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You were the bane of the Cody family’s existence, and they had absolutely no idea who you were.
For several months straight, almost every time one of the boys cased a target and brought it to the family, the day before their scheduled break-ins the news would drop that the place had already been robbed. Without fail, it was the day or two before every time. None of them knew who in the city was so consistently one step ahead of them, and it was infuriating beyond belief.
Their ignorance wasn’t for lack of trying, though- Smurf may as well have set up a board on the wall with red threads like an old fashioned crime movie the way they combed through articles, photos, and CCTV footage trying their hardest to get even a hint of who their sudden competition was.
The most aggravating part of the whole situation was that it was always, always the same place they were casing. Never a shop next door, or another branch of a chain, but always the exact same location within 48 hours of their plans. The accusations flew between the brothers, shouts of snitching and calls for secrecy between each other running rampant, but whenever the dust settled they always had to come to terms with the fact that there was no mole, no leak among them. They just seemed to have the worst luck on the planet out of absolutely nowhere.
You, on the other hand, had absolutely no idea that it kept happening. It was pure, unfortunate, possibly deadly luck that you kept ending up with the same leads as them, especially when you didn’t even realize they kept showing up the day after. All you knew was that you used your job as a car salesman to take convenient test drives with clients right through the most affluent parts of town, got your buyers talking comfortably about which people were on vacation and which shops were closing for a day or two, and cycled through cars like no tomorrow to make sure it was never traced back to you. God forbid anyone ever open the shed in your backyard.
Sitting at your patio table, you had your laptop open and were furiously typing away, cigarette perched between your glossy lips and bare feet stretched under the table in the shade. Your nails clicked against the keys, mixing with the music coming from the single earbud in your left ear. Sweat trickled down the back of your neck into your sundress from the heat, and you swore you could practically see tumbleweeds roll through your fenced-in yard as a result.
Taking a drag of your cigarette, you smirked when a Facebook update confirmed exactly what you had been told, bold letters telling customers that a local appliance store would be closed for two days while the owners took a “well deserved vacation” a few states away. With the closing dates listed as tomorrow, you planned your entrance for tonight as usual, giving you a bit more time before the news would break.
“Who even posts their vacation on Facebook?” You muttered to yourself, skipping the song playing in your earbud and pulling up the rest of the notes you had taken to prepare.
An hour later, you shut your laptop and sighed, cigarette cold in the ashtray and ice melted in your drink. You took your earbud out and opened your phone, swiping Spotify away and checking your texts. One from your boss, asking if you could come in and cover (“ Sorry, I wish I could, but I’ve had a horrible migraine all day :(“ ), one from your sister asking you to babysit your niece the next day (“ Of course, what time?” ), and three from your best friend asking you to get drinks that night.
You paused with that one, figuring out how to tactfully respond to the message without incriminating yourself. Noah was aware of your so-called “supplemental income” and didn’t particularly care one way or the other as long as you never explicitly physically harmed anyone, but that didn’t mean you wanted him knowing every time you went on a job- for both your safety and his. Plausible deniability would be his friend if something ever happened.
Humming to yourself, you settled on a simple “ Rain check for Friday? ”, sending the message and gathering your things to take back inside. Your laptop got set on your desk, cigarette butt emptied into the trash can and set with your glass in the sink, and earbuds tossed on your bed casually. Sunset was in three hours, which meant you had four until you needed to leave.
One thing you didn’t take lightly was making sure you couldn’t be identified. If you got caught and had everything traced back to you, there was no way you’d get out of prison for years, and all of the money you’d stockpiled would be for nothing. With your math, you needed about ten more jobs before you’d hit your goal- enough for you to pay off the remainder of your house, pay off your sister’s house, and pay for your niece’s medical bills with enough left over to finally have some semblance of a savings account.
The thought of your niece made your throat tighten, fingers tensing against the plate you were washing. The whole reason you started your “evening business” was because of her- a three year old diagnosed with leukemia. She was near remission according to the doctors, but your single mother sister was faced with an unholy amount of medical debt. Once you could save the rest of the money, you planned on paying it off for them and letting her celebrate the remission without the looming weight the money would cause.
Truth be told, you wanted to be done with the work. Your stomach probably had more ulcers than you could count from the constant fear of being caught, and you were ready to pay the mortgages, pay the debt, and go back to being an innocent car salesman in your little beach house. A life of 9-5 work punctuated with a few vacations, hanging out with friends, and maybe a boyfriend sounded fantastic to you- which was something your teenage self would have revolted over, ironically.
