Gray Cap’s fingers flex on the gun, eyes dart down, then up to me again. “And you’ll just come willingly?”
“If given the choice between dead right now and maybe dead later, I’m gonna choose the latter. Especially because your little robbery here has totally screwed up my summer plans.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Please, do you think that money I brought in was really for an animal shelter?” I ask, the derision heavy in my voice. “Do I seem like the kind of girl who would spend her summer raising money for Mr. Mittens?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“The guy in there? The one I was with? His dad is rich,” I say. “And his dad is sloppy when it comes to closing his safe, and now you’re fucking up my summer con. I just needed to pull a few more jobs, and I was finally getting the hell out of here and away from my aunt who I’ve been stuck with since the whole thing with Raymond. The ‘animal shelter money’ was part of that, and now it’s gonna get confiscated as evidence when all this is done and your partner has inevitably messed something up and gotten you shot or arrested.” I roll my eyes, the mix of annoyed teenage girl and con swirling around my brain. I’m not Ashley right now. Ashley had been . . . well, Ashley had been scared. And she had been a little broken.
Then she got violent.
I don’t know who this girl is. （Is this me? I banish the thought as soon as it comes.）
“So I messed up your con?” he asks, his voice dripping with condescension, and I know I was right.
He’s like Raymond. The patriarchal type. He likes brats. He likes smart mouths.
He likes to shut them. He likes to make them bleed and break. And I may end up bloody by the end of this, but I won’t break.
He’s just another mark. And I survived all the other marks. I’ll survive him. I tell myself this, right here, right now. I make a vow, because every second I’m alone with him, the more dangerous it gets.
“Yeah, you messed up my con,” I say. “You could at least say sorry,” I grumble, when he lets out a short laugh.
“The guy with the gun never has to say sorry,” he says, and my teeth clench as he swings it forward. Remember who’s in charge.
He may be in charge, but I’m going to end up being the one in control. It’s the only way out.
“So what’s in the safe-deposit box?” I ask. “It’s either good enough to pair up with that genius in the red cap in there”—another twitch of his mouth—“or you’re desperate enough to go with the worst of the worst of our criminal element. And I don’t mean that in a good way.”
“I think it’s time you stopped talking.”
“I’ve been in the basement before,” I say, pushing it. I need to seed my path for the thorns to grow. “If I were you, I’d trade the best hostage you’ve got for a welding kit and start melting off those bars. Pry open whatever box you’re looking for. Then you’ll be good. Well. Better.”
“Let me guess: The best hostage is you,” he sneers.
“God, no,” I say, and it’s the total truth when I continue. “I’m worth something. That’s why you shouldn’t shoot me. Your best hostage is the kid.” Another truth, but not in the way he thinks. “She’s all tiny and scared and stuff. If you trade her for the welding equipment, the sheriff will think you’re cooperating, and he’ll give you what you want because they figure you can’t get out of here. It buys them time for SWAT to show up because they’ve got maybe six guys out there: Budget cuts have totally gutted the sheriff’s department.”
“Keeping track of local law enforcement?”
“Aren’t you?” Another incredulous, snotty look. He’s going to want to put me in my place. Just one more push.
But before I can goad him any more, his eyes flick over my shoulder and I tense up. Footsteps. Red Cap is back.
“The girl in the dress is saying she’ll throw up on me if I don’t tell her what’s going on,” he complains to Gray Cap. “She keeps heaving. I think she’s gonna do it.”
Iris Moulton is a goddamn gift to the world, let me tell you. She totally will do it.
“Are you kidding me?”
“I have a thing about vomit!” he protests.
“Get back to watching them!” Gray Cap snaps, but then he lets out a frustrated breath and tucks his gun away and grabs my arm. I trot after him so he doesn’t drag me again, because he’s got six inches on me, plus the kind of muscle and personality you get when you’re ’roiding. He snarls something at Red Cap as he yanks me past. I think it’s Fucking moron, but I’m focused on him and his threadbare control.