The Vault Heist

The Gym Heist

The New Avalon night thrums with activity, but inside the safehouse, tension hangs thick in the air. Lena's tablet is useless, and Dorian's annoying face is stuck in my mind. I can still taste Lena's kiss; the intense moment on the couch feels like a lingering illness. We don't have time to dwell; we need to obtain a billionaire's handprint, and Crane's gym is the next location. I pace, my boots scraping the worn floorboards, while Lena focuses on her equipment, trying to fix the button camera feed. Her auburn hair is disheveled, and the way she looks at me occasionally tugs at my heart. I want to hold her again, but Dorian's hacking has us on edge, and Marcus's glare from the corner tells me to move or we're in trouble.

"The feed is down," Lena says, her voice strained. "Dorian is redirecting our signal, but I've found a solution. We can still monitor Crane's actions." Her fingers dance across the keyboard, showing her expertise, and I can't help but smile despite the situation.

"Nice job, Voss," I say, keeping my tone light, but my voice hints at the passion from our kiss. She gives me a look—part intensity, part warning—and I know we're walking a tightrope. Marcus grunts, checking his gun, while Evie is sprawled on a chair, her blonde hair loose, smirking as if she didn't just witness our near-incendiary makeout session.

"The gym is next," I say, refocusing the team. "Crane visits his private fitness center every morning at 6 a.m. sharp. We sneak in, put the tape on his treadmill, and grab his handprint. Lena, you're on tech. Evie, you're the distraction. Marcus, you've got my back."

Evie's smirk grows, full of mischief. "Distraction? Oh, I'll give Crane something to think about." Lena's jaw tightens, and I see a hint of jealousy in her eyes. This is going to be a challenging night.

By 5:45 a.m., we're outside Crane's gym, a modern structure of glass and steel in New Avalon's upscale area. The city is waking up, the neon signs dimming as dawn approaches, but inside, it's filled with advanced treadmills and mirrors. Lena has bypassed the security cameras, displaying a looped video of an empty lobby, while I sneak in through a service duct, with Marcus following closely. The air smells faintly of sweat and cleaning supplies. My heart pounds—partly from the mission, but also from Lena's calm and focused voice in my earpiece, guiding us.

"Service room's clear," she whispers. "The treadmill is in the main gym, third from the left. Crane will be there in ten minutes."

I crawl through the duct, my knife attached to my leg, the special adhesive tape in my pocket. It's designed to lift Crane's handprint without detection. Marcus's size causes the duct to creak, but he's silent, a protector ready to deal with any obstacle. We drop into a maintenance closet, then enter the gym. It's all chrome and mirrors, the treadmill gleaming. I kneel, removing the tape and placing it on the bar where Crane's hand will go. It's invisible, perfect. My pulse quickens—this is what I thrive on.

"Evie's in," Lena says, her voice tense. I look at the hacked feed on my wrist screen. Evie enters the gym, dressed as a trainer in a tight top, her blonde hair in a ponytail, her smile teasing. She immediately gets Crane's attention; his silver hair is neatly styled, and his cold blue eyes narrow as she approaches.

"Mr. Crane, right?" Evie says, her voice sweet. "I'm your new trainer. Let's get your heart rate up." She's being overly flirtatious, leading him to a different treadmill, her hand brushing his arm. I clench my teeth. Evie's skilled—too skilled—and Lena's silence in my earpiece feels ominous.

"Tape's set," I whisper, moving back into the shadows with Marcus. We're behind a rack of weights, watching Crane step onto the rigged treadmill. His hand grips the bar, and I can almost feel the print transferring. Evie is laughing, tossing her hair, keeping him occupied. Too occupied. I feel uneasy—she's enjoying this too much.

"Jax, we have a problem," Lena says suddenly, her voice urgent. "Two guards, east entrance. They weren't expected." I feel a chill. Crane's security is tighter than we thought. I look at Marcus, who's already preparing for a fight.

"Handle it," I say, my voice low. "Lena, keep Evie focused." I start toward the exit, but the gym doors burst open, and two men in black suits rush in, guns raised. They've discovered the looped feed or—worse—Dorian informed them.

"Evie, abort!" I shout, but she's too involved, leaning close to Crane, who's smirking as if he's enjoying the attention. The guards focus on me, their eyes narrowing. No time to hesitate. I dive behind a rowing machine, Marcus landing beside me as bullets hit metal. The gym descends into chaos; mirrors break, weights fall.

"Jax!" Lena's voice cracks in my earpiece, fear evident. "Get out now!"

"Working on it," I grunt, pulling my knife and throwing it at the nearest guard. It hits his shoulder, and he stumbles, giving Marcus an opening. He charges, tackling the second guard into a treadmill, the machine making a loud noise as it spins. I run toward Evie, who's finally noticed the danger, her eyes wide as she ducks behind Crane. The billionaire is shouting, confused, but he's aware—he's reaching for a panic button on his wrist.

"Evie, move!" I yell, grabbing her arm and pulling her toward the exit. Marcus is fighting the first guard, blood staining the floor. Lena's voice is a guide, leading us to a side door. "Fire exit, twenty feet left!" she says, and I can hear her typing, probably hacking the gym's sprinklers or something crazy.

We reach the exit, but the second guard is back, firing. A bullet grazes my arm, causing a sharp pain, but I keep running, Evie beside me, her breath heavy. Marcus bursts out behind us, blood on his knuckles, and we emerge into an alley as sprinklers activate inside, flooding the gym. Lena's doing, no doubt.

We sprint through the alley, my arm throbbing, Evie's hat lost in the chaos. The city is active now, horns honking, dawn breaking over the skyscrapers. Lena is waiting at the rendezvous point, a stolen van running. She's out of the door before we stop, her eyes quickly assessing me, noticing the blood on my sleeve. "You're hurt," she says, her voice trembling, but her hands are steady as she helps me into the van.

"It's just a scratch," I lie, but her touch—gentle, warm—makes me feel lightheaded. Marcus gets in, and Evie is already checking her reflection in a cracked mirror, as if we weren't just close to death. Lena is bandaging my arm, her fingers brushing my skin, and that attraction from last night reignites. I want to kiss her, tell her she's the reason we're alive, but Marcus's voice interrupts.

"The tape's still in there," he says, his voice stern. "The mission failed."

I feel a pang of disappointment, but Lena is already on her tablet, pulling up a backup feed. "Wait," she says, her eyes narrowing. "The tape's gone. Someone took it." I feel a chill. The gym is empty on her screen, sprinklers still running, but the treadmill is bare. No tape, no handprint.

"Dorian," I say angrily, clenching my fists. He was there, watching, stealing our success. Again. Lena looks at me, fear and anger combined, and I know we're in more trouble than we realized.