The Vault Heist

Eyes on the Prize

The hideout reeked of soy sauce and old coffee, the bright lights of New Avalon's skyline peeking through the damaged window coverings. I was sprawled on a worn-out couch, my shoes resting on a box, observing Lena work on her equipment. Her fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, accessing the hidden camera's signal from Victor Crane’s jacket. The display lit up, showing the dry cleaner's clothes rack, with the jacket hanging there like a prize we'd already claimed. My heart hadn't slowed down since the alley—partly because of the figure I noticed, and partly because of Lena's hand brushing mine. Her reddish-brown hair was tucked behind her ear, and the way her brown eyes focused intently on the screen made my heart race. Stay focused, Jax.

“The signal’s clear,” Lena said, her voice professional, but with a hint of nervousness, as if she felt the same attraction I did. “Crane’s picking up the jacket in an hour. We’ll get a look at his world soon.”

Marcus stood by the window, his large body blocking a good portion of the light. “It better be worth it, Ghost. That figure’s got me on edge.” His scarred fingers clenched, ready for a confrontation. Evie lounged on a stool, playing with a strand of blonde hair, her smirk suggesting she was already thinking about her next scam.

“It’s Dorian,” I said, my stomach churning. “It has to be. That guy's been following us since the docks operation.” Dorian Black, the annoying thief who always outsmarts me. I hated how he bothered me, but I hated even more that he was probably watching us right now.

Lena glanced at me, her lips slightly parted like she wanted to argue, but the screen changed. Crane was there, confidently walking into the dry cleaner's. His gray hair was slicked back, his expression sharp and unpleasant. The clerk handed him the jacket, unaware of the camera hidden in the lapel. Lena's tech was perfect—Crane had no idea as he put it on and left.

“Got him,” Lena whispered, zooming in. The signal was clear, showing Crane getting into a tinted SUV, the city lights reflecting off the windows. We were now seeing his world, watching him head to a penthouse downtown. My excitement grew—this was it, the first look at the vault's secrets.

The signal switched to a fancy elevator, then a penthouse with large windows. Crane was meeting a client, a well-dressed man with a short haircut and cold eyes. “The vault is impenetrable,” Crane boasted, his voice sounding thin through the signal. “Handprint and voice lock, synchronized. Nobody can get in without me and my partner.” My blood ran cold. Two locks, simultaneous? This just got harder.

Lena's fingers stopped moving on the keyboard. “Sophia Laurent,” she murmured, bringing up a file on Crane’s business partner. “Her voice is the second key. We need both.” Her eyes met mine, and there was that spark again, like electricity passing between us. I wanted to pull her close, experience the excitement on her lips, but Marcus’s grunt brought me back to reality.

“Complicated,” he said, cracking his knuckles. “Are you sure we can do this, Ghost?”

Before I could respond, Lena’s tablet sounded an alarm. A red alert flashed on the screen, and her face turned pale. “Someone’s hacking our signal!” she yelled, quickly trying to stop the intrusion. My heart sank—this wasn't a mistake. It was an attack.

“Lock it down!” I shouted, jumping up. Evie was already at the door, securing the locks, while Marcus grabbed a gun from the table. The hideout felt like a trap, the walls closing in as Lena fought the intruder. Her fingers flew, code streaming as if she was fighting a war. “Got a trace,” she said, breathless. “It’s coming from… damn, it’s nearby. Two blocks away.”

“Dorian,” I growled, feeling a familiar itch. He wasn't just watching—he was sabotaging us. “Marcus, come with me. We’re ending this.” Lena looked at me, worry and something more flashing in her eyes, but there was no time to explore it.

“Stay on the signal,” I told her, grabbing my jacket. “Evie, help her out.” Evie nodded, her smirk gone, replaced by a look of focus. Marcus and I went out into the street, the city's noise pounding in my ears. The alley’s dark, wet ground reflected the neon signs—Noodle Haven, Club Pulse. Two blocks. We moved quickly, Marcus’s large figure a shadow beside me.

We reached a run-down warehouse, its windows covered, but a dim light shone through a crack. I signaled Marcus to go around to the side entrance while I took the front. My heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing as I slipped inside. The air was thick with dust and oil, and there was a humming sound—servers, maybe. A figure was hunched over a laptop, their back to me. I crept closer, my knife out, but then the screen flickered, and I saw it: our signal, Crane’s penthouse, displayed on their setup.

“Hey!” Marcus shouted, bursting in from the side. The figure spun around, hooded, but I knew it was Dorian. He was quick, dodging Marcus’s swing and running for a back exit. I chased him, my shoes hitting the concrete, avoiding boxes and rusty pipes. Marcus crashed through behind me, a bull in a china shop. Dorian was like a shadow, slipping through a door to the roof.

We reached the rooftop, the wind blowing in my face, the city spread out below like a glowing jungle. Dorian was at the edge, a silhouette against the skyline. “Nice try, Malone,” he said, his voice smug. “But you’re out of your league.” He threw something—a flash drive?—and jumped, disappearing over the edge. I ran forward, expecting to see a body, but he was gone, the sound of a grappling hook echoing below.

“Dammit!” I slammed my fist on the ledge, out of breath. Marcus grabbed my shoulder, pulling me back. “He’s got our signal,” I said, my mind racing. If Dorian had access, he knew everything.

Back at the safehouse, Lena was waiting, her face showing a mix of relief and anger. “You let him get away?” she snapped, but her eyes softened when they met mine. The room was too small, the air too tense. Evie was pacing, complaining about Dorian, but I couldn't focus. Lena was close, her breathing unsteady, and before I knew it, I was pulling her against me. Her lips met mine, eager, desperate, like we were stealing this moment from the chaos. Her hands gripped my jacket, my fingers tangled in her hair, and we were on the couch, clothes half-off, her skin hot under my touch. It was intense, wild and risky, her moans drowning out the city's noise. I was lost in her, the heist forgotten, until—

The tablet screamed again. Lena pulled back, her face flushed, reaching for the screen. The signal was gone—static, then a face. Dorian was smirking, his dark eyes mocking us. “Game’s just started, Jax,” he said, and the screen went black.