39. Bindi #2
Cassidy is watching me closely; I can feel his gaze.
He’s quiet for once, letting me think, but I can sense him vibrating with anticipation.
He needs me on board. He needs me. That realization settles heavily in my chest. Cassidy may act tough and self-assured, but I know, deep down, I’m his anchor.
If I refuse outright, I don’t doubt he’d try to rob the bank alone, and that would almost certainly be a disaster.
At least together, maybe we stand a chance of pulling this off and getting out alive.
My hands are clammy. I wipe them on my jeans and take a long, shaky breath.
“Okay . . .” I begin slowly, and I see Cassidy’s eyes flash with triumph before I even finish the sentence.
I hold up a finger to temper him. “Okay, if we even consider doing this, we do it smart—we minimize risks. The second it looks bad, we abort. And if I agree to help plan it tonight, that doesn’t mean I won’t change my mind if I don’t like what I see at that bank. Got it?”
He nods eagerly, but there’s a confidence in that nod that tells me he’s already certain I won’t back out. “Got it. Whatever you need to feel safe, we’ll do that.”
I almost laugh, because safe? There’s no feeling safe about any of this.
But I push that thought aside and focus on practical matters, if only to calm my racing heart.
“First . . . ground rules. We get in and out fast. No one gets hurt. You see anyone even twitch funny—like they might pull a gun or hit an alarm—we’re out of there, empty-handed or not. Promise me, Cassidy.”
“I promise,” he says without hesitation, and I know he means it, right now at least. Whether that holds true in the moment, adrenaline surging, is another story. But it’s the best I can ask for.
“What about masks, disguises? This place might have cameras. We can’t just walk in bare-faced.”
He nods. “We’ve got bandanas and sunglasses. That should cover enough. It’s not like they’ll have top-notch footage, anyway. We’ll be in and out.”
I frown. “Bandanas and sunglasses? That’s it?” It feels thin. “Maybe we can pick up a couple of cheap baseball caps or something in town, too—change our look.”
“Good idea,” Cassidy agrees as he pulls off his riding gloves and stuffs them in his pocket then fishes out his own wallet to check its contents.
I know there’s nothing much in there—maybe a fake ID or two, a few bucks.
Still, he pats it as if confirming he has what he needs.
“We passed a thrift store on Main Street on the way in,” he adds.
“They might have some old coats or hats we can use, make us look different. We can hit that when it opens, before the bank.”
Cassidy crosses to the small table by the window, grabs the motel’s notepad and a pencil.
He sketches a crude layout as he speaks.
“Front door, here . . . Counter, likely over there . . . Safe, in the back maybe . . . Windows along the side street we can look through . . . It’s next to that pharmacy, so the alley might be a good place to park the car. ”
I join him at the table, looking down at his sketch. His handwriting is messy, lines smudged from the dull pencil, but I can follow it. I saw the bank building too as we rode in—it was a squat brick building, only a couple of stories, with a faded sign.
“I think there was only one front door, no side entrance. So we have to go out the same way we go in. That’s a bottleneck.”
Cassidy taps the pencil. “True, but also easier to cover with one of us watching while the other grabs the cash. Door, teller, then door again.”
“Parking in the alley out back could work,” I allow. “Fewer eyes than on Main Street. But if we run out the front, we’d have to round the corner to the alley where the car is. That’s a blind spot for a getaway . . . what if a cop happens to be nearby on Main and sees us? Or someone on the street?”
Cassidy drums his fingers, thinking. “We could park right out front, but then a witness could note the make or plates . . . Actually—” He pauses. “Maybe the front is okay if we switch plates.”
I give him a look. How many steps is he willing to do ? But he’s still rambling. “Nah, too much. Let’s stick to the alley. We’ll just have to be quick around that corner. This town’s small, odds are low a cop will be there at that exact second. And once we’re in the car, we’ll be out of sight.”
I exhale slowly. My eyes wander to the dark window. Beyond the thin curtain I can see the outline of the neon sign and, beyond it, the faint shapes of other buildings down the road in town. It’s quiet out there, peaceful, in that lonely small-town night way.
A sudden wave of anxiety hits me, and I have to grip the back of the chair to steady myself.