“Ten more jobs.” You whispered to yourself, slowly circling the sponge on the plate again to ground yourself. “Just ten more jobs.”
That night you repeated the same routine you always did. First, you took a shower with completely unscented products to make sure you had no lingering perfumes or scents on you in case anything went wrong and someone was there. To some people, that would be overkill, but you weren’t willing to risk anything.
Second, you got dressed. You tried to wear clothing as gender neutral as possible- black baggy pants, black cropped tank top, and a long sleeve black jacket that hung off your frame, tied at the waist with a matte black belt to keep anything from dragging without showing your figure at all. Black combat boots you had removed the metal off of to avoid clinking, and black eyeliner smudged around your eyes like a Robert Pattinson Batman rip off. Once you arrived on site, you’d add the gloves, the black ski mask, and the 1911 pistol you kept in your belt just in case.
Third, you prepped the car. Your car of choice recently had been an innocent looking black Mazda 3. Nothing about that car screamed flashy, attention grabbing, dangerous. In fact, it was so standard you probably passed hundreds of them every day and didn’t even notice it, which was a big reason you picked that car. It was fast, great acceleration and handling, and it was manual, so you didn’t really have to worry about anyone trying to steal it from you. The type of car you’d keep around for a while after the jobs because it was just a nice reliable little car.
The drive to the hardware store was quick, just five minutes from your house, which was just enough time for you to listen to a couple songs and get your head cleared. When you pulled up, you scanned the area immediately, breathing a sigh of relief when you didn’t see any cars around. You pulled up alongside the building in an alleyway, turning around in a spectacular seven point turn to make sure you were facing the road for the easiest getaway.
Throwing the car in park and turning it off, you slid your mask on and tucked your hair under it, checking in the mirror to make sure there were no strays sticking out and smoothing them down with your fingers before you put your gloves on carefully. Only after your gloves were on did you grab your toolbag, an empty duffel bag, and your gun, which you tucked into the front waistband of your pants carefully.
Soundlessly, you crossed the pavement to a grate on the side of the building, crouching down and peering inside. The front and back doors were too risky, even though you knew the building wasn’t armed with an alarm- you didn’t want to run the risk of a passerby spotting you and calling the police. Setting your bags down, you opened your tool bag and pulled out a drill, quickly removing the screws from the grate and popping it off. You set it to the side and grabbed your bags, crawling through and tossing them into the store, before pulling the grate back on and carefully balancing it so it looked sealed.
Shuffling back through the vent to get inside, you slid out onto the floor quietly, years of practiced silence paying off for you, the building so quiet you could hear your ears ringing in the silence. Glancing around, you confirmed what you had seen when you came through the other day: no cameras, the only one in the store broken and lifelessly hanging down. Honestly, it was a miracle nobody had robbed the place yet with the lack of security going on.
The hard part was finding the safe. Every store had a different idea of “hiding” it. Some stores kept it under the registers, some in the back office, some scattered randomly depending on the layout. You could practically hear the clock ticking in your head, a mental timer reminding you to act quickly. The longer you were in the building, the higher the odds slowly climbed that something could go wrong.
Rounding a corner, you spotted the safe under the desk in the office, and with a silent breath of relief, you slid to your knees and got to work. Spinning the dial in your fingers a few times, you listened carefully for the nearly nonexistent clicks, pausing every time you heard one and jotting down what number it clicked on. Thirty seconds and four numbers later, you spun the code fully, grinning when the safe swung open.
“Holy shit.” You breathed out, eyes flying wide when you saw how much money was in the actual safe. Gone were the visions of ten thousand dollars sitting in your head, replaced by the very real realization that there was easily fifty thousand in the safe that you could see- probably more behind the stacks blocking the way. “No fucking shot.”
You stared for a moment longer, breaking yourself out of your stupor and quickly unzipping your empty duffel bag. Without hesitation, you started loading the cash into the bag, carefully but efficiently arranging the stacks in rows like an illegal Tetris game, trying to fit as much as you could into the bag. When that bag was full, you put the rest into your toolbag, huffing when you lifted the two bags and felt the weight pull against you.
Out of nowhere, you heard a clatter in the store, and you felt your blood run cold, freezing in place and listening carefully for more noise. Another clatter, followed by a hushed voice. Fuck.
