ago but he can't even leave a tip.
Go screw yourself.
I don't say that, even if the words are much more accurate than the, “Have a nice day,” I barely force myself to murmur as he walks through the door. At least he didn't hit on me. I am getting sick of the “ Can I have your number?” or “ Are you free for coffee later tonight?”
Like I don’t already have an asshole to deal with. And who drinks coffee at night anyway? Except for me, but they couldn't know that. They could just ask me straight if I would sleep with them. The “ Go fuck yourself ,” I would spit back with a crooked smile on my lips would save everyone the trouble.
Not a single customer walked in for more than half an hour. It often happens during lunchtime, and even though I should be relieved that I was jerk-free for a while, I manage to drift back to my thoughts. At this point, I don't even know which one is worse—my thoughts, the assholes trying to get inside my panties, or the feeling of being trapped here somewhere between the cash register and the shelf of cigarettes behind me—my personal prison. Somehow, I even feel trapped in my own mind. Makes me miss the ocean that much more. That was pretty much the only good thing I had going for me back in California.
That and Nick, my boyfriend.
Both gone.
Nick is still here, but not the Nick I met four years ago—the one I fell in love with.
Things change.
People change.
Or maybe I just outgrew him over time, yet I'm still in some kind of state of denial about it.
On some days I'm smart enough to see things for what they are. We've become two different people who would be much better off alone than in a relationship that's barely crawling to stay on the surface. But then there are the other days when he tells me how much he needs me, creating a false codependency that I can't detach myself from. There I go again, thinking how lost he would be without me, slipping back to the times when we were so good together and always clinging on to the hope that we could have that again if only we would try hard enough.
I guess that's how most toxic relationships function. Don't they?
And ours is as toxic as it gets. I'm here because of him. My darling boyfriend decided to swindle one of the most feared men in California. It was then that I discovered that Nick’s brain must've been the size of a peanut. He managed to blow on racetracks all the money he got from selling one of the weapons shipments he used to be in charge of.
I should have known better since he never had a decent bone in his body. He was always involved in some kind of petty crime. In fact, that's how we met.
I'm no saint myself. Four years ago I was the apprentice of my brother, Michael. He was a master in all senses of the word. I'm not saying that just because we were blood-related. The list of people that could confirm it was a mile long. He really was the best at what he did—burglary. And I don't mean going into some innocent old lady's house and cracking a safe she got from Ikea. We were playing in the big leagues, breaking into high-security vaults, and getting our hands on more money than we even knew what to do with—hence my dreams of owning a small private island.
With time, I became extremely skilled myself. In fact, so skilled that my brother used to joke around that I even surpassed him. Maybe he was right. I never knew for sure. It wasn't even my goal. All I ever wanted was to make him proud of me.
Somehow, I managed to do the exact opposite of that when I first hooked up with Nick.
I met him on a mission. We needed a guy to watch out for us as we were entering some bigshot's Hollywood mansion. A friend of a friend of a friend sent him to us. That's how these things usually go in our circles since we can't really put an ad in the paper for the job.
The heist went smoothly. The guy we were robbing made his fortune through video chat sites, so no guilty conscience for completing that job.
Nick was supposed to get lost straight after he got his share, but one thing led to another and the one-night celebration turned into something more.
Michael used to warn me about Nick only being in it for the money. I still don't know if he was right or not. I like to think that my brother was wrong, but there are times that I could punch myself for not listening to him. Let's just say my boyfriend was pretty much at rock bottom when we first found him and the kind of connections Michael and I had sent him straight to the top of the world.
I convinced my brother to keep him on our team. We needed an extra man anyway and Nick was already in on what we were up to. Plus, he was doing his part of the job and then some, every single time. No questions asked. He took on the long hours of surveillance, getting in touch with contacts and providing us with pretty much everything we needed so that things would run smoothly. In time, he became a valuable asset. I even heard Michael admit it a couple of times over a glass or two. Still, he would have never said it to my face while he was sober. Masculine pride.
It didn't even matter. My brother's acceptance of Nick as one of our own made everything so much better. It made us a real team.
Our targets were mainly overnight millionaires. The money they keep in home safes is usually undeclared, therefore getting the police involved was in most cases out of the question and since they haven’t been in the market for too long they didn’t worry as much about security as those born with a silver spoon in their mouths.
Easy in and easy out as Michael used to say. Until it wasn't so easy anymore.
