That thought sent a chill down my spine. How would I get Mom to safety if it was something like that?
She turned onto the beltway going north, which seemed odd, but I’d never driven Dom to work.
Getting into DC would take time. All I could do was watch out the window and try to think of a plan that would get us both away from Dom.
We crossed the river into Maryland, and Mom got off the beltway, heading south.
Soon after I saw the sign saying we’d entered Bethesda, Mom pulled into an alley off the main street.
I sat up.
Dom turned back toward me. “Now, you and I are going to work.”
My face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”
He offered a black thing over the seat.
It was a gun.
“No,” I said.
“Take it,” he demanded. “It’s not loaded.”
I grabbed the heavy thing and put it down on the seat next to me. “What the hell?”
He had another gun, this one pointed at me.
I froze.
“This one is loaded. Now listen to me and do exactly as I say. Pick up the gun.”
I put my hand on the beast and pulled it into my lap. I felt as cold as the steel of the gun.
“You’re going with me into the bank.”
I put the gun on the seat again. “I am not.”
“Yes, you are.” He cocked the pistol. “Or I’m going to shoot you.”
My breathing stopped. All I could see was the black barrel of the gun pointed at me. I was in a nightmare. That had to be it. This couldn’t be happening. This didn’t happen to normal people.
Mom looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Dear, you have to do this.” Fear laced her words. “For me.”
With Mom begging me, I had no choice. I picked up the cold, evil gun.
“Good girl,” Dom said, grinning. “Now that we understand each other, here’s what we’re going to do.”
I tried to gulp, but my mouth was so dry I couldn’t.
“Your mother is going to drive us around the corner to the bank,” he said. “You and me are going in and making a withdrawal. You don’t say a thing. I’ll do all the talking.”
I nodded.
He tossed the black duffle bag over the seat to me. “The teller counters are on the righthand side. You’ll go back there and put the money in the bag. Understand?”
I blinked and nodded.
“What are you going to say?” he asked.
“Nothing.”
“That’s right. It’ll be over in less than thirty seconds. You try to run. I shoot you. You say a word, and I shoot you. You hesitate for one second, and I shoot you. Do you understand me?”
I wrapped my arms around myself and nodded again.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“I understand,” I squeaked out.
I’d seen him ignore us. I’d seen him angry we were out of beer. I’d seen him dismissive about Mom’s cooking. I’d seen him angry that dinner was late. But I’d never seen this version of Dom, the I’ll kill you version.
Mom had refused to leave the few times I’d broached it years ago, saying he’d find us. She’d joked that he’d never let her leave. This Dominic pointing the gun at me was the Dominic she feared, the one who would hunt her down and kill her if she left. It hadn’t made sense until now.
Now I understood her fear of leaving him. I had no doubt he was deadly serious, and an angry, armed Dominic was not one to tangle with.
“We go in,” he said. “You get the money. You don’t say anything. We get out. That’s the whole plan. Don’t follow the plan, and I shoot you—simple as that.”
“But—” I started to object.
Dom pointed the gun at me again. “But what? You want to live or not? You’ll follow the plan or not?”
I took an unsteady breath. “I’ll do it.” Right now, I would agree to anything to get away from this madman, the version of Dom I’d been shielded from until today.
He put the gun away. “Let’s go.” He pulled a mask over his head.
Mom added a mask as well and started the car. She pulled around the corner to the main street and stopped in front of the bank two blocks down.
“Do I get a mask?” I asked.
“Not this time,” Dom said. He looked up and down the street. “Let’s go.”
I got out of the car and followed him inside.
“Everybody on the floor,” he yelled before firing a shot into the ceiling. “Back from the counters,” he added, waving his gun at the tellers. “Open the gate.”
After that, it was a blur as a dribble of pee ran down my leg.
The customer’s faces were even more panicked than I felt.
“Get the money,” he said, pointing to the right.
A teller pulled open the gate to the back.
I went down the line on shaky legs, not looking at the scared employees, who didn’t understand I wasn’t the one to be afraid of. I pulled cash from the drawers into the duffel, and after getting to the end, I ran back to the gate and out.
Dom pointed the gun at me and waved me to the side.
I moved over.
Bang!
His gun went off, and I looked back to see one of the tellers slump to the floor, a red splotch on her shirt.
He’d fucking shot her.
My lunch started to come up with the realization that he’d just killed a lady here, and he might kill me too. He’d just proved what he was capable of.
He nodded toward the door and ran for the entrance.
I followed him and put my hand to my mouth to hold back the vomit. I swallowed it down and spit the wretched taste out of my mouth. I got out the door a few seconds behind him and launched myself into the backseat of the car.
Mom drove off.
I shook uncontrollably. “What the hell?” I yelled.
I couldn’t hold it back any longer, the vision of the blood blooming on that lady’s shirt came back to me, and the awful smell of the gunpowder. My lunch came up and decorated the floorboards.
Dom had already taken his mask off. He turned back to me. “I just winged her. Get a hold of yourself.”
“What?” Mom asked.
My barf smelled as bad as I felt.
Dom rolled down his window. “You’ll clean that up when we get home.”
“He shot a lady,” I told her.
“Why, Dominic? Nobody was supposed to get hurt.”
“Shut up and drive,” he told her.
He turned back to me again. “You can’t leave now unless you want to face attempted murder. We’re in this together, little girl.”
That’s what this had been about. He’d intentionally cut off my ability to leave and start a new life.
Chapter 6
Luke
The text arrived as I was cracking open another peanut at Pete’s Country Club on Wednesday night.
RIGGS: Meeting in 30
The message stopped me from finishing my beer. It wasn’t a request.
Riggs wasn’t his real name, but it was the one I used for him. Instead, he was Detective Martin Nesbit of the Fairfax County Police. He happened to have the good—or bad, depending on how you looked at it—fortune of being my parole officer’s brother. Based on his first name, Martin, he’d insisted I call him Riggs in my phone and in person, in case anyone saw our messages or overheard anything. Just like the character in the Lethal Weapon movies, Martin was unpredictable and didn’t like following the rules.