Panic threatened to creep in and take over your mind, but there was no time. You couldn’t afford to choke and flounder, not right now, not with other people in here and your freedom on the line. Cops or not, you had no desire to run into whoever else was in there with you.
You lifted the bags over your shoulder silently, testing the weight to see if you could safely move both quietly. The duffel bag with the money was fine, but you swore your toolbag was going to pose an issue. Making a split second decision, you put it inside the safe and shut it- your prints weren’t anywhere in the bag, and there was nothing identifiable on it, so as much of a bummer as it would be to lose them, it was a sacrifice you literally had to make.
Creeping out of the office, you listened closely. The voices and footsteps were on your left, at least two men you could hear whispering back and forth. You could have sworn the initial whisper you heard had been a different voice, but maybe you were crazy, you thought to yourself.
Darting to your right, you moved as quickly and quietly as you could, keeping an ear trained towards the voices, gauging how close they were at all times. Whoever it was kept moving the opposite direction of you, towards the office you had just come from, which gave you the chance to mentally weigh if it was worth crawling back through the vent, or if you would be better off just going through the door and risking someone seeing you.
It was worth risking someone seeing you, you decided, once the voices switched directions and came towards you. Instantly, you moved quicker, throwing the bolt on the door and dashing outside, closing it as quietly as you could before taking off through the parking lot towards the alleyway towards your car. You weren’t a runner and never had been, but adrenaline did wonders for your speed, because you arrived at your car in no time flat.
Popping the trunk of your car, you threw the bag in and closed it quickly, moving to get to the drivers side door before the feeling of a gun pressed to the back of your head made you freeze in your tracks. If you thought you were scared before, you were shitting enough bricks to build a home by now.
“Hands up. Now.” The voice said calmly, like holding people at gunpoint was an average Tuesday night activity.
You were so close to the door, hip touching the bar between the front and rear drivers side doors, fingers within a foot of flinging the door open and making your escape. The feeling of the gun being pressed harder into your skull snapped you back to your senses, “Now.”
In what was probably going to go down as your boldest and stupidest move of all time, you spun around, right hand pulling the gun out of your waistband. In the same fluid motion, you brought the gun up and cleanly whacked the face of the man holding the gun to your head, knocking him out cold instantly. His body crumpled to the ground in a heap, blood trickling into his dark hair from the cut on his forehead.
The gun clattered to the ground, and without thinking, you snatched it up and jumped into your car, promptly locking the doors behind you and starting it up.
“Hey!”
You looked in your mirror and saw two men running at your car from around the corner of the building, a third jumping out of a Jeep in the lot and pointing a gun at your car, and you decided that was your time to gun it. Hitting the gas as hard as you could, you said a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that your car had traction MarioKart players would be envious of, instantly shooting off and tearing down the main road without hesitation.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You hissed, turning off your stereo when Kesha started blasting through the speakers, singing about the party not stopping. “Not the time!”
You made a right turn, glancing in your rearview mirror again and breathing a little easier when you didn’t see the Jeep behind you. It was still too risky to head straight home, so you made a left at the light and headed towards your favorite “wait it out” spot, the parking lot for a Walmart that closed down months ago. The only people you ever encountered in that parking lot were raccoons and plastic bags blowing through.
Pulling into the lot, you shut your car off and rested your forehead on the steering wheel, sighing heavily and letting your pulse slow down while you took a few deep breaths to steady yourself. Not once had you encountered someone else during one of your heists, let alone had someone hold you at gunpoint. And now here you were, with someone else’s gun in your car after you pistol whipped them across the head. Robbery and assault charges looked great on your roster, you thought wryly.
The rumble of a car engine made your head shoot up, eyes scanning the parking lot frantically as you turned your car back on and threw it in drive, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Nothing in front of you, but when you glanced in the mirror, you saw the Jeep and a pickup truck floor it into the parking lot.
“You’re shitting me.” You groaned, stepping on the gas, but it was too late. The pickup truck had more momentum and floored it around you, turning and forcing you to hit the brakes to avoid hitting it, and the Jeep ran up behind you so you couldn’t reverse. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Without even turning the car off, you threw open the door and bolted, tearing through the parking lot faster than you knew you could run. Behind you, multiple sets of footsteps sounded, one set getting closer and closer, voices overlapping and screaming threats at you. You jumped a curb and kept running, making it into the grass, before you were tackled to the ground, the wind knocked clean out of you.
