[ 20. A Bolt From The Blue ]

"Dad!"

In one fell swoop, Hayes swiped his forearm across the table, grasping the tablecloth with it and pushed everything to the ground. I jumped, eyes wide and heart thumping as I stared at the pile of blue plastic and potentially broken glass. The knife lay abandoned hidden beneath the sheath of wrinkled tablecloth.

Both of our heads turned at the same time toward the footsteps rounding the corner into the living room area. I sucked in a breath when someone peered around the corner, direct gaze falling on the compromising position of the two of us.

"Hey, buddy," Hayes said, standing up straight and looking like he'd seen a ghost. I sat completely still like, maybe if I didn't move, he wouldn't see me here. "What are you doing here?"

Then an older man came around the corner as well. I watched his eyes land on me first, then the tarp on the floor, then back at me. Finally, he turned his attention to Hayes and gave him an exasperated look. "He insisted we stop by so he could show you his certificate," he said and I immediately recognized him as the voice from yesterday. Dave the handyman. He was pale with white hair and a matching goatee and looked nothing like Hayes.

"You got a certificate?" Hayes asked with a new inflection in his voice.

Jake, a scrawny kid with expressive brown eyes like his dad, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. He unfolded it, looked over the printed words for a moment, then handed it to Hayes. "I got all As and Bs this quarter," he said with a shrug, playing it off like it was nothing.

"That's awesome," Hayes said, ruffling Jake's hair. He turned his attention toward Dave. "You can't show up here unannounced."

The old man glanced at me warily. "Sorry," he said, but he didn't sound very sorry.

I was very confused by the dynamic between the two men. They seemed close, yet a bit strained at the same time. Hayes was shooting daggers for glares towards him while Dave seemed indifferent, maybe even judgmental. It was on brand for someone taking care of someone else's kid, if I was reading the situation correctly. But maybe I wasn't.

"What is this for?" Jake asked, pointing to the tarp beneath our feet.

Surely Hayes was glad he didn't tie me back up yet. It would have looked really fucked up. More fucked up than walking into your dad's kill room in general, if you ask me.

Hayes looked at me for a moment, but hitched a thumb in the direction of the pile of chairs by the wall casually. "I'm painting the table and chairs," he said like it was the truth. It was so believable that even I'd believe it if I didn't know the despicable reality.

"You didn't mention that yesterday," Dave said pointedly. I pursed my lips, not really liking the vibes of this guy but also... he wasn't wrong. Maybe he had good reason to hold some hostility towards Hayes. "I can help with that."

The look Hayes shot toward the man was deadly enough to make him close his mouth. Jake turned to me and raised his eyebrows. "Hi," he said. "Who are you?"

"Jake..." Dave started.

"I'm Jacob," I said, bringing back my go-to fake name. I thought back to when I'd first met Hayes and how he didn't buy it for a moment. Granted, he already knew my real name.

Jake's eyes lit up. "That's my name. Well, everyone calls me Jake, but it's short for Jacob," he said with a big smile. He looked more like his father the more I looked at him and I felt a warm sensation in my core, one that thawed all of the icy disdain I'd been feeling all morning. "Are you gonna help my dad paint the chairs?"

"Yup," I said, and for whatever reason, decided to change the subject for Hayes's sake. Under Jake's winter coat, he was wearing a blue Tennessee Titans t-shirt. "Titans, huh? I've always wanted to go to Tennessee."

He nodded, looking down at his shirt and then back up at me, shifting on his feet in that jittery way that kids moved. "We moved here from Tennessee when I was eight. You should go to Memphis if you ever go. There's a humongous zoo there."

"Sounds really cool. I'll have to go there soon."

I hated this. I hated it so much. To talk about the future with this kid who had no idea what his own father was planning on doing to me. I felt nausea nip at the tip of my tongue. What if I just walked out of the house right then? What if I looked Dave in the eye and told him what was going on? I could end it right here. I could leave and Hayes would be powerless with two witnesses, his own blood, standing in the room before us.

But I couldn't. Not with Jake here. I'd witnessed some horrific shit when I was a kid and it still plagued my dreams at night.

"It's time to go," Hayes said, handing the folded piece of paper back to Jake. I watched wordlessly as there was no sign of affection, no hug, not even a hand on his shoulder as he ushered Jake out of the house. "I'll come see you soon, buddy."

Dave was saying something as he followed Hayes to the door about having the decency to have them over for dinner or something since he had the time to hang out with one of his buddies. I assumed he was referring to me, which was weird enough. I'm not one of his buddies, I wanted to say. I'm actually being held captive by your man Hayes.

Instead of blowing his cover, my eyes darted to the pile of discarded items from the table. The tablecloth conveniently covered most of it from wandering eyes, but I could see the glint of the knife just peeking out. I glanced over at the foyer area, wondering if I could pull this off. The answer was probably a big fat no, but Hell if I wouldn't die trying. He was getting ready to kill me. I could at least use our unwelcome guests showing up to my advantage.

I shot up from my seat and grabbed the knife, holding it by my thigh and resuming my seat. Hayes was talking Dave down, assuring him that as soon as he was done with work, he'd find the time for Jake. I wasn't sure anybody believed him.

