1
ZIRA
It’s heavy.
The black handgun rests heavily against my palm, its grooves digging into the soft flesh between my thumb and forefinger. I’ve never held a gun before. They’re often lying around my apartment because Peter thinks they make him look cool, but I’ve never touched one. The sound of them getting dropped on the dinner table always told me they were heavy, but now that one is in my hand, it’s much heavier than I expected.
I can’t do this.
My lips part, ready to tell the others in the van that I really can’t do this when the face of my ex-boyfriend floats in front of my eyes with his brows pinched tightly together.
“Put on the fucking mask, Zira.”
A dry lump forms in my throat, trapping my words, and I meet his gaze. “Harris, I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you fucking can.” He leans over me and snatches up the mask from beside me on the bench. After turning it over in one last check, he shoves it into my lap. “Put it on.”
“Harris, I?—”
In a flash, his hand is around my throat and he has me back against the wall of the van so swiftly that my head cracks against the metal. Both my hands fly up to his wrist while the abandoned gun clatters to the floor.
“Did you forget why we’re here?” he snarls, bringing his face close to mine. “You gave me that pathetic speech about how much you care for your brother, yet you can’t even do this?”
Every word is spat at me, and saliva speckles my lips and cheeks. I claw desperately at his wrist, fighting to dislodge the iron grip robbing me of air.
“I’m more than happy to kick you to the curb and then drive all the way back and shoot Peter between the eyes because you don’t have the balls to help him. Should I do that? Huh? Tell me, Zirconia, should I go and do that right now?”
Every pause in his words sends a pulse of terror through me as his fist tightens fraction by fraction, robbing me of air until it feels like he’s strangling me so tightly that his fingers are meeting his thumb through my neck. Dark spots erupt in front of my eyes. I kick out at his leg, slamming my foot into his knee and making him stumble.
Then he releases me with a cold, dark laugh. As I collapse on the bench, coughing and retching between desperate gasps of air, he stands over me and leans down just enough that his presence chills my spine. “Put on the fucking mask and tell me what I want to know.”
It hurts. God, it hurts. Each breath is laced with needles as air rushes into my deprived lungs, and two tears leak out of the corners of my eyes. The Arlecchino mask is tossed at me once more, and this time, I grab it. A ripple of laughter rises up in the van from the other two members of the group, men I don’t know because their faces are hidden behind Volto carnival masks. Harris has a Bauta carnival mask because his ego demands he stand out from the other two, and he slots it into place while kicking the gun back to me.
“How many guards are there, Zira?” he barks at me.
“Four,” I gasp, fighting against the pain in my throat to swallow. “Two in the back, one in the hall, and one at the vault.”
“Alarms?”
“Two behind the desk, two in the vault.”
“And the diamonds?” The strap snaps against his head and Harris grunts. “Where are they?”
“In the vault.”
“Obviously,” he snaps. “Whereabouts?”
“Lockboxes.” Every word burns through me and feeds into the sickening guilt growing in my gut. “But you have to promise me something, Harris.”
“I’m not promising you shit.”
“No one gets hurt.” Despite the pounding of my heart and the rawness of my voice, I lift my head and glare directly into the eyes of his mask. “The second someone gets hurt, I don’t care about me and I know Peter wouldn’t care either. I’ll trigger the alarms myself.”
Harris glances over his shoulder at the two Volto-masked men who adjust their masks but don’t speak. After a beat, Harris sighs deeply and dramatically. “Fine. I’m not making any promises, but if everyone listens then no one gets hurt. Pretty fucking simple.”
Harris doesn’t have a kind bone in his body, but his desire to be rich fuels all and that may be the only thing that will keep the people in that store safe. Taking a deep breath, I slip the mask over my face and tighten the strap behind my head. The eye slits give me a narrower view of the world than I’d like, but it’ll have to do.
“And if I do this… Peter will be safe? You’ll let him go?”
