17
Later that night,after another successful recovery, Zeke and his brothers poured into the Annex and headed downstairs. As usual, they didn’t stop to kick up their heels on the plush leather sofas or go to war with each other at the foosball table.
Weapons first.
Always.
It was a cardinal rule their dad had established years ago, and one they continued to this day.
Take care of your weapons, boys, and they’ll take care of you.
Once he hit the lower level, Zeke hung a left toward the Vault and strode to the electronic panel on the far wall. A dark screen lit up at his approach, and he laid his palm on the smooth surface. A blue light scanned his hand, and a red light above his middle finger blinked to green.
The wall rolled back in a whoosh, revealing rows of various handguns, long guns, and knives. Metal cabinets below the arsenal display contained ammo and technological devices that only Rohan seemed to know how to operate. On the opposite wall was an assortment of wigs, beards, costumes, and special effects makeup.
He wondered what Liv would make of the Vault. Did the FBI have anything like it? Would she be impressed? Or horrified?
Time’s ticking, Zeke.
Her reminder from breakfast had him snapping open his chest holder with a little more force than necessary. He removed his nine-millimeter and, after clearing the bullet from the chamber, he placed his weapon in its designated spot, then he unfastened the knife and sheath secured to his thigh and stowed them away, too.
In the three years they’d been doing this work, he’d never drawn his gun and hoped he never would.
Moving deeper into the Vault, Zeke paused in front of a six-foot-by-three-foot door. He pulled a key fob from around his neck and clicked it into the top insertion point. Cruz shouldered past him to insert his fob in the lower hole. After he tapped in an eight-digit code, metal clanked against metal and Cruz dragged the heavy door open.
A light flickered on inside the steel-reinforced concrete safe, illuminating rows of empty, black-velvet-lined shelves. Zeke unzipped his backpack and retrieved the bejeweled sphere they’d recovered from the Warner mansion and settled it on its plush, temporary home. Backing out of the safe, he and Cruz reversed their actions and secured the sphere within.
Ten minutes later, they all lounged in their usual spots, except for Rohan, who busied himself behind the bar, making everyone’s drinks.
“Family first.” Zeke said the words as he did at the conclusion of every mission. A moment of complete solidarity with his brothers.
“Through blood,” Phin said, continuing the tradition.
“Through hate,” Rohan said.
“Through fear,” Cruz said.
“No exceptions,” they all said in unison.
Whiskey glasses chinked together, and everyone downed their shots. They had started the tradition after the first recovery, when his team walked in as he tipped back a thank-God-we-didn’t-get-caught shot.
He’d been so bound up with nerves that he’d turned to alcohol to take the edge off. Running, archery, and, Lord help him, Grams’s meditation had done nothing to stop his insides from twisting in on themselves.
The moment Rohan saw him, he stepped behind the bar and poured them all a shot. With his calm, steady gaze on Zeke, Rohan made their first toast and, one by one, his brothers chimed in, making up the chant as they went along.
In that moment, he knew that, with their help, he could build BARS into something amazing, something that would change their lives.
He hadn’t been wrong.
BARS had changed everything. At times, like this thing with the FBI, he wasn’t sure it was all for the better. Tomorrow, he would introduce Liv to the team and finally get the full details of the recovery.
Which meant he had to convince his brothers to take on the job.
Tonight.
His attention strayed to Phin. His youngest brother would take the news the worst. More and more of late, he’d voiced his displeasure about their cash-only side of the business. The side some folks might perceive as illegal.
Stolen property was stolen property. In Phin’s way of thinking, that fact didn’t change just because law enforcement didn’t have a perfectly laid yellow brick road leading up to the thief’s house.