Tears are streaming down her face.
It wrecks me.
I want to run to her, hold her, and assure her that I won't let them touch a hair on her head, but if I do that, I'd be revealing that I give a shit specifically about her, and then they'd probably use it against me. So I stand down.
"You're going about this all wrong," I say to the one holding the 45 on me. He's definitely the one in charge.
"Where's the safe, asshole."
"This is a Harley dealership. Not a fucking 7-Eleven," I say coldly. "We don't have a safe. All our transactions are through a credit card processor."
"Shut the fuck up and take me to the safe."
This doesn't make sense.
Either this guy is really stupid or he actually knows that there's a safe in here.
"There's no safe," I reiterate.
He presses the barrel of the gun into my temple, but I continue to stare him down. If he's going to kill me then this is where it's going to happen. I will gladly lay my life down for Ariana. I've laid down my life for much less.
"Wait!" Ariana cries out. "I know where it is."
What the fuck is she talking about.
"Take me to it."
The guy on Ariana and the asshole on me switch places. Ariana stands up and looks at me with mascara running down her face. Fear in her eyes. But not just fear for herself. Fear for me as well. It's a look that I'll never forget. The look of someone who actually gives a damn about my well-being.
She doesn't guide the guy to the storeroom like I assumed she would, but walks right behind the front counter and lifts up the industrial all-weather mat that's on the floor back there. She points to a trap door which is hidden underneath it. The only place I didn't think to look when I was looking for whatever I could on Nate.
"What you want is down there."
* * *