What are we doing? My mind screams that this is a terrible idea, that we should just turn around and ride away into the dawn, figure something else out.
But then I glance over at Cassidy. I recognize that look—it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it—hope. Twisted up in mania, but still hope.
My chest tightens. I can’t be the one to snuff that out—not yet. Not unless I’m sure it’s doomed. He saved me from my hopelessness once; can I save him from his? Or at least ride it out with him to the end of this crazy road?
I step closer and rest a hand on his back. The muscles are tense beneath my palm. He glances at me, eyes searching mine. I manage a small smile, though my stomach is a tangled knot. “All right,” I say softly.
His face breaks into that reckless grin again. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go stake it out for a bit,” he says with a playful salute. In his excitement, some of Cassidy’s old swagger returns, and despite myself, I feel a tiny flutter of warmth in my chest. God, he can be charming when he wants to be, even when proposing grand larceny.
I roll my eyes, trying to hide my nerves. “Just . . . be cool, okay? We’re just looking tonight. No breaking in or anything stupid.”
He holds up his hands innocently, though a devilish smirk plays on his lips. “Just looking, promise.”
The night air is cool on my face, refreshing after the stuffy motel room.
Overhead, the sky is moonless and sprinkled with stars.
The town is mostly dark; the only real light comes from the strip of neon signs along the main road and a few street lamps.
Our bike is one of only a few vehicles in the lot.
Cassidy slides behind the wheel of Anthony’s Charger and I slide into the passenger seat. The main street is deserted. We pass shuttered shops—hardware, thrift store, a diner with its sign off for the night.
Cassidy doesn’t pull up in front. Instead, he cruises past casually and turns down the next side street.
From there, he circles around the block so we can come to the bank from the back side.
He finally parks in an alley one over from the bank’s own alley, hidden among shadows between a closed grocery store and an auto shop. We both hop out of the car.
He nods toward the far end of the alley. “We’ll go on foot from here. Easier to look without being noticed.”
I tug my jacket tighter and follow as he leads the way through the gloom. My heart is already pounding again. We’re not even doing anything illegal yet, just looking, but it feels illicit, creeping around in the dark by a bank.
We slip through a narrow gap between two buildings and emerge in the bank’s rear alley.
It’s empty—just a single street lamp humming, dumpsters, and a back door to the bank that likely leads to offices, or where they load money deliveries.
I scan for any security cameras. There—one above the back door, pointed at the alley.
I tap Cassidy’s arm and point. He nods, making a mental note.
Sticking to the shadows, we approach the bank’s side. The building has a few small windows along this alley, with frosted glass so you can’t see clearly in.
We creep around to the front, which faces the main street. There are a couple of steps leading to the front entrance, which is a glass door with a metal frame. A tall window spans the front of the bank, but inside it’s dark.
Cassidy peeks through the front door’s window, shading the glare of the street lamp with his hand. I do the same at the big front window, cupping my hands around my face to see inside. It’s dimly lit by a single night-light; I can make out shapes of desks and a counter. No movement, no people.
“See anything?” I whisper.
He squints. “Teller counter along the left. Lobby’s small—couple chairs, pamphlets. Doesn’t look like there’s an alarm panel by the door, but hard to tell in the dark. ”
I gently try the front door for the hell of it—locked, naturally. A small sign on it reads:
Hours: Mon–Fri 9am–4pm
Cassidy points to a corner of the ceiling inside, visible through the window. There’s a camera dome there, and probably another covering the counter area. This is a bank, after all, however small. I sigh. We’ll definitely need those disguises.
We step back onto the sidewalk. Cassidy’s eyes are shining. He looks like he’s buzzing from just peeking in. “Told you,” he murmurs. “This will be cake.”
I frown at his overconfidence but keep my voice down. “They might have a silent alarm system wired. Most banks do.”
He shrugs. “Even if they do, that just means we have to be out before anyone can respond. In a tiny place like this, how fast can the cops really get here? Five minutes? We’ll be done in two.”
I shift on my feet, scanning the street again.
A lone car appears in the distance, headlights sweeping the road.
Instinctively, I tug Cassidy back into the shadow by the building.
I hold my breath, half expecting them to slow down after seeing two figures lurking at the bank, but the truck continues on, oblivious.