My brother got involved with the wrong people. Maybe he drew too much attention with all the dough he used to spend in fancy clubs on booze and women, or maybe he just went looking for trouble himself. He had one of those dumb mouths that couldn't quite keep silent every time he drank an extra glass, so I wouldn't be surprised if he had bragged about his fortune or even his skills in the wrong circles.
I never knew, even to this day, which one of those it was, but something made him take on a mission alone.
The news reached my ears. Even mute people talk if you keep them motivated enough. Yet it seemed impossible for me to learn what safe he was going to break into and who he was working with on that job.
Of course, Michael denied it at first when I confronted him. We used to do everything together, so leaving me on the outside would cause an irreversible tear between us. I guess that's what finally forced him to let me into some part of the truth. The people he was working with were too dangerous for him to get me involved so he wanted me and Nick on the bench for this one.
All hell broke loose when I first heard it, but the fear hiding deep within his voice made me promise I would stay away from this mission.
Okay, I wasn't going to really, really stay out. More like keeping an eye out from the shadows and being there just in case he’d run into trouble.
Maybe my brother knew me too well because somehow he managed to outsmart me on that one. He told me things were complicated and that it would take a while until everything would be set for the job. It was supposed to happen in one month’s time.
I didn't really believe him, but never imagined it could be the following day. It left me with absolutely no time to react. Not that I had anything to react to anymore when I heard the news.
Nick was out, getting a cable van as a coverup for a mission we planned at a wealthy rapper's house. We didn't have regular nights, so I can't say I was following my usual routine, but I was planning on having a relaxing evening at home. That's until I threw myself on my eight-seat leather sofa and pressed the ON button of the TV's remote control.
The news that changed my life.
A bank robbery attempt that'd gone south ended with three human casualties amongst the burglars. Michael was one of them. The image of his face lit up on my TV screen irremediably altering something within me. For hours, it felt unreal, like they were talking about someone else. They must've been ... at least that’s what I hoped for until the last minute.
For weeks I was unable to recover from the shock. I think I was becoming more of a vegetable than a human being.
Nick took care of everything, including the funeral and I will be forever grateful to him for that. The only thing he couldn't do was to bring me back to who I used to be.
For a while, I searched for the ones responsible. The police didn't get everyone who was involved in the heist because a large sum of money from the bank was still missing. They didn't announce exactly how much, but that only assured me there were a lot of zeros adding to that loss.
A lot of money was spent on useless contacts and info as I tried in vain to get to the bottom of things. Money wasn't normally supposed to be a problem for me, but an hour after the burglary, the police entered my brother's home and confiscated everything—equipment, art, but most importantly all cash found there. And there was a lot of all of the above. Mine included.
Michael had always played hero when it came to me, and him keeping our spoils was just one of those examples. He would pay for anything I wanted, and I always had all the money I needed at my disposal, just not sums that could ever get people raising questions. I wish he would have applied that rule for himself.
He was holding onto my money to protect me. In case anything ever went wrong, no one would ever come after me. And no one did. Sure, the police asked questions about my relationship with my brother, but never got a single word out of me. Plus, I had a cover-up for the luxury apartment I was living in. I was the CEO of a successful online magazine. A computer-skilled friend of his made that happen for me and even if none of it was true, it was almost impossible to be verified. With everything going on online these days, people are becoming famous overnight just by posting a picture of their nose hair. That made my income pretty much plausible.
On the other hand, Michael's death left my wallet as dry as the Tequila bottle that had been sitting next to my nightstand for the last week.
I wasn't concerned though. Michael might have kept all my money, but he did leave me covered in case anything would happen. I still had access to all of his Cayman Islands accounts. At least that’s what I thought because as soon as I logged into a secure computer, I realized they were all empty. A total of twenty-five million dollars, all withdrawn on the day of his death.
Nick lost it when he heard the news.
Our lifestyle was over.
His lifestyle was over.
For a second he made me think about what my brother used to say about him being only in it for the money. But then my boyfriend quickly came to his senses and decided that we would overcome this momentary slump somehow.
He still had some of the money from the previous heists. Not even close to what we lost. He used most of his share to pay off some debts from his past, but enough remained to keep things going for us for a while. Not a long while though as he has proven to me. He lost most of it in gambling in just a few months, trying to rebuild our fortune.
I couldn't bring myself to return to work. At least not in my line of business, not after what had happened.
That definitely didn't go down well with Nick, but he couldn't force me to take on a job either. Didn't mean he hadn’t tried a couple of times, coming up with some infallible plans to get back on track. I just never accepted. I was developing panic attacks just thinking about it. The vision of my brother dead on the floor. Money scattered around him. Tools. Weapons.