“Tie him.” A voice instructed, and you felt two sets of hands grab your wrists, wrenching them behind your back while you struggled tooth and nail. There was no point- the four men you had seen were clearly bigger and stronger than you, even from the few seconds you had seen them, and you were extremely out of your element.
You thought about screaming for help, but there was an added element of fear coursing through your body at the fact that you were just that: a woman trying to fight her way away from four angry, armed men. They were bound to clue into the fact that you weren’t the “him” they called you sooner than later, but the gut churning fear told you to keep your mouth shut and avoid making anything worse for yourself.
Zip ties dug into your wrists, and the body pressed against your back climbed off, hands reaching down and zip-tying your feet together as well, before you were rolled over and sat up to face your attackers.
“ I’ve never been this fucked in my entire life” was the first thing that ran through your head when you made direct eye contact with the four Cody boys. Everyone knew who they were and what they did, and anyone who said they didn’t know was lying through their teeth to protect themselves and keep on the “good” side of the family. A second thought crossed your mind, waves of nausea rolling through you at the realization you had been at a joint they had cased too- and beaten them to the punch. Yeah, you were completely, utterly, undeniably fucked.
Eyes darting between them, you were vaguely aware of them speaking, but everything sounded underwater, terror and an adrenaline crash rushing through you all at once and nearly making you pass out. Everything felt foggy and strange- until a sharp kick to your cheek knocked you back over and clean out of your stupor.
“Answer the fucking question.” One of the men hissed out, the one with the gash on his forehead from where you clocked him across the head. He looked positively livid, spiky brown hair matted with blood, and you couldn’t help but crack a small grin at the sight of the damage you did, thankful your mask was still on. Based on the commanding air he held, you took a wild guess that this was Baz, but you weren’t exactly the most confident in your guesses.
“Don’t think he heard it.” Another one piped up, blonde hair swinging across his face as he knelt down to study you a bit closer. This one you recognized as Deran, the youngest son and the surfer of the bunch. You’d seen him many a time at the beach, keeping your distance whenever you were on the waves together.
“Maybe he’s high.” The man you recognized as Craig chimed in, cracking his own grin at that as his eyes shifted to look at your car curiously. You had seen him at the beach too unfortunately, always leaving with a different woman on his arm and a different baggie in his hand. His eyes would linger on you from time to time, but he was never a chaser, so nothing ever came of it. “Shit, maybe-”
“He’s not high.” The last man spoke, calmly and assertively, crouched in front of you with a hand still firmly holding your ankles down. If you identified everyone else right, this had to be Andrew, or Pope. You had never crossed paths with him, and if the stories about him were true, that was for the best. If you hadn’t been scared for your life, you might have thought he was an attractive man, might have flirted in the grocery store with him a bit, but you weren’t in the business of using one liners on guys who had one hand keeping you pinned down and the other holding a gun, no matter how hot they were. “His pupils are too normal.”
“So maybe he’s just an idiot then, I don’t know!” Craig said defensively, rolling his eyes and muttering something to himself while he rubbed his nose. You held back an eye roll of your own at the motion. Pot meet kettle, you figured.
“Let’s try again.” Baz said quietly, stepping forward towards you and resting his foot on your shoulder, applying just enough pressure for you to wince. “How many break ins have you done in the city in the last month? And where?”
Your brow furrowed at that question. Not a “who are you”, not a “what are you doing”, but asking for a tally of your crimes? Why-
It clicked for you suddenly. If you had beaten them to the punch at the hardware store, how many other times had you done the same thing at your other scores? A quick mental count, and you had to suppress a groan- you had done 12 robberies over the last 30 days. You were past digging your grave by this point. You were closing the coffin and waiting for them to throw the dirt on you. So much for not talking.
“Twelve.” You said hoarsely, throat a bit sore from how dry the fear made your mouth. “ACE, Divaldi’s, Ch-”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Deran exclaimed, sitting back on his heels with wide eyes. The four looked between each other with equally confused gazes, before he turned back to you and leaned closer. “Sit up.”
Pope “helped” you sit up (yanked you up), and the younger Cody reached forward and roughly pulled your mask off of your head, throwing it on the ground beside you. Four sharp intakes of breath. You shook your head to get your hair out of your face, blowing a strand away and staring resolutely at your feet, heart pounding.
