8
My gun was still aimed at Murphy when we heard it—the thwop-thwop-thwop of the FBI chopper above, blades slicing the air like a buzzsaw.
The big Fresno bank, our supposed path to freedom, was now our prison.
“No one outruns the helicopter . . .” Murphy goaded.
“This is the FBI.” A bullhorn blared through the windows. “You’re surrounded. Please put down your weapons and exit the building with your hands up.”
“I’m sorry,” Cole said to Ricky, both of them still in the vault. Even with a gun pointed at him, Cole somehow felt genuine compassion.
“We’re bank robbers, Ricky. We can’t have a baby,” Sónia said. She could tell Ricky was struggling, so she continued slowly. “Put the gun down . . . We can all go our separate ways . . . It’s not too late . . .”
Bang.
Sónia dropped dead on the floor. Ricky grabbed a saddlebag of cash.
“Walk!” he ordered Cole, pointing his gun at him, unknowingly entering into a Mexican standoff when they reached the lobby.
“Stop right there!” Murphy yelled, still believing he had control over the situation.
“What are you going to do now, Ricky?” Cole asked. “Is this what you wanted? Guns, guns, guns . . .”
The whole standoff was being observed by snipers. Confusing Cole as a hostage, they radioed the situation back to Lennox.
“Take the shot!” Lennox ordered.
A sniper bullet broke through the window above, the glass deflecting it enough off course to hit Cole, instead of Ricky, setting off a chain reaction of gunfire.
When it was all over, Murphy and Ricky lay dead on the floor, Cole wounded but trying to stand up.
Emily and I rushed to him, dragging him out of the sniper’s sights, before freeing his hands.
“This is why we don’t break rule number one . . .” Cole grimaced. “Go get the rest of the money out of the vault . . . It’s time for plan E . . . hurry!”
Emily and I left Cole, only to discover Chief in a pool of blood, miraculously still alive, having zip-tied above his bullet wound.
“Well, look at that . . . The lovebirds survived . . .” Chief muttered.
“Shit . . . We’re going to get you out of here.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he replied in pain as Emily attended to him. “What’s the point? They’re going to have to cut off my leg, once they remove this tourniquet.”
“What’s plan E? Cole said it’s time for plan E? I was only told plan A, B, and C?!”
“Plan E?” He smiled a sad smile. “Plan E stands for explode. Grab the charges out of my bag . . . Set them on the wall behind the desk in the manager’s office—” Chief abruptly paused, frozen by a flash of pain.
“Remember the style of charges I taught you how to make in the desert?” He continued, slowly, in between breaths, “That should be enough. Bust a hole through the wall, and we’ll be able to escape through the parking garage next door. Get me to my feet. I’ll set the diversion charges.”
We helped Chief onto a saddlebag, Emily rolling him to the lobby, while I grabbed a handful of charges and began struggling to set them. I finished with little certainty, just as Emily clipped the final saddlebag onto our bikes.
“Well, old fella,” Cole said sarcastically, “you ready to ride?”
“Not this time . . . not this time . . .” Chief replied.
“Come out with your hands up!” Lennox’s voice blared one more time.
Like a man possessed, Chief’s bones straightened. After grabbing the leftover charges out of my hands, he limped his way toward the front door.
“No! It’s not worth it!” Cole yelled.
“Just go . . .” said Chief, throwing his leg over the Hayabusa one more time.
Without looking back, he rode the bike outside, revved it loud—much to the confusion of the law enforcement watching—calmly got off, and opened fire.
Glass shattered. Bullets pinged steel and stone.
One last stand for the old soldier to cover our exit.
Then, with his magazines spent, and facing insurmountable odds, he detonated his charges, sending the law enforcement into a frenzy.
By some strange grace, his charges went off at the same time as ours.
Cole was in no shape to ride, so I put him on my bike, and we followed Emily out the manager’s office and into the parking garage, our bikes quickly merging into the crowd of bikers that swarmed the street to get a view of the action.
The only person who seemed to notice was Lennox.
“There they are! Tell the chopper to engage!” he commanded.
“Air support has been called off to assist with the previous explosion, sir!”
Without skipping a beat, Lennox snatched the goggles off one of the Swat team’s heads, ran to the Hayabusa, then launched after us. With Cole on my back, I focused to do my best riding, swerving through oncoming traffic, our extremities narrowly avoiding vehicles left and right.
But the Hayabusa still screamed behind us, my rearview mirrors failing to hide the truth that Lennox was closing the gap between us—his frame hunched low over the tank, knees tucked, pistol out.
“He’s on Chief’s bike,” Cole said. “We can’t outrun that.”
“We don’t have to,” came Emily’s voice over the comms. Calm. Clear.
“What?”
“We split,” she said. “Make him choose.”
“No,” I barked. “We stick together.”
“We won’t outrun him like this.”
I glanced sideways—Emily’s visor turned to me.
“Let me draw him,” she said.
“No! Wait!” I cried, the panic in my voice born out of my need to get her to the airstrip.
She veered right, braking hard as if to offer herself to fate. Lennox did hesitate. But only for a second.
He was coming after us, racking the throttle with a vengeance marked by the sound of gunfire.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
My left rearview shattered in a puff of glass. Without hesitation, Cole shouldered his rifle and fired back, but Lennox’s riding was too cunning to land a shot.
“He’s not backing off!” Cole shouted.
Up ahead, the road narrowed—construction cones, fencing, a mess of orange and rebar. We dipped through it like my old race days. Knees scraping concrete. Sparks flying. Every red light and stop sign only a suggestion. Lennox stayed locked in. No fear. No brakes. Waiting for a mistake.