My heart, which had leaped into my throat, gradually settles. Cassidy, however, just grins like this is all a game. I grab his arm firmly. “We’ve looked. Let’s go,” I urge.
He resists a second, wanting to soak it in more, but then nods. “Okay. Let’s head back.” On the way, he detours to the small lot on the side of the bank. There are three parking spots marked by the bank—empty now. He’s likely picturing where to park the car. I tug him again, harder.
“Cassidy, now,” I hiss. The longer we stay, the more my nerves jangle.
Finally, he relents and we slip back into the narrow gap between buildings and out to where we left the car.
Only when we’re in the car again, roaring back toward the motel, do I release the breath I’d been holding.
Casing the bank is done. And it was frighteningly easy to walk right up to it in the dark, to imagine how it will go down.
Too easy, a little voice in my head warns. Something has to go wrong. It always does.
We pull the Charger into a dark corner of the lot, well away from the other vehicles. Cassidy parks nose-in near a patch of overgrown hedges, shielding the plates. He’s already making mental notes on how to switch them out tomorrow.
Back in the room, I lock and chain the door behind us. My hands are trembling again, and I’m glad Cassidy is too preoccupied to notice. He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he tosses the notepad onto the bed and grabs a pen from the nightstand to scribble more notes.
“That alley camera . . . probably feeds to a recorder inside. If we go out the front quick, maybe they won’t get a good look at us?—”
He continues, half talking to me, half to himself. I let him monologue as I take off my boots. My body is exhausted, but my mind refuses to slow down. I feel like I drank ten cups of coffee; my heart won’t stop racing.
What are we really about to do? The weight of it presses on me.
Robbing that place will change everything.
If we succeed, we’ll have money and maybe a chance.
But if we fail, it’s over. Fear twists in my gut and I glance at Cassidy.
He’s scribbling furiously now, eyes lit up with plans and contingencies.
He catches my gaze and finally pauses. “You okay?” he asks, as if just realizing I’ve gone quiet.
I force a tight smile. “Just a lot to take in.”
He drops the pen and moves toward me. Gently, he places his hands on my shoulders, then runs them down my arms in a soothing gesture. This time I don’t pull away; I let him hold me .
“I know it’s a lot,” he says softly. “You’re the sensible one when it comes to these things. The brakes to my gas pedal.” He offers a crooked smile. “I need that. But . . . I really think we can do this, Bindi. We have to.”
His touch and earnest tone melt some of my defenses. I lean into him, resting my forehead against his chest. “Promise me again,” I whisper, not moving. “No one gets hurt. We just get the money and go.”
He wraps his arms around me, holding me close. I feel him nod against my hair. “No one gets hurt. I promise.”
Cassidy tilts my chin up gently. I open my eyes to meet his gaze as he leans down and presses a tender kiss to my lips.
I kiss him back, because in this moment, what else can I do? It’s not a passionate kiss, but understanding. We are in this together, whatever “this” turns out to be.
When we part, he brushes his thumb across my cheek. “We should try to get some rest,” he murmurs. “Big day tomorrow.” He says it with a hint of excitement, like it’s Christmas or something. I huff a laugh at that, shaking my head.
“Sure. I’ll just close my eyes and dream of felonies.”
Cassidy shrugs off his jacket and tosses it across the chair, then drops onto the bed. He exhales sharply through his nose, eyes already falling half-lidded. The adrenaline’s fading from him in waves.
He scoots over, hand slapping the mattress beside him in a wordless get over here .
I hesitate, just a beat, then peel out of my jeans and unzip my jacket. My shirt clings to me slightly from the heat of the day, and I toss both onto the dresser chair before crawling in beside him.
He doesn’t just wrap an arm around me. He pulls me flush—every inch of me locked to his chest, like he’s trying to mold our bones together. One leg slides over both of mine. His nose nudges behind my ear like he needs to inhale me to sleep. His hand splayed against my stomach, firm and possessive.
“You feel safer like this?” I murmur, just to poke at him.
“I feel like I’ll die if you’re not in my arms.”
I let out a breath, unsure if I’m amused or terrified by how honest that sounded. He doesn’t move, just buries his face deeper into the crook of my neck and breathes me in. “I mean it. Don’t care where we are, just need you right here. Right now. Always.”