It all was making my skin crawl.
The next couple of years didn't go so well, considering we were barely making ends meet with the job I took at a cafeteria and with Nick's lack of pretty much any activity.
He tried getting back to his old ways, but let's face it, he was a small-time hustler compared to what we used to have going for us. Plus, I had a feeling that he was doing us more damage than good with the jobs he took.
It was about time to take matters into my own hands.
There is a saying if you can't beat them, join them . That was exactly what I did, or at least tried to do.
I took an aptitude test at one of the most important vault manufacturers in the USA. Turned out they have been looking for someone like me for a very long time to assess the flaws in their products and help make them unbreachable.
No one asked, How do you know how to do this?
I think they figured it out since I unlocked their most secure product in less than thirty seconds.
The hilarious part was that they did question me about my education.
What education?
I skipped college to dedicate myself to my natural talent . At the time, I didn't find it necessary to waste years with school as long as I already had everything that I needed to provide myself with more than a decent lifestyle. The rest, I got from the Discovery channels anyway.
Still, my situation didn't seem to agree with the board of directors that was supposed to offer me the job. And I do mean a seven-zeros-a-year paying kind of job.
The HR department was asking for a college education minimum for this kind of position. Apparently climbing the corporate ladder only with my high school degree would have upset some of their older employees. And we do live in an era when people get offended just by you breathing the same air as them.
The company put me on stall until I solved that part. The CEO did things by the book, and even though I knew the right people who could fabricate me a college degree, so did he.
As much as the development team wanted me, they didn't want a lawsuit on their hands. I needed to at least begin online college classes, plus, attend a few courses of their own, even if I could be the one teaching them. Bureaucracy...
I couldn't ease my way out of this. I needed to work my way through it this time around. The firm agreed to pay for my education and rent, with the condition that I would attend online college classes and come work for them after I had graduated from their course.
That was six months ago and that's the exact reason I want so badly to go back to California.
Except, I can't do that. Not until Nick figures his shit out.
He messed with the wrong people back in Cali.
Gambling debts that's for sure.
The worst part is that he somehow managed to get me caught in the middle of it.
I knew the guy he owed money to—Luciano Moretti. The name sounds like the mafia because that’s what he is—the leader of an important branch of the LA mafia. Just the kind of man who doesn't care who he goes after or who he has to kill to get what's his. And since I was the only connection Nick had in the city, that would be me .
My boyfriend managed to put me on some mobster’s fucking hit list.
To make things even funnier, because fate seemed to have a special sense of humor when it came to me, I got the news as I was getting dressed to attend the first courses that the vault company required of me.
I was just trying to put on a pair of decent pantyhose when Nick stormed through the door, started throwing the empty luggage to the floor, and packed our things even before he got to say a single word to me.
I panicked at first. Then my panic became pure madness, as I followed his lead and stuffed everything I could in his car.
And that's the way my second shot of a decent life went poof into thin air. All thanks to Nick. It's times like this that I hate him, especially since I don't see a way out. Not the way that things are going.
Clink
The automatic doors open to let another customer in. It's not one of those shabby gas stations people might think you could find in a town like this. The place is actually part of a big chain of gas stations, state-of-the-art equipment, and shit.
Jesus, I curse too much. In the past, I couldn’t use a profane word even if my life depended on it. This too, I blame on Nick. He drives that part out of me, like a lot of other different bad things.
But I don't want to think about him right now. My mind drifted off last week, just like it’s doing now, and I took a twenty-dollar bill from a customer and gave the change as if it was a fifty. Cost me thirty dollars, and I can't afford another slip-up like that.
I instantly put on a smile and look at the guy in front of me, not that I really look at my customers, more like I see-through them.
“Cash or card?” I put on my line, like a record stuck on repeat.
“Card,” the man ostentatiously flashes a black card like he was some long lost billionaire.
My eyes roll to the back of my head.
Hold your horses, you didn't even fill up the tank.
I don't say that either, letting him think that spending $15 in this place would indirectly make him the son of Gates.
“So, do you like it here?” The man tries to start up an irrelevant conversation.
I don't even know what here means. The town? The gas station? What's here to like anyway?
But I don't bother to answer. I would only ignite the conversation and that's the last thing I want. Done that a couple of times before and ended up regretting it for the rest of the day.
I just nod and pretend I'm checking some report in the computer while handing him the card receipt with the other hand and saying a faded “ Have a nice day.”
He didn't get a chance to properly hit on me, but I knew where things were going.
Wow, two in a row.