“There is no fucking way we’ve been getting beaten by a fucking girl each time.” Craig sounded weirdly distraught instead of the furious tone you expected, and the look you stole up at him confirmed just that. He looked downright embarrassed, actually. “Smurf’s going to kill us.”
“She doesn’t have to know.” Baz said resolutely, tilting his head to the side and cracking it loudly.
“Haven’t I seen you?” Craig asked suddenly, cocking his head and pausing. “You surf, don’t you?”
“This isn’t the time to think about getting your dick wet, asshole.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you, shithead.”
Pope hadn’t offered any input, but you felt his gaze on you. Every time you glanced over, he was staring directly at you, eyes practically boring a hole into your skull with the intensity of his gaze. It was rooting you to the spot in the most terrifying way. Even if he hadn’t been holding you down, you felt like you would have been unable to move from just his stare alone.
“Just take the money.” You interjected, cutting everyone off loudly. They turned to look at you, various expressions of surprise and distaste ranging on their faces. “Just take it.”
“How generous of you.” Baz said dryly, pulling a round of snickers from the others. “Kind of you to do, especially since you so clearly have the upper hand.”
“I’d rather you take all of it than me get raped or die.” You said, trying to sound as blunt and cold as possible, but the tremor in your voice was unmistakable.
“Jesus fuck, nobody’s going to rape you.” Deran sounded horrified, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually think that was an option.
“Thanks for the reassurance on the kill part too.” The tremor was far more subdued this time.
“What do we do now?”
The three who had actually been speaking started muttering to each other, Pope not even bothering to glance up at them, still staring dead at you. It was genuinely unnerving, but at least his grip on your ankles had loosened slightly. Maybe he finally realized you couldn’t go anywhere zip-tied.
“Why did you do it?” He asked you, breaking his silence to ask you a question you hadn’t anticipated.
“Huh?”
“Steal.” He offered up.
“Why?”
“Dunno,” he shrugged aimlessly, “just wanted to know if it was boredom, greed, anything like that. Drugs, maybe.”
“Nothing like any of that.” You hesitated to give up the real reason you were out this time of night. Giving away any information about your family to the most dangerous family in the city was already a bad idea. Doing it after you had already pissed them off seemed worse.
“That’s not an answer.” Pope said with a hum, twirling the gun in his hand around a few times out of habit. “I’m not playing twenty fucking questions with you.”
“Medical bills.” You finally answered, quietly enough that he could hear without the other three, who were still whispering to each other, overhearing.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Not mine.”
“Ah.” He smirked crookedly for a half second, scooting closer to you. “A selfless act, huh?”
You didn’t respond, lips pressed together in a thin line. Your hands were slowly losing feeling, and the black smudged around your eyes was burning your waterline. Part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation you were stuck in, the other part of you was still in fight or flight mode.
“Who is it?” Despite saying he wasn’t playing twenty questions, Pope seemed more than happy to ask you gruff questions, that unnerving stare still not wavering from you. Even though he was asking you the questions, you still couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t a chatterbox, just entertained by a new person. “The sick one?”
“My niece.” You whispered honestly, feeling the familiar burn in your throat you got whenever you talked about her.
Pope fell silent at that, something unfamiliar flashing in his dark eyes. You studied him now that his gaze was off you for the first time that night, searching his face to figure out what was going on in his mind. He looked back at you, pausing before speaking again. “What’s her name?”
“Emelia, but I call her Emmy.” You cracked a small smile. “She calls herself Mimi, Emmy isn’t ‘cool enough’ for a three year old apparently.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Leukemia.”
He fell silent again. The other three finally stopped talking and turned to face you, Baz clearing his throat and opening his mouth to speak, but Pope cut him off. “Let her take the money and go.”
“I beg your highest fucking pardon?” Craig asked, eyes wide and jaw half open with disbelief. “Are you fucking insane right now?”
“There is no way-” Baz started to speak through gritted teeth, but paused and started over. “Why?”
“The fuck did she say to you to get you to agree to that?” Deran asked incredulously, looking at you with something between shock and awe on his face. “Hypnosis or something?”
“Doesn’t matter.” Pope said carelessly, not looking at his brothers but continuing to look at you instead.
“Do you hear yourself?” Baz hissed, laughing with disbelief. He knelt down on your other side, gripping your hair and turning your head towards Pope roughly. You winced in pain, holding back a whimper when he fisted your hair even tighter and ripped a few strands out. “We have a job to do, and if we come back empty handed, Smurf is going to have our heads on fucking stakes in the yard.”
