The Vault Heist

The Plan Unfolds

The streets were a dizzying display of bright lights and rain as the van's tires screeched while I made a fast turn, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Lena was beside me, her tablet glowing, her reddish-brown hair stuck to her face because of the chaos at the auction. My jaw ached from Dorian's punch, and the note he'd given me—"The vault's not what you think"—felt like a time bomb in my pocket. Evie was in the back, her blonde hair a mess, muttering curses, while Marcus was completely quiet, his large body hunched over, blood leaking through his sleeve from a piece of glass he hadn't taken out. Lena's warning about someone betraying us was like a ghost accompanying us, and I was driving fast toward a backup safehouse, hoping it wasn't already compromised.

"Jax, slow down," Lena said, her voice sharp but unsteady, her hazel eyes glancing at me. "You'll kill us before Crane does." There was worry in her eyes, and something more gentle—maybe a reminder of our kissing at the auction, before Dorian turned it into a shooting. I wanted to reach for her, but my hands stayed firmly on the wheel.

"Gotta get rid of anyone following us," I grunted, checking the rearview mirror. No headlights, but I had a feeling Dorian was out there, watching. He had our fingerprint tape, and now he was messing with my head. What else was in that vault besides jewels? I pushed the thought aside as we pulled into an abandoned warehouse, our temporary hiding place. The air smelled strongly of rust and oil, but it provided cover—for the time being.

Inside, Lena was already setting up her equipment on a crate, her fingers moving quickly to extract data from Sophia's voice imitation and Crane's partial fingerprint. Evie was pacing, her boots echoing, while Marcus leaned against a wall, his dark eyes unfocused. His silence was unsettling, like a storm building, and I knew his PTSD was affecting him. The fight at the gym, the shooting at the gala—it was all adding up, and he was close to losing control.

"Voss, what's the situation?" I asked, leaning over her shoulder, close enough to smell her—sweat, lavender, and that exciting feeling that made my blood rush. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, it was just us, the world disappearing.

"Sophia's voice is perfectly copied," she said, showing a waveform on her tablet. "Perfect clone. But Crane's fingerprint…" She sighed, zooming in on a blurry image from the gym's security footage. "It's only a partial. I can recreate it, but it'll take time. And the vault's lock—it needs both, fingerprint and voice, activated at the same time."

My stomach sank. "Simultaneous?" I repeated, running a hand through my hair. "That's a tough system."

Evie stopped pacing, a faint but sharp smirk on her face. "Means we have to be in the room with Crane and Sophia, or fake it perfectly. My kind of challenge." Lena's glare could burn, and I felt the tension build. Evie's mistake with Sophia at the gala still hurt, and Lena wasn't forgiving her anytime soon.

"We attack Crane's skyscraper," I said, breaking the silence. "His office controls the vault's security. We get in, install a bypass for the lock, and fake the activation. Lena, can you create it?"

She nodded, but her lips were tight. "I need access to the mainframe. It's heavily guarded—drones, security, eye scans. And if someone's telling Dorian our plans…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes going to Marcus, then Evie. The traitor clue from Sophia's phone data was poisonous, and it was tearing us apart.

Marcus's head shot up, his fists clenching. "You got something to say, Lena?" His voice was low, rough, like he was holding back a scream. "I've risked my life for this team. Don't look at me like I'm the one betraying us." His hands trembled, and I saw it—the memory of his brother's death, the guilt that never left him. He was falling apart, and it scared me.

"Bear, nobody's accusing anyone," I said, stepping between them. My voice was calm, but my heart was racing. Marcus saved my life in prison, but right now, he was unpredictable. "We're family. We'll figure this out together." He glared, breathing heavily, but he backed down, leaning against the wall again.

Lena's eyes met mine, and there was guilt there—for Marcus, for doubting him, for us. "I'm sorry," she whispered, so quietly only I could hear. My hand brushed hers, and it was a shock, her skin warm against mine. I wanted to pull her close, kiss away the fear, but Evie's voice interrupted.

"So, skyscraper heist?" she said, her tone too light, like she was avoiding the tension. "I'll scout the building. Get us blueprints, guard schedules." Lena's glare returned, but Evie was already taking out her phone, texting someone.

"Tomorrow night," I said, looking at each of them. "Lena, map out the security. Marcus, get the equipment ready. We're not letting Dorian or Crane win." Marcus nodded, but his eyes were distant, lost in his thoughts. Lena was already back at her tablet, her fingers moving quickly, and I felt that attraction again—her strength, her passion, keeping us alive.

We were deep in planning—Lena designing a bypass device, me marking entry points—when her tablet made a loud alert. "Trace!" she said quickly, her face turning pale. "Someone's tracking our location, real-time, from downtown." My blood went cold. The warehouse wasn't safe. Dorian? Crane's men? The traitor?

"Get your gear!" I shouted, grabbing my knife and gun. Evie was putting her phone away, her face pale, while Marcus was standing, gun in hand, his shaking gone, replaced by focus. Lena was shutting down her equipment, her hands trembling, and I grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the back door. "We're leaving, now."

We were halfway across the warehouse when the front wall exploded, metal bending as a black SUV crashed through, headlights blinding. Gunfire broke out, bullets tearing through crates as masked men came out. My heart was pounding, adrenaline rushing as I pushed Lena behind a stack of barrels. Marcus returned fire, his shots accurate, but there were too many. Evie was running for cover, her boots slipping on oil, and I was firing, my gun kicking in my hand.

"Lena, get to the van!" I yelled, ducking as a bullet grazed my shoulder, causing a sharp pain. She was crawling, holding her tablet tightly, hacking as she moved. "I'm blocking their communications!" she shouted, and the gunfire paused, the men cursing as their radios stopped working. It was enough for Marcus to grab Evie, pulling her toward the exit.

We reached the back door, running into the rainy alley, the van only a short distance away. But as we piled in, Lena's tablet alerted again, and her eyes widened. "The trace—it's coming from inside our gear," she whispered, her voice breaking. Someone had planted a tracker on us. Someone close. The traitor was real, and they were with us now.