Must be my lucky day.
To my advantage, I successfully developed a bitchy attitude that usually managed to keep me safe from things like that. I even told Nick a couple of times about the unwanted attention. Not that he cared. He just made a joke about me going to work in a bar since I seem to get the men's eyes on me. The tips definitely would be better.
I wasn't even that convinced it was a joke after all. He just knew better than to insist on it.
Looking at my phone, I notice I have less than five minutes before my shift would be over—if my replacement would be here on time. She never is. Not that I can say anything about it. I was making a habit of waking up late. It doesn’t have anything to do with Nick giving me sleepless nights—which he isn't. More like I’m doing it myself, always fussing and twisting from side to side, trying to find a way out of the new hell he’s got both of us into.
Not that I ever come up with a solution. Nick owes those people a lot of money and there is no way we’re ever going to raise that sum with my cashier job or with who knows what two-bit hustles he makes.
Clink
The doors open again, this time to let in my co-worker—Monica.
The first good thing in the day. I'm going to get out of here.
“What crawled up your ass?” she asks amused, throwing her bag on the empty chair next to me. It was probably the sunshine rising on my face that betrayed me.
“Work.” The mere word drains the life out of me only when I remember how fun working really used to be.
Monica's smile suddenly fades off her lips, “At least you're done for the day.” I understand her pain. This place has the unique ability to make you feel that life is dripping out of you. But as much as I like her, I don't stick around a second longer just to keep her entertained.
Besides, I need to stop at the grocery store on my way home. I didn't feel like doing it yesterday when I got my paycheck, but we need to stop living on pizzas before all the slices begin piling up on my ass.
I pull my car in front of the local supermarket. It doesn't come close to visiting the designer stores on Rodeo Drive, but our fridge has only spiders living in it by now and I’m too old to turn into the female version of Peter Parker. Plus, I need to get some laundry detergent before I run out of clothes to wear.
Shopping was always on my top three list of favorite activities and since my blooming income only allows me to go grocery shopping these days, I settle with what I have for now.
I walk down every aisle, taking my time so I don't forget anything, or more likely hunting down promotions and anything on sale. Fuck my life.
I could have been ready in twenty minutes or so. Still, I take a full hour, dragging things out just to not go back home. It's not that I don't want to see Nick, but I'm somehow convinced that he's not there.
He's been out a lot lately, trying to fix things, but always returns empty-handed.
I don't even know what pisses me off more, his inability to play the role of a real man or the countless evenings I spend alone.
Filling a full cart, I head down to the cash register.
This should be around $100.
I say to myself visually assessing my shopping. I never used to do that, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
I try not to think about it too much since I feel like I'm one second away from depression all the time. I just arrange my groceries on the belt thinking about what to make for dinner.
My first thought should have been some low-calorie salad, but somehow I managed to convince myself that the frosted lasagna lying on the belt looks too delicious to freeze for another day. The new recipe sticker got me. Plus, there is this bottle of white wine waiting for me back home... hmm, the evening just began to sound better.
I finish packing everything, throw it in the shopping cart then stretch out my card without putting too much thought into it.
My mind is already at home in a candle lit bathtub sipping on a glass of cheap white wine.
The cashier says something. Not that I can hear her. I just assume is a Have a nice day so I just say a Thank you in return and prepare to get on with my day. I don't realize what is happening or why her eyebrows join into the ugliest frown I’ve ever seen.
“It's declined,” she repeats with a disgusted tone, offended that I didn't hear her in the first place.
Suddenly a chilly coil rushes down on me. I just got paid. There was no way my card would bounce. But then the unknown of the equation pops in the back of my mind, raising question marks on what were the chances the card would really be declined.
“Can you try again please?” I say with a fading smile while looking at the line of people behind me. The embarrassment is real.
The cashier reads right through me but humors me anyway. “Sure. Put your card on the reader again.”
I do as she says although I was pretty much prepared for what the machine would show.
DECLINED
The letters pop on the screen, confirming my darkest thoughts.
“There must be a problem at the bank,” I try to excuse myself though I know exactly where the problem is.
The woman didn't linger until I could make up some other lame excuse, just called for security to cancel the receipt and have someone pick up my bags.
No delicious frozen lasagna tonight. Not even the fucking salad.
I could have paid for those with the $15 I had in my wallet, but I’m not spending another second in this store.
My feet are probably moving just like the Roadrunner as I storm out of the store, my bag in one hand, the phone in the other.
When the hell did he take the money?