“She agree to suck his dick or something?” Craig muttered to Deran, who huffed out a laugh and shrugged.
“What’re you doing with the money anyway?” Deran asked you, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Gotta be something crazy for Pope to throw it away like that.”
“Great question.” Baz said with a hum, tilting your head so he could look you in the eye. The gash on his head was incredibly pronounced, and you suspected the cut on your cheek looked similar.
“It’s for my niece’s medical bills.” You gasped out, neck tight from the way he had it cricked. “She’s three, she has leukemia.”
“Shit.” Craig and Deran muttered, and despite the way Baz’s hand loosened in your hair, he shook his head. “You believe her?”
“My phone is in my left pocket. My lock screen is with her.” You tilted to sit more on your right hip, letting Baz use his free hand to fish your phone out and pull it up.
Sure enough, when he turned your phone on, all four boys crowded around to see the photo of you and Emmy. You were at the zoo with her, holding her on your hip and beaming at the camera with twin smiles on your faces. Her arms were around your neck, cheek smushed to yours, headband sitting on her otherwise heartbreakingly bare head. Looking between the two of you, there was absolutely no mistaking that you were related- same eyes and same smile, which your sister also shared.
“She’s not lying.” Pope said seriously, looking away from the photo and up at his brothers with a blank stare you couldn’t read. Baz had the same look as him, swallowing thickly and clenching his jaw.
“Yeah, well, as sad as that is-” Craig turned to you quickly “-sorry about that, cute kid-” he turned back to his brothers “-we can’t just throw away all the money and let her go.”
“We have to let her go, dude, we can’t just keep her hostage or something,” Deran argued with a shrug, “but the money thing… that’s tough luck.”
“Get over here.” Baz groaned, letting go of your hair unceremoniously and standing up, waving his brothers to stand a few feet away out of your range of hearing.
You couldn’t hear what the four of them said, but you weren’t listening. You sat and stared at your phone, the lock screen photo back staring up at you. Realistically, you could afford to let the money from this job go and make it up down the line, but that would be the hard part there- how were you supposed to keep running jobs knowing you were on their radar now? Start driving to other cities?
A few moments later, Pope walked over with a knife in his hand, kneeling down beside you and looking you dead in the eyes. Any other time, you would have been wriggling backwards like a worm on the pavement trying to escape, but something about the look on his face said you weren’t in danger at that exact moment.
He didn’t speak, just used the knife to cut through the zip ties on your ankles smoothly, coming around behind you to slice the ones around your wrists as well. You hissed in pain when the blood suddenly returned to your hands, bringing them around to your front and taking off your gloves to check the damage. Angry red lines had formed, but nothing you couldn’t cover with some well placed bracelets and long sleeve shirts at work. “Thanks.”
He nodded at you, glancing over at his brothers, who were all staring at you. You stood up carefully, gratefully taking the outstretched hand Deran offered when you struggled to use your hands to push yourself up, and faced the four of them back.
“Here’s the plan.” Baz said carefully, rubbing a hand down his face and sighing with a shake of his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “We told Smurf this was a $25k job. She’s expecting $25k from us.”
You nodded when he raised an eyebrow, checking if you were following, and he continued in satisfaction with your response.
“We’re taking $30k. You can have whatever’s left.”
You’d love to say you had a cool response, some witty retort, something that asserted yourself as a tough, no-nonsense, intimidating woman that would prove why they should be glad they were leaving you alive with money.
Instead, your knees nearly gave out from the shock and relief, Pope quickly reaching out to steady you with a strong arm around your waist. He steadied you and straightened you back up once you weren’t on the verge of collapse again, and you shot him a thankful glance, one he returned with the same intense stare as always.
“Thank you guys.” You breathed out, beyond caring if you sounded cool or tough at this point in the night. “Seriously, I won’t breathe a word of this. Ever. On my life.”
Baz nodded, holding out a hand for you to shake. When you took his hand, he used it to pull you closer, leaning down to make intentional eye contact with you. “I’m trusting you on that. Don’t make me regret it. Or you will. Okay?”
“Heard.” You responded, shaking his hand firmly and letting go when he gave you a satisfied nod.
“Come on, let’s get the cash and go.” Craig said, checking his watch and wincing. “Smurf’s gonna start wondering where we are.”
