Chapter 35 East
East
The war room is quiet, but it’s the quiet of a coiled snake, not of peace.
The sun is barely up, but the room already feels wired, running on stale coffee and the cold, metallic tang of an impending fight.
The air is thick with it—tension, exhaustion, adrenaline—settling over us like a second skin.
In the center of the long table, under the harsh glare of the single overhead bulb, sits a small, ornate brass key.
It looks insignificant, but it’s the most dangerous weapon we have.
I sit at the table, my fingers tracing the rim of a cold coffee mug, watching my brothers.
Malachi is at the head, his expression a mask of grim focus.
Knox is staring at the blueprints of the Willowridge Bank and Trust, his mind already picking apart its digital defenses.
Nash sits to my right, silent and steady, his gaze fixed on the key.
Kyle stands near the door, his posture rigid, absorbing every word.
“The box is in her name,” Kyle says, asking the question we’ve all considered. “Why don’t we just have her walk in and get it?”
Knox looks up from his screen, a humorless smile on his face.
“Because I already ran a check. The second she ran from that gala, Winston put a full digital lockdown on everything tied to her name. Bank accounts, credit cards, passport, and yes, the safe deposit box. One of his cronies is the manager of that branch. The moment she signs that access slip, an alert goes straight to Winston’s private server.
His guys would be there in five minutes. ”
A cold reality settles over the room. She can’t just walk in. She’d be walking into a trap.
“It’s not that simple anyway,” I say, pushing the key a few inches across the table. “Safety deposit boxes need two keys. Hers,” I tap the brass key, “and the bank’s. A guard key.”
“Which is kept where?” Malachi asks, his gaze fixed on Knox.
Knox types for a moment, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
“In a secondary safe in the branch manager’s office.
A guy named Arthur Peterson.” He pauses, and a slow, predatory grin spreads across his face.
“And according to his digital footprint, Mr. Peterson has a very predictable routine and a wandering eye.”
Malachi’s own lips twitch. He looks at Nash. “Handle it. Get Ruby on the phone.”
Nash pulls out his phone and hits her number, putting it on speaker. A slow, almost imperceptible smirk touches his lips before her voice even comes through. He already knows this is going to be a performance.
She answers on the first ring, her voice a cheerful buzz. “Well, well, well. Sergeant-at-Arms. To what do I owe this very official phone call? Did you finally decide you need a lesson in how to have fun?”
A low chuckle rumbles from Nash’s chest, a rare and surprising sound. “We have a job for you,” he says, his voice a dry counterpoint to her bubbly energy. “A bank manager. Arthur Peterson.”
“Oof, Artie,” she says, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “Greasy. What about him?”
“We need the key to his office safe,” Knox cuts in, all business. “He keeps it on his main keyring. You think you can lift it off him without him noticing?”
There’s a beat of silence, then Ruby lets out a low, wicked laugh that crackles over the phone. “Boys, boys, boys. You want me to get a key from a married man who smells like desperation and bad decisions? Please. Give me a real challenge. Where is he?”
“He’ll be at the country club bar in an hour,” Nash says, the smirk evident in his voice now. “Just get the key. Don’t ruin his life.”
“No promises,” she says, and hangs up.
A wave of relief and admiration washes through the room. “Okay,” Malachi says, his focus snapping back to the blueprints. “Ruby gets us the guard key. That still leaves the entry.”
Knox points to the screen. “The bank’s primary security system does a full reboot every morning at 0400. There’s a seventeen-second window where the motion sensors and the cameras on the ground floor are offline.”
“Seventeen seconds,” Nash states, his voice flat. “That’s an impossibly tight window. One slip, one sticky lock, and the whole place lights up.”
“We don’t need the vault,” I say. “Darla said the box is in a separate room off the main lobby. And she gave us the entry point: a maintenance access panel behind a portrait in the west hallway. It bypasses the lobby door alarm.”
A slow, appreciative smile touches Knox’s lips. “Old money banks. Arrogant. I love it.”
Malachi scrubs a hand over his jaw, his expression grim. “Seventeen seconds is too tight for just a two-man team. We need an ace. We need Arden.”
He pulls out his phone, hits a number, and puts it on speaker. It rings once, twice, then Frankie’s voice, sounding distracted. “What’s up, Malachi? I’m kind of busy.”