When the door shut, I tried to calm my erratic heartbeat, feeling shaky and anxious. The point of the knife dug into my thigh as I held it flush to my side. He took his sweet time coming back.

What was I even planning to do? Fuck.

"Fuck," Hayes exclaimed when he rounded the corner, running his hands through his hair and seemingly trying to find similar composure like I was. "That was... really fucking bad."

I kept my mouth shut, chest rising and falling much higher and lower than normal. He looked at me like it was my fault, sighing. I kept my eyes on him, following his movements and tracking his next steps.

"Do you think..." he started, then shook his head. "I fucked up."

He bent down to start cleaning up the mess he'd made. I hoped he wouldn't look at me too closely and see the knife in hand. He gently pulled the tablecloth up and replaced it on the table. Somehow the glass vial survived the tumble. One by one, he replaced the items, not realizing anything was awry until—

Hayes froze. I froze. He stood up slowly and in that very second, I stood and raised my arm with the knife in hand. It was pointed toward him with absolutely no intention of penetrating, but I would still try. When he turned to me and saw the knife, he raised his hands in surrender, meeting my eyes. "Vinnie—"

"Let me make my fucking phone call."

His nostrils flared and I knew he wanted to knock my ass out, but he just let out a breath. "Listen to me, Vincent. You don't want to hurt me. Just like I don't want to hurt you," he said, speaking slowly as if he were talking down a terrorist.

"Bullshit," I said and jerked my head towards his table of toys. "You want to hurt me. You were about to hurt me before your son came."

Hayes furrowed his eyebrows, but I wasn't falling for this faux empathy schtick. He could do the whole thing, nodding his head and agreeing with whatever I said for the sake of his own safety, but I wasn't going to entertain it for a second. He was the hunter and I was the prey and, for the first time since the night I snuck the lighter, I had the upper hand. I had an iota of control.

"Get your phone," I demanded.

He sighed. "Alright. Let me get my burner so the number isn't traced. Is that okay?" he said, gesturing away from the two of us. I jerked my head in response, not lowering my raised arm for a second.

Hayes walked backward so as not to turn his back to me, which wasn't necessary since I wasn't going to plunge the knife into him—front or back. We both knew that. Maybe he was humoring me. Or maybe he had his doubts. Either way, we walked step by step, holding an intense eye contact that I couldn't even form words to acknowledge.

"It's in my closet," he said. When we got to his bedroom, he gave me and the knife one last long look before he turned his back. I stood close, trying to ground my feet into the carpet to stop my knees from shaking.

He grabbed a shoebox from the top shelf next to where the storage tote was. When he turned around, he held a cheap flip-phone in his right hand, the other behind his back. I didn't even take a second to question it before snatching the phone out of his hand and backing off to sit on the bed. Hayes took a few cautious steps forward and I raised the knife again, warning him to stay back.

"You're a pain in my ass," he muttered, falling short in his spot a few paces away. "Just make your phone call. Do not name me or there will be consequences."

I rolled my eyes and flipped open the phone, feeling a rush of overwhelming dread. What if she didn't even answer? I dialed the familiar number, one I'd memorized a week after I met Georgette. She told me she would always be a phone call away and, up until this point, it had reigned true.

The ringing echoed in my head and the longer it dragged on, the more my hope diminished. I could see her with pinched eyebrows, staring at an unknown number and debating on answering. And when she did answer with a huffed, "Hello?" I could picture the annoyed expression at my persistence.

"Georgie? It's me."

"Vinnie? Where the fuck have you been?"

I resisted the sob at the back of my throat threatening to choke me on my words. "I don't have long. I just needed to call and set some things straight, alright?" I said slowly. "Are you with Ron?"

"No. Just me and Nico here."

"Listen closely. Some shit went down and... I probably won't be coming around," I stopped myself from saying ever again, because that would surely send her down some sort of spiral. "I'm okay. Just... don't do anymore heists. Shit's over. You just keep your head down, get your old job back, and take care of Nico."

Georgette was quiet. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Just listen. There's a box under my bed with cash I've been saving since we started. I want you to take it and divide it fairly. I trust you. Give enough to Guillermo to cover a month or two and tell him I moved away. He'll find someone to take my room easy. Be fucking generous when taking some for Ron and yourself, okay? And then take the rest and, I don't know, donate it. Start a fucking charity. Something good, legal and legit, you hear me? No more shady shit."

"Vinnie, you know we can't do this without you."

"Yes, you can," I said, my chest heaving. I could feel Hayes boring holes in my forehead but I pretended like he wasn't there. "I love you, G. I'm sorry for being a dick since the day we met, but I wouldn't have made it this long if it wasn't for you."

Georgette was crying, but she was trying to make it seem like she wasn't. I could hear it in her voice when she took too long to reply and all she could manage was, "Fuck you, Vincent. Fuck you for this."

"I know," I agreed. "Get that money and stay safe. Okay?"

She didn't say anything else. Instead just freed a choked sound that revealed her real emotions. She was angry and devastated and confused, but there wasn't anything I could do. So I hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed beside me, staring at it for a grim moment. The knife laid helpless beside it, representing how fucking weak I was.

My heart didn't skip a thumping beat when I heard a click. It didn't surprise me one bit when I looked up to a gun pointed in my face.