𝙑𝙞𝙭𝙚𝙣 || 𝙏𝙧𝙞𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙁𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙧

Eight.

Chapter eight: Jackpot 

The landing upstairs was dark and the eerie atmosphere kept Margo on edge as she made her way through the area to clear it of anybody or anything that could possibly harm them. The rain only down poured heavier and the thunder boomed across the valley, each beat coming closer. If the weather was this bad back home, she would've been tucked away in bed with a cup of tea in her hand. After this mission, her life wouldn't go back to the way it used to be, but maybe it was for the best. She missed the thrill of being a dangerous woman.

"Any trace of him?" Margo blurted down the radio, a sudden awkward tension surfacing upon being in the middle of the Miller brothers.

Santiago replied from somewhere else in the area. "She said he never leaves."

"We got nothing." Said William in a defeated tone. "This guy's a ghost."

"Everyone to the office, right now."

Still looking through the eye of the sniper, Margo overtook Ben, ignoring the sounds of his soft chuckles with her determination and she retraced her steps to find the office. It was almost as if Lorea was a pro at playing cat and mouse because one minute, he was downstairs, causing a scene to the TV and the next minute, he was gone without a trace.

The office was probably the darkest room in the house. Given the storm that formed outside, the blackout shutters didn't help at all. A candle on the desk flickered, casting its flame along the wall and with a small glass of what seemed to be liquor, Margo's eyes widened, hungry to feel anything other than anxiety and so she moved over to it, sniffed it to confirm alcohol and she swallowed the contents.

"You're a goddamn idiot, Vixen." Tom roared to the girl. "There could've been poison in there."

Margo faced him with a grimace. Right now, she didn't like him very much. "Fuck off, Fly. I sniffed it and it didn't smell anything less than Vodka."

The room was engulfed with testosterone and angst. The individuals were completely worn out from a day of reckoning. Around the room, the men stood, stress lines stained on their foreheads and rage threatening to spill from their lips, whereas Margo's veins pumped, craving one more glass to calm her nerves. With her chest heaving up and down, she leaned against the desk and buried her face in her hands. 

The mission became very overwhelming and since she hadn't been trained in years, the urge of backing out now seemed very inviting. She wanted to cry. She hadn't cried in years but with the post-traumatic stress that resurfaced after years of suppression, she couldn't get the image of her father dying right in front of her. She wanted to go home.

An exasperated sigh could be heard and Benny slammed his fists against the shutters. Then, he moved over to Margo and put his hand on her back to sooth her but she only shrugged him off. To know that she was struggling and couldn't be helped only pissed him off even more. Santiago appeared, wary to see that his friends were staring back at him with hostility.

"What the fuck?" Ben shouted to Santiago as he walked into the room.

"And Lorea?" Tom didn't tear his gaze away from the mastermind of the failing heist.

Ben's tone was rough and irritated. "Nothing. A couple of bags." He dropped the bag to his side, something inside thudding against the wooden floorboards.

"He's gone with the money."

In a swift motion, Margo chucked the glass across the room and when the shards broke apart and littered the floor, she stood up, brought into the chest of Ben who held her body close to his. This time, she accepted his embrace and she breathed in his scent of sweat, mud, pine and damp. It was disgusting, but with her musk matching his, she didn't care. They were goners, she was sure of it. There was no trace of Lorea, the money was gone and the family would be home soon. It was all for nothing.