They were surrounded. Every exit was covered, and the roads were blocked off.

  Dillion began to panic—his heartbeat uncontrollable, his breaths sharp and fast. His face dropped as his eyes widened in fear. He froze, his fingers still parting the blinds as if they weren’t part of the world moving along without him.

  “Dillion—Dillion!” shouted Mateo, twice.

  Dillion snapped out of it, letting go of the blinds and turning to Mateo.

  “I told you this was a bad idea! I knew we shouldn’t have done this job! Now we’re surrounded, and we’re going to prison!” Dillion shouted.

  “This isn’t the time to throw around blame,” Mateo said firmly. “What we need now is a plan to get out of this. We had the perfect setup—there’s no way I could’ve foreseen the failsafe on the alarm. So instead of panicking, we need to find a way out. Or should we just walk out there with our hands up and surrender?”

  Dillion walked frantically from the window toward Mateo, jittery, eyes darting everywhere.

  “Maybe we should surrender. They’ll go a lot easier on us if we give up before any of this escalates,” Dillion said.

  Mateo’s face tightened, his jaw clenching under the sheer rage of Dillion’s words.

  “Have you lost your mind? You want us to just walk out there and lay down—and you honestly think they’re going to go easy on us?”

  Mateo’s steps were fast. Sharp. His arms shot out, gripping Dillion’s hoodie tightly, yanking him closer.

  “That’s not an option. None of us here are first-time offenders. What do you think they’re going to do with repeat offenders? Give them a slap on the wrist and send them away?” Mateo barked.

  “No, but—”

  “No but nothing! I’m not seeing the iron curtain—no chance, not again!” Mateo growled.

  Joseph and Santiago rushed in, duffel bags full of cash slung across their shoulders.

  “What the hell is going on? The feds have surrounded the entire bank, and there are helicopters in the sky!” shouted Joseph.

  Mateo’s eyes darted toward Ricardo, lying on the floor. “It was him!” he shouted, pointing. “He decided to be a hero and set off a silent alarm! Now we’re surrounded!”

  “So what’s the play? Whatever we’re doing, we need to do it fast,” said Santiago.

  Mateo started pacing back and forth before stopping at the blinds. He paused momentarily to gather his thoughts—and his breath—before parting them.

  Outside, across the street, officers were crouched behind squad cars, weapons drawn.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Mateo pulled back sharply from the blinds. He knew it—it was only a matter of time before the police made their move. If he was going to act, it had to be now.

  His head dropped, hands rubbing across his face in frustration. He didn’t have any ideas left. He had planned this robbery meticulously, but nowhere in his contingency plan was a rapid-response police unit or a secret alarm.

  Mateo’s heart began to thud against his ribs as panic flooded his chest and lungs. Memories of Rikers Island clawed their way to the surface—the beatings, the daily brutality, the endless nights knowing you could be next. No one was safe there. The day he got out, he made himself a promise: he’d never go back. He knew he was lucky to leave alive.

  He shook his head repeatedly, trying to banish the memories, but they came rushing back—thick and fast. As much as he wanted to clear his mind, that fear... that fear had imprisoned his heart at Rikers and never let go.

  Mateo spun around suddenly and stormed toward Ricardo. He grabbed the back of his collar and yanked him up.

  “Please—I’m sorry!” Ricardo begged. “I was only doing my job!” His voice cracked as tears welled in his eyes. “Please, don’t kill me. I have a wife at home—please!”

  Ricardo’s body trembled, but his pleas didn’t move Mateo. He dragged him toward the bank’s entrance doors.

  “Wait—we’ve got movement!” shouted one of the officers, raising his hand.

  Mateo slammed Ricardo into the glass, pressing the barrel of his shotgun to the side of his head.

  “Hostages confirmed! I repeat, hostages confirmed!” yelled the officer.

  Another officer sprinted toward the command van, lungs burning, arm pumping. He yanked the door open.

  “Sergeant Keller! Hostages have been confirmed!”

  “Get snipers on the pharmacy roof and the post office, now!” Keller barked.

  “Yes, sir!” The officer nodded and ran off, relaying the order over the radio.

  Sergeant Keller turned to his negotiator—Detective Hannah Blueberry, a tall redheaded woman with over fifteen years of experience. Her face was calm, but her voice—it was built for this. There wasn’t much she hadn’t seen. She’d been under the pressure cooker more than enough times. She was seasoned—a shrewd operator.

  “You’re up. Make the call,” said Keller.

  Inside the bank, the phone began to ring.

  Joseph and Santiago froze. The sound echoed through the hall—slow, piercing, endless.

  “Don’t just stand there!” shouted Mateo. “One of you answer that damn phone!”

  He yanked Ricardo from the glass, throwing him hard to the floor. Everyone stood still, their fear sinking deep, taking root.

  “Do I have to do every damn thing myself?” Mateo shouted as he stormed toward the phone.

  He grabbed the receiver, pausing for a moment—letting it hang in the air as it swung gently.

  “Hello? Hello, is anyone there?” Hannah’s voice came through, calm but insistent.

  Mateo raised the phone slowly to his ear.

  “Hello.”

  “This is Detective Hannah Blueberry with the nypd. Who am I speaking with?”

  Mateo’s eyes wandered, deep in thought. Hannah waited a a few seconds before speaking again, breaking the silence. Her voice remained calm. “I’m not here to play games. I just want to make sure everyone’s okay in there.”

  Mateo exhaled slowly through his nose. “Everyone’s okay—for now. As long as you stay away and meet my demands, no lives will be lost, Hannah.”

  “Well— in order for me to help you, I need you to help me. How many hostages are inside?”

  A loud chuckle echoed down the line. “You’re good, Hannah—really good. You see, I don’t know what criminals you’ve dealt with in your time with the NYPD, but you aren’t about to pull the wool over my eyes and manipulate me, officer.”

  Dillion came rushing into the room, breath heavy and ragged. “What are—”

  Before he could finish, Mateo raised a finger for silence. He wore the look of a man about to do something stupid—really stupid.