“It’s in my trunk.” You bent down to pick your phone up off the ground, tucking it in your pocket and taking off your jacket, letting the cool California breeze run over your skin with a sigh of relief.
You couldn’t see it, leading the group to your car, but Craig had eyed you appreciatively when you slipped your jacket off, eyes roaming your figure shamelessly. Deran noticed and rolled his eyes, Baz noticed and just ignored it, but Pope seemed particularly bothered, jaw ticking and fist clenching when he saw his younger brother’s wandering eyes tracing your figure. Pope’s reaction was also something both Deran and Baz noticed, shooting each other a look that was equal parts amused and confused.
You hit the button on your dashboard to pop the trunk, tossing your gloves and jacket on the passenger seat and sliding back out of the car to open it the rest of the way. You slid the duffel bag towards the edge of the trunk and unzipped it, pulling it out and handing it to Baz with a nod. “Go ahead.”
He seemed a bit caught off guard that you were having him count the money, but with how easily you were about to get out of this situation, you weren’t taking any chances of pissing someone off. God forbid you miss a stack of cash somehow.
Baz and Deran counted the cash out, loading it into a duffel bag that Pope held, and when it was finished (you weren’t unconvinced Deran hadn’t tried to put extra in there, but you saw Pope shut the bag abruptly, so you weren’t asking questions) they gave the bag back to you. It was considerably lighter than before, but it still had more than the $10k you had originally planned for, so a win was a win at the end of the day.
“Thanks.” You took it and set it back in your trunk, shutting the hatch and dusting your hands off on your pants. You turned to the group, giving them what you hoped was a “we’re super chill and did a neat deal” smile and not the “I’ve never felt fear like this in my life and I’m still terrified you might shoot me and slash my tires” smile you were really feeling in your heart. Sure, they had been weirdly kind, but you would be a fool to let your guard down. You weren’t sure they even let their guards down fully around each other. “I really appreciate it, seriously.”
“Don’t thank us, thank Pope.” Craig said, nudging his older brother with his elbow. “Went to bat for you like nobody’s business and wormed us out of extra money. Soft spot for kids and hot women.”
Pope didn’t say anything to that, just side eyed his brother before looking at you, the faintest hint of a grin teasing the edges of his lips. You pretended you didn’t hear the last part of Craig’s words, moving to shake everyone’s hands as a goodbye.
“You’re alright.” Deran said, giving you a sort of approving half nod when you shook his. “Maybe I’ll see you at the beach.”
“Maybe.” You agreed, getting the feeling that his words were more an invitation to surf with him and less a concept, but you weren’t there to question it.
He smirked at that and hopped in the passenger seat of the Jeep, Baz and Craig shaking your hands and getting in the Jeep too.
“See you at home!” Baz called to Pope, starting the Jeep and peeling out of the parking lot with ease.
You and Pope were now alone in the lot, standing in the light of one of the half burnt out lamp posts. He was still giving you that stare, like you were a puzzle he was trying to decode, but the buzzing of your phone gave you a reprieve from wondering what it was about. Pulling your phone out of your pocket, you frowned when you saw that your sister was trying to Facetime you.
You held the phone up to show Pope, apologetically saying, “It’s my sister, I have to take this.”
“Go ahead.” He said casually, crossing his arms and leaning back against his truck like he had nowhere to be.
“You don’t have to wait-”
“Dangerous out here.” He said simply, cracking a faint lopsided grin with his next words. “Robbers and shit, didn’t you hear?”
Accepting the weird feeling in your chest at the fact that the man wanted to wait to make sure you were safe, you swiped to answer your sister, hastily wiping away as much of the eyeliner as you could on your shirt. “Hello?”
“Hey, Emmy has a question about tomorrow.” Your sister said apologetically, and you heard the faint “I talk now!” from your niece in the background.
A wide grin broke out on your face, “Let’s hear it.”
“Come here, kid,” your sister hoisted Emmy up in the view of the camera. “Say hi to Aunt (Y/N)!”
Pope’s eyes flicked between you and the phone there, and you had a fleeting realization you never told them your name. Technically, they never told you theirs either, but it was kind of a given. Blinking the thought aside, you beamed at your niece, waving at her when she gave you the scrunch handed toddler wave. “Hi Emmy! What’s up?”
“Can we go playground tomorrow?” Emmy skipped all formalities and greetings in favor of leaning straight into the phone camera, face so close you could barely see anything besides her.
