Smash & Grab (25 page)

I stomp on the
gas pedal and roar away from the beach house—and Lexi. My skin feels coated in ants, crawling and uncomfortable. I can't sit still.

“What the hell happened back there?” Benny asks, turned halfway around in his seat so he can stare at me.

“Nothing. It's just…how are we supposed to rely on them to help us? You see that house? They aren't invested in this like we are. They walk away now and what happens? Nothing much. Lexi's dad stays in jail and his boss doesn't get exposed, but so what? They survive. Maybe with less money, but people like that find a way to get it back. They have choices here. We don't.”

I grip the steering wheel hard enough that my fingers ache. I knew Lexi was rich. I saw her house that day I took the pictures of her. But seeing her with her friends just now, all of them lounging around that deck in designer clothes and radiating privilege, while Gabriel's laid up in the hospital and Benny, Carlos, Eddie, and me are facing the same, I couldn't deny how different our situations are. And I definitely couldn't listen to her stupid brother make patronizing comments and pretend like it was cool.

“We can make this work, bro,” Benny says quietly. “But only if you get your head straight. We need them to get us out of the vault. Period. So we have to make sure we keep them committed. That means dealing with their jokes, promising to get them that safe-deposit box, and putting up with them.”

I stare at the stream of cars in front of us and force myself to breathe. He's right. I know he's right. I shouldn't get so worked up, but standing on the beach with Lexi while she asked me what was wrong, all the swagger she normally has gone—for a minute I felt like she cared about me, and I couldn't…I don't know. I just felt the weight of everything that's happening crash down on me.

“And you're wrong that they don't have a lot to lose. If Soldado were to find out about what we've got planned, he'd go after them, too. They just don't realize the stakes, vato.”

And that's really what's gnawing at my gut, if I'm being honest with myself. I'm putting Lexi and her friends in danger. Deciding to put my boys' and families' lives ahead of theirs. It's a terrible choice to make, and being near her, looking into her eyes and pretending that I'm not, is only making it harder. I don't think I will be able to live with myself if this job goes bad and something happens to her.

“We gotta pull it off, that's all,” Benny says. “We pull it off and everybody lives happily ever after. You can't think about it going bad. It won't. The closer you get to that girl, the better the chances that we come out okay. What's that saying? The means justify the ends? Something like that?” He lowers the window and lets in a blast of hot summer air. “The more this girl likes you and thinks she has a chance at getting what she wants, the safer we'll all be. So man up and play the game, bro. It's the only way to keep her safe in the end.”

“Yeah, you're right,” I say. I have to get Lexi and her friends to see the job through. I'm not really putting them in danger or hurting her if I make sure nothing goes wrong…right?

It's the last full
week of June, and the temperature has spiked to one hundred degrees, record heat this early in the summer. I walk out of the air-conditioned cool of the bank to go grab some lunch, dreading the wall of humid, breath-stealing air.

Three days have passed since Christian stormed out of the beach house without an explanation, and I haven't heard from him since. Everything suddenly feels tentative: the job, exposing Harrison. We can't do the job without Christian. It would take too long to break into the safe-deposit box on the morning of the robbery. The tellers and employees show up just before opening. That leaves us minutes to storm the bank, get inside the vault, and pry open a box so secure we'd have to take a crowbar to it just to get it out. How long could that take? More than five or ten minutes, for sure. The bank wouldn't open on time, and the cops would show up before we could get anywhere.

I cross the street and walk the block to where the food truck is parked, careful to keep enough distance so I won't be spotted. The girl, Rosie, is there, but Christian's not. I take out my phone and try calling him again. I've left four messages so far.

“Hi, it's me,” I say.

“Hi, me.”

I whirl around and there he is, standing right next to me, his
COCINA DE MI CORAZÓN
cap pulled low over his eyes, making them look even darker.

“Where have you been?” I say, hating how upset I sound.
He needs you just as much as you need him,
I remind myself. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call this whole thing off.”
There. That's better.

