𝗣 𝗬 𝗥 𝗢 𝗠 𝗔 𝗡 𝗜 𝗔 | BOOK THREE

F O R T Y - T W O

[graham eaton]

The metal of the ventilation shaft buckles beneath my feet, creating a slight echoing noise as I desperately try to sneak my way into the bank. I hurry through the cold silver space and quietly push the service door open enough to crawl out and shut it behind me. The hook latches and I hide in a side office about five feet from the service gate. I can hear footsteps approaching the panel. I retrieve my handgun and click the safety off, pulling it close to me. The panel opens with a silent whine noise, then a quick bang as it hits the wall behind it. I step into the hallway, raise my gun, and swallow my pride. Two men stand at the panel, one a tall soldier armed with a gun, the other, a tall burly construction worker, unarmed but surely able to beat anyone he meets. The construction worker turns his head, spotting me.

"Sarge," He whispers, patting the soldier's arm. "Look."

The soldier turns and looks at me, raising his gun in my direction. He fires and I drop to the floor. A loud shattering noise sounds behind me, followed by a picture frame colliding with the ground. Thank God he missed. The Soldier approaches me, eyebrows furrowed.

"Don't get up. Stay there." He whispers. "I've been given orders to kill anyone I see up here."

I stand, raising my gun to him. He presses the barrel to my forehead and I frown.

"What if I told you that I'm here to save everyone in this bank?" I ask. "I'm not with the Cops. I'm all on my own."

He furrows his brows again and removes the barrel from my head.

"How do you plan on doing that? He's counting every fifteen minutes. If he sees that there's a new person in the mix, he'll kill us all." He says.

I shake my head.

"There's back stairwells, offices, closets, and restrooms all over the bank. I can hide in those and move when presented the opportunity." I say. "But you have to find a cover for that gunshot."

The soldier nods, furrowing his brows as a heavy sigh escapes his lips.

"We'll figure something out. You go hide before he notices we've been gone too long." The soldier states.

I nod. They back away, approaching the marble staircase.

"Wait," I whisper. "Is Jolene alright? Before I go, I need to know she's safe." I state.

The construction worker nods and exhales.

"Jolene and her friend are both fine. The Gunman has taken a liking to her, however. He plans to use her as his first target." He says.

I shake my head and purse my lips together tightly.

"I need you to get a message to her." I whisper.

"Gun-Fire was heard out here. Are you safe??"

"Tell me you aren't in that bank." Dad... "Graham Marcus Eaton tell me you are not in that bank."

I return to Atticus' text and reply.

"I'm fine. Don't tell Dad."

[jolene hale]

The soldier and construction worker return, entirely blank faced and entirely uninterested by what happened up there. The soldier returns the gun to the Gunman and nods.

"What happened? Why did you fire up there?" The Gunman asks.

The soldier licks his bottom lip and shakes his head.

"I thought I saw something. We did an entire sweep of the area and found nothing. I shot a picture at the end of the hall."

The Gunman nods, tucking the gun into his waistband.

"Take a seat you two." He says.

He returns to the counter, counting cash from before. The soldier sits beside Anya and I, tucking his knees up into his chest.

"I hear you own an art studio, Jolene." He whispers. "Can I ask why you chose to name it the FlyTrap?"

I raise an eyebrow, examining him closely.

"How did you know about my studio?" I ask.

Graham. He's here. They shot at Graham. Graham got in somehow.

I raise my eyes to the staircase and raise a brow. The soldier nods twice. Graham's really here. I exhale with relief and squeeze Anya's hand.

"We're gonna be alright," I whisper. "Trust me."

[tobias eaton]

"Chief Eaton, sir," Brown says, running towards me. "Reports of Gun-fire within the bank have been made."

My eyes move to my cellphone, desperately waiting for Graham to respond.

"Please," I whisper. "Please."

Radio silence. Damn you Graham. I turn and approach the staircase to the ventilation shaft up top. Atticus stands on the roof, exhaling.

"Tell me your brother isn't in the bank." I state. "Tell me that you didn't help your brother sneak inside."

Atticus swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head.

"I don't know what to say to you," He says softly. "I don't know where he is."

I furrow my brows and press my lips into a fine line.

"You and your sister are too similar to your mother—you all suck at lying. Now, do you want to tell the truth?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

I can feel my hair growing grayer by the second. Atticus looks very much like me, though he has my wife's prefect nose and her same heart.

"Dad," He whispers, shaking his head, reaching up to grab his glasses from his face. "He's inside the bank. He's okay, however. We've been in touch via text."

I exhale sharply, tears filling my eyes. This damned kid has always been in my mind. The past twenty three years of my life have all been about him and his mother. I thought I had raised him to not be reckless like I was. I guess I was wrong. I hold my hand out, palm up, beckoning for my son's cell. He places the phone, unlocked, in the palm of my hand and nods. I stare down at the contact; Graham. I exhale sharply and type a message for my eldest child, praying he reads it and understands.

[graham eaton]

new message from Atticus:

Graham, it's Dad. Atticus told me the truth. He's too much like your mother and sister. They're all horrible liars. I just wanted to tell you something before you continue your task... I love you. More than life itself. Be safe. I'll be here with a cavalry ready when you give the word.