You laughed, nodding in agreement. “Of course, kiddo, we’ll go to the playground tomorrow if it’s not raining.”
“And ice cream?”
“AND ice cream?” You pretended to be exasperated, thinking exaggeratedly before sighing. “You drive a hard bargain, miss Emmy, but I think we can make it happen.”
Emmy let out a delighted shriek, and you beamed at her, eyes briefly flicking up to catch Pope’s gaze. It was soft, and you realized there might have been something to Craig’s words about his soft spot for kids. You wondered if there was a kid in their lives that made him say that, made him know that about his brother specifically, or if it was just a general statement.
“I can’t see you tomorrow if you don’t go to sleep, though.” You said seriously, checking the time and wincing inside- your sister was probably exhausted.
“Exactly.” Your suspicions were confirmed when your sister said that quite loudly, picking your niece back up and holding the phone again. “Thanks (Y/N), and thanks for agreeing to babysit tomorrow.”
“‘Course, I get to spend time with my girl then.” You said sincerely, and she grinned at that.
Saying goodbye quickly, she hung up, and you slipped your phone back in your pocket with a smile before looking back up at Pope, who hadn’t moved once from his spot. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be.”
“Thank you again, seriously. You have no idea how much it means, what you all did. What you did.” You said genuinely, hands in your pockets, rocking on the balls of your feet.
“You’re welcome.” He said simply, a lilt in his voice that made you wonder how often he got sincere thanks from anyone.
“I need to get going.” You said apologetically, and he nodded, pushing himself off the edge of his truck to stand up straight again. “Long day of the playground and ice cream tomorrow, apparently.”
He nodded, hands in his pockets now. Something about his stare had morphed from when you first met him- still intense, still unyielding, but less like he was staring at a shiny new toy and more now like he was trying to read your emotions. Now that you weren’t in active fear of your life, you were also suddenly more willingly aware of how handsome he really was, and his determination to make sure you had some money to help your niece just aided in that.
Split second stupid decisions seemed to be your forte, because instead of shaking his hand in thanks, you did what was probably the most impulsive and idiotic thing anyone in town had ever done. You got closer to him, raised yourself up on your toes, and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Pope Cody’s cheek like he was your crush in the hallway, not one of the most notorious and feared men in the town.
Back on your feet, you smiled at him, trying to gauge if you just fucked up beyond any sense of saving. He didn’t respond at first, one hand moving up to touch his cheek where your lips had just been, eyes still scanning over your face with what looked like a glint of confusion in them.
“Drive safe.” You offered, turning and walking back to your car when a rough hand caught yours. You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow, but he just stared at you for a beat longer before speaking.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said quietly, not at all a question, but a declaration.
“Hm?”
“Drive safe.” He echoed back to you, letting go of your hand and walking around the truck to get in the driver’s side.
Confused, you did the same, waiting for him to move so you could also drive away and get back to your house, where you unpacked the cash (they had left you with $27k, which was enough to shorten your job count down drastically) and went to bed. You fell asleep wondering what he possibly meant by that.
When you opened the door the next day, though, expecting to see your sister and Emmy there, you instead met the intense eyes of Pope. “Pope?”
“Morning.”
“How did you-” you cut yourself off, wondering if you really wanted to know how he knew where you lived. He seemed to know what you were going to ask and just cocked an eyebrow, eyes flitting up and down over you to take in your sundress and makeup, before meeting your gaze again.
“Just wanted to drop these off.” He held out a bag to you, and you took it carefully, peeking inside to see a stuffed bear and a plastic headband. They were completely random and didn’t even remotely match, but the way he stood there watching you said he either didn’t care or didn’t know. “For Emmy.”
“That’s really, really sweet of you, Pope, wow.” You said softly, closing the bag and looking up at him with wide eyes. “Thank you so much, she’s going to love them.”
“‘S no problem.” He shrugged, seemingly pleased with your response. “I’ll see you.”
“Thanks again, I’ll see you.” You said, grinning at him with far less worry than you had the night before, a teeny bit of heat rising to your cheeks when he held your gaze for a beat longer and turned away, jogging down the steps and crossing the street to his truck.
When you gave Emmy the toys, your sister asked who they were from, knowing full well neither item was something you would pick out. You weren’t sure what to say, so you just settled for the simplest option. “Someone who wanted to see her smile.”
“That’s so generous, wow, they must be really selfless.”
You couldn’t help the grin on your face from that statement. “Sure.”