“I will, I swear, but not here.” He glances over at the taco truck. “I know you're mad, but give me a chance to explain. You're on break, right? Listen to what I have to say, and lunch is on me.” He grabs my hand in his and pulls me closer. “Come on, please.” Eyes flashing with mischief, he begins walking backward, leading me.

“Okay, fine. But I'm getting my lunch to go, so talk fast.” I give in, but only because we can't afford to keep wasting time. There's too much to do.

“I'm sorry for Sunday. I was dealing with some stuff, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. One of my guys, my cousin Gabriel, got hurt over the weekend. He does construction and there was an accident.” He looks straight ahead. “He was crushed under a backhoe. He'll make it, but for a while we weren't sure….”

“Oh my god, I'm so sorry. But why didn't you tell me on Sunday?” No wonder he was so shook up. Now I feel like a huge jerk for being so flippant a second ago.

“Because we agreed not to get too close, right? I didn't want to get into it. I was too upset. And because he was supposed to be on the job and I knew it complicated things. I didn't want to talk about it until I was sure he'd be okay and that we could move forward without him.”

He takes me into a little sandwich shop with a movie star–inspired menu. I order the Meryl Streep's Complication, which is a croque monsieur (basically the French version of a grilled ham-and-cheese sandwich), a nod to one of her movies,
It's Complicated.
It's a fitting choice, considering the movie title perfectly sums up this whole heist and Christian. I feel like I'm constantly scrambling to stay one step ahead, and the last few days have made me feel as if I've failed.

He pays and we find a place off to the side to wait for our order.

“So, you still a go?” he asks.

I was planning on making him sweat it a little, but given his explanation, I don't want to. Playing games now feels cruel. “Yeah. We're in.”

We don't talk again until we're back outside. “We've been working on the masks. We can hit the costume warehouse this weekend. Quinn's almost got the security stuff worked out, and there'll only be one guard on duty.”

“I'd like to come with,” Christian says. “That way I can make sure we get the right ones.”

I am just about to argue with him when all at once he pulls me inside the office building we happen to be passing. “We have a problem,” he says quietly, pulling me over to one corner, away from the windows.

The guy at the security desk eyeballs us. “Can I help you?”

“No, sir. My girlfriend got overheated, so we came in so she could cool off. We won't stay more than a minute.”

The guy mulls it over, tapping his fingers on the counter. “One minute.”

Christian turns back to me. “Listen. The guy I told you about, the one who organizes our jobs?”

“Soldado,” I say, nodding.

“Right. Some of his guys are out there. Most likely checking to see that I'm doing what I said I would.”

“Seducing me for information,” I say.

He stares past me to the street. “Yeah. When we walk out of here, I need you to…”

“I get it. You need me to act like I like you,” I say with a smile.

“I need you to act like you
want
me,” he corrects. “And to play along. Follow my lead. Can you do that?”

I'm a little insulted. He doesn't think I can believably pretend to have the hots for him? The boy has no idea who he's dealing with.

“Watch me,” I say. I grab his hand and pull his arm over my shoulders, then put my arm around his waist, letting my hand drift downward until it's resting on his butt as we push through the exit doors. He sucks in a breath the minute my hand touches him. I give him a playful squeeze, barely holding back laughter as he tenses.

Soldado's guys are right outside, sauntering down the sidewalk, their arms sleeved in tattoos, their close-cropped hair glistening with sweat.

“Yo, man. Qué pasa?” They're talking to him but looking at me, giving me a slow once-over. “Who's this?”

Christian bumps fists with both of them and introduces me. “This is Angela. Angela, this is Twitch and…I mean, Eli and Jesus.”

They nod at me and I paste on a smile. I don't like either of them. Not just because of what Christian's told me about Soldado and the kinds of guys who work for him, but because they have these flat vulture eyes. I feel as if they're circling us, trying to decide if we'd make a good meal. “Nice to meet you both,” I say in a voice that's higher-pitched than my real one, one I hope gives off a certain gullibility.

Christian kisses the top of my head. “What's up? You guys headed to the truck to see Rosie?”

