9. Aleksandras
T he clock on the wall ticks louder than usual, booming in my ears. I can feel every passing second as it drags by. I’m caught in a time warp. I spent four years in prison, and time slows down to a snail’s pace when you live the same day on repeat.
That does something to the human mind. It tricks the brain into believing that time is infinite and of no importance. But the last few days have made me feel the true length of time again. Even with the slow ticking of the clock, anxiety can creep into every millisecond, accelerating its journey, fueling it to speed by. It moves so fast it feels like there isn’t even a moment to think, to breathe.
That’s how I feel right now, like I’m running against a ticking time-bomb, and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it. I have no idea what to do. I’m right back to square one. No access to the house. No way to find the rest of the files.
I take a breath and force myself to calm down. I have a few more days to figure out a plan. There’s too much at stake, and I can’t fail. It’s the only way to keep Katelyn safe.
Despite what I told her yesterday afternoon, that’s my number one priority, which is why I said what I said.
I lean back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince myself that I did the right thing, that the fucked up shit I said to her was necessary. I wasn’t lying. She is a target, and I only got into this mess for the money, but I took it to an extreme. And I needed to.
There was no believable lie that would explain why I was at her house last Tuesday, but the whole truth would’ve put her in Victor’s crosshairs, and that’s a risk I couldn’t take.
But fuck, the look in her eyes when I told her she was an easy target, when I said it was all for money...
It’s still haunting me. She didn’t cry, didn’t yell. She just shut down. The light went out of her eyes, and it felt like I’d stomped out the only good thing in my life.
My phone buzzes on the table, pulling me out of my thoughts. I grab it and glance at the screen, a notification from my bank flashing.
Dear Customer,
We are writing to inform you of a recent transaction in your account ending in 2876 .
Deposit Amount: $300,000.00
Deposit Type: Incoming Wire Transfer
Sender: V he’s his right hand. Loyal to a fault. The kind of man who doesn’t flinch when ordered to do the unthinkable. We’ve done jobs together before, so I’ve seen him in action. I’ve watched him take out a mark without so much as blinking. Cold. Precise.
He spots me, his steel-gray eyes narrowing. “Well, look who’s here.” His voice is gravelly and laced with amusement. He shakes my hand, then roughly pulls me in for a hug. “Good to see you, Johnny boy.”
“Likewise, Bowman.”
He nods his head toward the van. “You remember Smith, right? And we’ve got a new rookie in the back there, too.”
We say these names like they’re our own, but no one knows the real identity of anyone who works for Victor. We’ve all got our own backstory and an alias, some generic name that’s easily forgotten. Nothing about us is supposed to be unique or draw attention. We are whoever Victor wants us to be.
I look into the back of the van and see a scrawny, young boy, can’t even be over twenty. “He doesn’t have a name yet?”
“Not yet. He’s still learning the ropes.”
I nod. “So, Vic sent three of you for one girl?”
“Says he can’t risk any mistakes,” he replies with a shrug. “Besides, I figured it’d be good for the rookie to learn from the pros.”
Smith leans out from the driver’s seat, his skinny frame a contrast to Bowman’s bulk. He’s got the same smirk he always has, the one that makes you want to punch him just to wipe it off his face. “Thought you were out, Turner.”
Hearing him call me that solidifies every bad decision I’ve made. I promised myself that I was done being John Turner. He was cold and callous and that wasn’t the type of person I wanted to be. I wanted to ground myself in who I really was, which is why I gave Katie my real name in the first place.
But all that’s gone to shit now. John Turner is back, and he’s about to take an innocent young woman against her will. I’ve done a lot of awful things in my life. I’ve broken into houses, stolen cars, robbed jewelry stores, and I threw a punch at any poor son of a bitch who tried to stop me. But never did I think I was capable of kidnapping. How the fuck did I get caught up in this shit again?
Bowman steps closer, towering over me. “Victor said you weren’t interested in getting your hands dirty, so why are you here?”
“Vic only paid me half,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Job’s not done until it’s done. I want my full cut.”
“Always chasing the quick buck, huh, John?” Bowman grins, handing me a gun and a black ski mask.
I’m not sure why guns are necessary. She’s a defenseless woman.
“You’ve been in there,” he continues. “You wanna take us through it...for old time’s sake? That was always your area of expertise.”
I try not to sneer. Planning the heist was always my job because I was meticulous. I studied every detail of the target, could identify every weakness, and developed a plan right down to the T to make sure the job was done efficiently.
I hate that I’m slipping back into this, and worse than that, I hate that the transition is so easy. “Bowman, you take the back in case she tries to escape that way. There are cameras all along the side and around the back. If any of them pick up anything suspicious, it sends an alert, and the armed security will be here in three minutes, so you don’t move until we’re in the house. We can buy ourselves some time that way.”
I look over at the rookie in the back. He’s just a kid, barely old enough to shave, and he reminds me so much of my younger self. He has no idea how badly this world is going to corrupt him.
“Rookie,” I say, “you and I will take the front. There’s a camera right at the door, so as soon as we get in, we have three minutes to find her and get the fuck out.”
He nods, looking nervous, and his wide-eyed expression tells me he’s in way over his head.
“Wait. You’re going in?” Smith teases playfully. “You always drive the getaway car. We can swap.”
There’s no way I’m letting any of them touch her, which is why the rookie’s coming in with me and not Bowman.
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Alright, does everyone understand the plan?” Bowman asks. The other men nod and then he claps a hand on my shoulder, his grip like a vice. “Good. Let’s get this done.”
“Yeah.”
I let out a loaded breath, then hook the gun onto the back of my jeans and pull on the black ski mask.