With shaking hands, I open the bank app on my phone and see two transactions at an ATM. Two cash withdrawals last night. The transactions pretty much wiped out all of my salary.
The bastard must've deleted my notifications.
I all but scream in the middle of the road. My face is so transfigured by now that everyone around is looking straight at me.
I’m giving a new definition to embarrassment, especially since I can recognize in my new group of spectators a few of the faces belonging to those who were in line behind me. My throat suddenly feels like someone wrapped their hands around it. And not in the way I would enjoy it. It feels like I'm out of air.
I need to get out of here. Thank God for working in a gas station, otherwise I would probably be forced to push the car back home.
The door to my apartment practically flies open as I unleash the most dangerous kind of wild beast there is. I’m prepared to rip Nick's head off for this little stunt, but exactly as I anticipated, he isn’t here. Dumb fucker!
There's not much I can do except make myself coffee number five of the day and prepare for a really long night.
My appetite is ruined, not that I have anything to eat anyway. As if that doesn't get me frustrated enough, I make another mistake and pick up the mail. The number of overdue envelopes instantly overwhelms me as I realize he didn't pay a single fucking bill for at least two months.
I'm hyperventilating, seconds away from starting to breathe in a paper bag when I hear the front door open. The bastard is home a lot earlier than I was expecting him. That's good. It doesn't give me time to calm down and soften up on him.
I want to be civilized and get him backed up into a corner in a more diplomatic way, but a vase sitting alone on the kitchen counter seems like it's waving at me. Maybe if it had flowers, I would have just left it there. But my vases never have fucking flowers, therefore I consider myself entitled to make a missile out of it.
Dashing through the air, it passes right by Nick's head and smashes on the wall.
What a waste of perfectly good glass , I exhale, disappointed that I missed my target.
“Babe. I can explain.” He makes a shield out of his hands, trying to protect his face from my wrath or whatever other flying objects.
I could kill him in these moments even if that means going to jail and spending the rest of my life in a cramped cell with a woman that I would end up calling Hubby. Come to think about it, they’ll probably not even arrest me. More like give me an award for cleaning the world of this piece of trash.
“Babe. Calm down,” he says, trying to come close to me, but knows better than to venture straight into a hurricane.
My blood is literally boiling. “How can I calm down when you stole all my money?” I stamp my feet, screaming so loud that our neighbors will probably call the police.
I need to calm down. Being dragged to the station is the last thing I need right now.
“You’re perfectly entitled to be upset, but would you please listen to me for a second?” Nick has a special talent. He knows exactly when to keep himself toned down or even shut up. If we’re having an argument about what we are watching on TV, he’s ruthless and never gives up. But when he knows he’s fucked things up, he becomes this lost little lamb that I always end up feeling sorry for.
Though this time I won’t work with me. “You took the fucking money and then deleted the bank notifications on my phone.” I was a living steaming dragon.
“I only deleted them so that you wouldn’t get upset,” he comes up with the worst possible excuse in the history of worst excuses.
“You made a fucking fool out of me in the supermarket. How’s that supposed to not upset me?” I am one drawer away from picking out the knives and trying my circus knife-throwing act at him. But the smug expression on his face tells me he might be onto something. Not that I will give in that easily. I just let him come closer to me, while he’s still under the impression that he took me by surprise.
Let’s hear him out.
“Listen to me for five seconds, then you can throw even the couch at me if you want. I just returned from Vegas.”
“Vegas!” I mutter, already having a hunch that that’s where he lost all my money.
This isn’t the first time he has gone to Vegas. He does it on a regular basis even if it’s a seven-hour drive from Elko. He claims he’s going there on business, but he always returns empty-handed and empty-pocketed after he stumbles on some blackjack or poker table.
This better not be the case because I will rip his heart out and feed it to the damn coyotes.
“Babe, we’ve made it!” he exclaims like he just won the jackpot.
Hold on... maybe he really won the jackpot.
Turns out it’s a very different kind of jackpot.
I barely control myself not to go at him for a few minutes. Not that I’m succeeding. I’m just lowering my voice. “Fucking hell, Nick. What did you do this time?”
“You’re going to kiss me after you hear me out.” He catches me between his arms, trying to seduce me like our dispute is already settled.
I push him back. I need my space, especially since I'm so eager to hear his story this time around.
Maybe he’s finally onto something.
I give myself hope as he decides to let me in on his plan to get back our lives.
“I met a man,” he says so proudly that you would expect that man he met to be the president.
Maybe he is—the president of Hell.
Nick continues. “His name is Seth Malvagio. He’s our ticket out of this shit.”