We blew out to an old highway forgotten by time, spraying gravel, barely upright. A hard left, and then—the foreboding berm of railroad tracks, raised and rocky, blocking our escape.
A hard right.
The railroad crossing up ahead, our only chance, but already with red lights flashing and arms dropping.
A freight train, sixty cars deep, fast and loud, barreling our way to close the gap.
Cole saw it, shouted something I couldn’t hear.
But I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
We were out of options.
I leaned in. “We’re going through!”
“Billy—Billy—Wait! Be careful—”
Throttle wide open. I felt the engine cry, the RPM needle pegged, every part of the bike vibrating under me. The gap between the crossing arm and the train narrowed like a closing throat.
Lennox knew exactly what I was trying to do. Mimicking my moves, he unleashed the Hayabusa like never before.
A split second before the crossing, I smashed down on all my brakes, nearly throwing Cole, riding wobbles into a turn so sharp, the tire marks it left on the worn asphalt the only way anyone would believe it possible.
Then.
The deafening scream of a horn was all we could hear, as the train surged just a breath behind us.
We were through.
And Lennox wasn’t.
Not this time.
Over the bars he went, high-siding into the air. His body smashed and rolled to a stop, his face just inches from the mashing metal wheels of the train. The boxcars blurring his view as he watched us ride off on the other side.
After that, Cole and I didn’t speak. We just rode.
Down back roads to the edge of the city.
The airstrip was calm, but our adrenaline still pounded.
It was high noon. A little white plane already prepped on the tarmac, its nose pointed west. No control tower. Just a hangar. We slowed near the fence line and cut through the back lot, heading for the plane.
For salvation.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about Emily.
Cole pulled his helmet off.
“We made it,” he said, breathless. “We fucking made it.” That’s when I saw them.
Multiple black SUVs rolled forward from the hangar in silence, slow but sure. Blue-and-red lights flashing on top of them, their doors opened in unison. Multiple law enforcement agents assembled around them in a distinct show of force.
We both knew.
We’d been caught.
“You’re the rat?” Cole said, turning to me, his eyes narrowing like he was reading the shape of my soul. “My own brother? Why, Billy?”
“It wasn’t me,” I said, stunned just as much as he was.
“Don’t lie to me!” The anguish in his voice was palpable. “You’re the only one I told about the airstrip!”
And then it clicked.
All of it.
The strange hesitations. The constant questions. The way she warned me. The way she wanted me to run.
It was Emily.
It was Emily all along.
Before I could muster anything to say, the high whine of a superbike split the quiet. A lone headlight curved around the horizon, kicking up dust as it approached.
Emily put it in neutral and coasted to a stop. Helmet off. Hair stuck to her cheek from the ride. Her eyes found mine immediately. No mask. No defense. She looked wrecked. Tired. Not smug. Not villainous. Just . . . done.
Cole clocked the arrival and realized the truth. His hand cocking the slide on his pistol.
I didn’t need her to say it. She knew I already knew. Her voice was low but clear. “They’re forming a second perimeter. Behind the fence line. Armed. They’ll close in soon.” Cole looked between us, for once without a plan.
I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on her, the betrayal gripping me. I thought about all our rides. The little moments we shared. Monument Valley. The pool. Her arms around me. The lies wrapped in heat and breath. Our last night in Vegas. Our bodies intertwined. Everything I thought was real.
“I never meant for it to go this far,” she said. “I never stopped caring.”
“Don’t listen to her, Billy.”
“I was already in too deep . . . But I didn’t give them everything! I told them the wrong bank! I lied—for you, Cole!”
She got off the bike but left it idling.
“I can’t fix it. But you can still get away! Take mine!” she pleaded to Cole.
I didn’t move. Neither did Cole.
“Ride, goddamn it! My bike is loaded with cash! You can still make it!”
“Sónia’s dead! Chief’s dead!” Cole shouted.
“They all knew the risks! I never wanted this!” she screamed. “But I couldn’t pull out—I swear! Once I was in, they had leverage . . . You think I got here clean?”
Anger raised Cole’s gun.
Emily raised her hands in feeble defense. “Don’t. Please. I can fix this. Let me talk to them.”
Cole growled. “You think I give a fuck about fixing this?”
“Cole,” I said softly. “We’re not killers . . .”
“Get on the plane, Billy. We’ll leave her.”
“There is no plane . . .” Emily’s voice cracked. “You don’t have to forgive me. Just don’t get caught. Please. Take the bike.”
Cole looked at the horizon. Then at me. “We have to split. It’s the only way.”
“What about her?”
He glanced at Emily. Eyes hard.
“She made her choice,” Cole said callously. “Promise me. Promise me we’ll meet again.”
“I promise,” I said.
Then he was on the bike. “I love you, Billy. But it’s time to ride.” One last look, and he shot off.
I turned to Emily. She didn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Call me a sucker, but I believed her.
“I know.”
A double tap of my visor, and I was gone too.
In my one remaining rearview, I saw Cole ride straight for the SUVs. Toward the sirens. Toward the trap.
He was pulling attention away from me. He was giving me all he had left to give.
A chance.
That was the last time I looked back.
The throttle pulled me forward like a promise I couldn’t keep. The farmland opened up ahead, endless and quiet and unknowable. The wind peeled the sweat from my neck. My heartbeat in the rhythm of the road.
A gearshift into oblivion.
I was an outlaw now. Just like my brother.
Fast money.
Fast money.
Fast money.
But I knew better.
The faster you go, the harder the crash.