Chapter 47 Bellamy #2
The door slams with the weight of a bank vault, swallowing us in darkness broken only by small domes of light from the lights on the side walls.
My nostrils flare at the tang of metal and heat and money.
The door thuds shut behind us with a pressurized whoosh that makes my ears pop, wrapping us in a cocoon where outside sounds become distant echoes.
I steady myself against the wall as the floor beneath my boots trembles in rhythm with the engine's growl.
With each sharp turn, plastic clicks against plastic—red and blue casino chips sliding in their metal bins, tapping out a staccato rhythm that makes Cruz's lips twitch upward as if they're telling inside jokes.
Cruz's breathing comes fast and shallow beside me, matching the rhythm of my own.
His mask dangles from his fingers, sweat glistening on his temples in the dim light.
His eyes meet mine, wide and electric, before his face cracks open in a grin that starts small, then spreads until he's shaking with it.
“Holy shit, Bells. Holy fucking shit. We actually fucking did it.”
A bark of laughter escapes me before I can stop it, my fingers digging into Cruz's forearm hard enough to leave half-moons.
My pulse hammers in my throat, behind my eyes, at my temples—a drumbeat of still alive, still alive.
The truck lurches around a curve, and I stumble against him, both of us vibrating like live wires.
“Yeah,” I manage, my voice catching on the single syllable.
I slam my palm against the wall as the truck lurches sideways, my boots sliding on the metal floor. The vibration travels up my arm, electric and sharp, and my lips twitch upward before I can school my expression.
“Don't jinx us,” I tell him, flicking his shoulder. “The universe has ears.”
His grin splits wider, teeth flashing in the dim light. A bead of sweat tracks down his temple as he leans forward, pupils blown wide, that unmistakable post-heist flush creeping up his neck—the look of someone who just outran death and can't believe their luck.
Gage opens the little window from the cab to the back, and cool air flows instantly. “How’s my favorite stowaway?”
“So good, brother. Thanks for asking,” Cruz says, flashing me a wink.
Gage laughs. “You fuckin’ wish, man.”
Cruz presses his palm to his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, man.”
“Somehow you’ll get over it,” Gage says, sarcasm dripping from his words. “You good, Bell?” He tilts his face to the side, but he can’t see me unless he turns around.
I carefully take a few steps until I’m right by the little window, kneeling on a small bench. “Don’t worry about me, Gage. You just keep your eyes on the road. I’ll keep Cruz in line.”
“Hey, I heard that,” Cruz protests from behind me.
I bite the inside of my lip, rolling my eyes and pushing back from the window. “You were supposed to.”
Static hisses through the earpiece. Beck’s voice comes through, distracted but clear. “Sixty-five percent. The program is moving faster than planned.”
Cruz whoops, pumping a fist against the wall and unmuting his line. “You beautiful nerd.”
“Thanks?” Beck asks, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
My lungs expand so fast it almost hurts, oxygen flooding my bloodstream like a drug. My fingertips tingle. The truck's vibrations travel through the metal wall into my spine, each bump in the road sending electric currents to my extremities.
I lean back, my lips stretching so wide my cheeks ache, and for three perfect heartbeats, I can feel every cell in my body humming.
I slide down onto one of the reinforced benches. My fingertips tingle against the cool metal edge. Cruz drops beside me, his leg bouncing double-time against the floor, shoulder knocking into mine with each vibration.
“Tell me you feel it, Bells.” His whisper cuts through the hum of the engine, pupils still blown wide.
I look at him, watch his fingers drum invisible piano keys against his thigh.
“That buzz. Like—like the air's humming.”
The corners of my mouth lift without permission. My skin prickles with awareness.
This is it.
The knife’s edge, when you’re balancing and laughing at gravity for not pulling you under yet. The world feels thin as tissue paper, translucent and fragile. Everything seems possible, inevitable even.
My heartbeat slows to a single, suspended pulse.
The air tastes metallic on my tongue. I'm floating six inches above my own body, watching myself smile with a mouth that belongs to someone braver.
Cruz's laugh echoes like it's traveling through water.
Light fractures around the edges of everything—the truck's interior breaking into prisms, time stretching like taffy between my fingers. I could reach out and touch tomorrow.
He slings an arm across my shoulders, pulling me into him. “We make a fucking excellent team, Bells.”
His words hit me like a shot of whiskey—warm, then burning.
My leg bounces faster against the metal floor.
Before I know it, I'm standing, pacing the three steps the narrow truck allows, my boots echoing hollow thuds.
I reach for my phone, thumb sliding across the screen to unmute, needing to do something.
“Five, update?”
“Seventy-nine,” Beck replies.
“Six? All good?” I press, the nervous energy thrumming under my skin.
“Clear skies,” Lola says.
Air rushes from my lungs in a single gust. My thumb finds the mute button, pressing hard enough to leave a smudge.
“Almost there,” Gage calls from the cab.
Almost.
Something bubbles up my throat—a sound like broken glass, high and jagged—echoing off the metal walls before I can trap it behind my teeth.
Cruz's eyebrows shoot up, his head tilting to the left. “What?”
“I—” The words evaporate. My feet move before my brain catches up.
My fingers find the worn cotton of his hoodie, bunching the fabric as I pull him to his feet and collide with his chest. His arms lock around my waist, lifting until my toes barely brush the ground.
The truck vibrates through us as he spins, my hair catching in the stubble along his jaw.
“Fuck. We’re almost there,” I whisper, my lips brushing the pulse point at his neck.
“I can’t believe you doubted us.” His breath warms my ear, and his fingers press into the small of my back, steady and sure.
My heartbeat slows to match the rhythm of the road. The desert stretches out before us, endless and unforgiving. Cruz's eyes catch mine, green flecks dancing in the brown.
The world fractures into crystal-sharp clarity. Every heartbeat stretches into infinity.
And then the floor rips away beneath us, metal shrieking as it bends and tears.
My stomach slams into my throat. Cruz's fingers dig into my arm hard enough to bruise as we're wrenched sideways.
And then we're tumbling through chaos, a hurricane of glass and metal and blood-curdling screams I don't recognize as my own.