The taller of the two, Jesus, nods. “Soldado sent us to get some lunch for him.”

“Her food is delicious!” I exclaim enthusiastically. “I love that truck. Of course, that's where we met, so…” I look up at Christian adoringly, and out of the corner of my eye I can see them grin meaningfully at Christian.

“We heard about Gabriel. Bad luck, bro. But it's good he's gonna get better, right?” Eli asks, his eyes boring into Christian.

Christian tenses a little. “Doctors say he'll be okay. It'll be a while before he can work, but he'll live.”

“That's good. Does he remember what happened? From what I hear it was brutal, dude. The backhoe went right over him. Can you imagine? Your bones slowly crushing like that?” Eli whistles. “Pain like that would make you wish you were dead.”

I can feel the anger in Christian, humming just beneath his skin. His whole body is coiled tight like a spring. These guys are baiting him somehow. I have a gut feeling that if I don't get him out of here soon, he might explode.

“Hey, I hate to do this, but my lunch break is up. Christian, can you walk me back to the bank?” There is a beat of silence before Christian nods.

“Say hi to your mom and sister for me,” Jesus says, still staring at Christian, a slow smile spreading across his face as he and Eli turn to go.

I lead Christian toward the bank, my arm around his waist. “Are they still watching us?” I ask.

“Probably,” he says tightly. “Thanks for that.”

“For what?”

“For getting us outta there before I ripped their heads off.”

“What was that about, exactly?” I ask.

He exhales heavily. “It's nothing. They're just reminding me that doing this job isn't a choice.”

“You don't rob banks because you want to?”

He looks startled, like he hadn't realized he just said what he did out loud. “It doesn't matter.”

Except now I'm curious. “How is the job not a choice?” If he isn't robbing banks because he wants to, this changes who I thought that he was. I think about being inside his house, about the way he was with his sister. At the time, I found it hard to see him as both this criminal and this boy with college posters on his wall and a bookshelf filled with literary classics. But if somehow he was being blackmailed…“When he mentioned your family…are they threatening them somehow to keep you committing robberies?”

Christian slips from my grasp and takes a step away from me, putting distance between us. “Just leave it alone, please. We agreed on boundaries and this is one of mine. I'll call you later, okay?”

He gives me a half smile and then, as if remembering that Eli and Jesus might be watching, pulls me close. “I wouldn't do this if it weren't necessary. Sorry,” he says in a rush, and then he moves a hand to my face and leans in and kisses me.

I'm so unprepared that I stiffen on reflex, but then his lips move against mine and I can taste him and he's so close to me, filling up the space, stealing my air, my ability to think straight, and I forget my surprise and kiss him back. Now it's his turn to stiffen, but instead of pulling away, he crushes me to him. His lips move more urgently. Caught up, I lift my hand to his face and trace the length of his jaw. The way he kisses! I've kissed guys who knew what they were doing, and those kisses were good, but this one is immeasurably better. Whatever this is between us is different. My whole body responds. I can feel a ribbon of nerves and excitement flutter through my insides, and every inch of my skin is aware of the feel of him against me. I could kiss him for hours. Days. Weeks. I want him. Really want him. And the minute I realize this, fear as bracing as a bucket of ice-cold water washes over me and I go rigid in his arms.

He pulls away, his expression serious, searching. “I'm sorry. That was probably overkill, right?” He licks his lips as if he's testing to see if he can still taste me. I take a shaky breath and put some distance between us. The moment gets awkward, and the world rushes back in—the heat, the harried sounds of traffic and people.

“I should…I gotta go.” He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and hurries off, back hunched against the sun and maybe me, never once looking back.

I put my fingers to my lips, the feel of him still lingering there and on my skin where his hands gripped my back and waist.
He kissed me because he had to,
I tell myself. I say it over and over in my mind as I walk the rest of the way back to the bank, my skin still tingling, my heart beating faster than it should. After the way that kiss made me feel, I need the reminder. Nothing can happen between Christian and me. I don't do vulnerable, and especially not with a boy I can't possibly trust and who definitely can't trust me.