“I need Arden,” Malachi says, no preamble. “We have a situation. A tight window. His... skillset... would be invaluable.”
Knox murmurs under his breath, just loud enough for me and Nash to hear. “Yeah, his freaky vampire speed.” I bite back a smirk.
Frankie lets out a long, tired sigh. “Good luck. He’s been… preoccupied… ever since the Holloway bombing. The fallout from Donovan’s death and Alice’s return is consuming him. Calls aren’t exactly being taken.”
“Frankie,” Malachi’s voice is a low, hard command. “It’s for the video. The one that nails Graves.”
A beat of silence. “Shit,” she says, her voice suddenly focused. “Okay. I’ll try. No promises. But I’ll try to get a message to him.” The line clicks dead.
Malachi stares at his phone, his jaw tight. He looks at me and Nash. “We don’t wait. We can’t. The plan stands. Ruby gets the guard key. Knox, you’re on comms. East, you and Nash go in at 0400. Clean and quiet. If Arden shows, it’s a bonus. If not, you do not miss that window.”
The plan is set. The air in the room is thick with the tension of the coming heist.
Knox, however, lets out a long, weary sigh and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay, good. The bank is handled. Now can we please talk about the real problem?”
Malachi raises an eyebrow. “The real problem?”
“Yeah,” Knox grumbles, leaning back in his chair. “That I can’t take a shit in my house without checking the shower for a goddamn clown doll. I’m seeing red balloons in my sleep, Malachi.”
A beat of silence, then Nash speaks, his voice a deadpan monotone. “There was something breathing in my room last night. I think it was a possum. It was watching me.”
The tension in the room doesn’t just break; it shatters. I let out a bark of laughter, and even Malachi cracks a smile.
“You think that’s bad?” Malachi says, a hint of dark humor in his voice. “I’m being haunted by a glittery, pink ghost-child who keeps replacing my toothbrush.”
The room erupts. It’s a pressure valve releasing, a much-needed moment of gallows humor. We’ve been living in a war zone for days—first the gala, then the shipyard, now planning a bank heist. The girls’ ridiculous, chaotic prank war isn’t just an annoyance; it’s a lifeline.
I lean back, a real, easy smile on my face for the first time all morning.
“Gentlemen.” My voice is full of mock seriousness.
“They’ve had their fun. Patience has been key, and our focus remains on the real war.
” My grin turns predatory. “But after we hit this bank tonight... I think it’s time we put Operation: Payback into action. Time to escalate. Properly.”
Knox’s eyes light up. “It’s about damn time.”
“We’re all still good on the plan?” Malachi asks, looking around the table.
“Oh, yeah,” I say, my mind already running through the beautiful, chaotic details. “Candace gets the ‘Baby Shark’ notebook and the ‘Kokomo’ tiki bar.”
Malachi’s grin is pure evil. “I’ve already ordered the inflatable parrots.”
“Knox, the med-supplies stunt worked—Sloane’s closet was a hit—but you still got that clown dummy?” Malachi asks, turning to him.
“It’s in the trunk,” Knox says, satisfied. “Just waiting for its medical emergency moment.”
“And Nash?” I ask. “You ready for the Ruby-whiplash protocol?”
Nash’s smile is slow, cold, and utterly terrifying. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good,” Malachi says. “James, your part is set. East, your… ‘costumes’ are handled?”
I lean forward, dropping my voice conspiratorially. “They’re already in my closet, just waiting for the right moment. She’s going to look good in sequins.”
The room rumbles with fresh laughter. Knox shakes his head, muttering, “You’re a dead man, East.”
“Nah,” I say, leaning back, completely confident. “She’ll love it.”
The plan is set. For the bank, and for the girls. As the meeting breaks, I look at the key on the table, the small piece of brass that holds the key to destroying Winston Graves. Then I think of Darla, and the ridiculous, feathered costume hidden in my closet.
This is our life now. Planning a bank robbery in one breath and a prank war in the next.
And I realize with a gut-deep certainty that this is it.
This is what we’re fighting for. Not just survival.
But for the right to have these stupid, beautiful, chaotic moments.
The right to laugh in the face of the darkness.
It’s what Declan would have wanted. And it’s what I’ll protect with my last breath.