Page 9 of The Deeper Game
Odin handed me my clutch, which went with my silky shirt dress. Thor got out and held the door open.
My blood raced. I was really going in there like this.
Okay, then.
I stepped onto the sidewalk in my high heels and paused, keenly aware of my nipples and, even more so, of the sensitized bud between my legs. Every time I moved, the area was caressed by the thumb end of thebulb lodged in my asshole. It was like an invading presence inside me, turning me on against my will.
“I feel...” I took a step away from the SUV and the thumb rubbed my sex.
“How? How do you feel?” Odin asked.
“Like I’m going to die of horniness,” I gasped. “Like I’m going to come at any second.”
“You fail before you even start?” Odin said.
“No! No way. But you’re not really going to put those nipple things on when I go in there, right?” I asked. “People might see them vibrating. It’s not a good way to fit in with the clientele,” I added.
Odin grinned. “I will not vibrate the nipple clamps while you are inside.”
Well, that was something. I put on my movie star sunglasses.
Odin already had his camera out to record the manager leaving. It was time.
I walked around the front of the shiny black vehicle, stunned at how wickedly the thing between my legs rubbed and caressed my sensitive folds.
I swallowed.Focus,I commanded myself.It’s just feeling. You can do it.
I had to do it.
Chapter Three
I forcedmy mind onto the details of the bank as I mounted the hard, gleaming front steps. The smiling doormen opened the doors for me. Did their smiles seem too smiley?
No. No way could they know, I told myself.
I walked in and clicked into professional mode, letting my awareness spread across the floor. I counted the employees and noted their positions.
Odin had snuck a few tiny cameras in there and mounted them on architectural detailing, but nothing was quite as effective as actually being there, where you could feel the place, become part of its ecosystem.
And being that I’d worked at a bank, I picked up things other people didn’t.
We’d all been happy when we’d figured out that the manager of the Prime Royale, a fit and well-tanned blond man of maybe forty-five, was an asshole. Asshole managers created a pressurized situation while they were present, which meant a release of pressure when they left.
We’d be robbing the bank after hours later in the week, but a day or two before the robbery, Zeus would have to go into the lobby and get at the environmental control panel. We wereplanning to handle that part of the operation during this lax late-morning time, helped along by a bit of a diversion.
The manager leaned on the customer side of the teller window—giving some last instructions before his break, I guessed. I got into the line at the very next window and listened. Something about bundling ones. He liked to make sure the tellers didn’t slack off while he was gone. Which of course meant the opposite. Such is the way of asshole bosses and their employees.
One of the men at a desk discreetly pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and lowered it into his lap. He’d start texting as soon as the big guy was out.
Still, even with all of our expertise and current advantages, the Prime Royale would be hard to rob. We had a new partner on board because of it—Matteo. Matteo was a tough, tattooed dude who once ran with a girl gang known as the Giraffes, though most people called them the Gigis.
Matteo had been robot dancing at a club frequented by the criminal underworld of LA when I first saw him. And let me assure you, robot dancing in no way lessened his toughness. In fact, I can safely say that robot dancing with a machine gun slung over your back tends to add to your toughness factor. It says to the world that you can do whatever weird-ass thing you want, and you just don’t care.
Normally, my guys would’ve never pulled Matteo into a job, but he had those codes to the tertiary alarm system. The Prime Royale was full of jewels, and Matteo planned to use his cut of the jewels to bribe his way back into the good graces of the Gigis. They’d let him be a member once upon a time when he was with Macy. I doubted they’d ever let him back in—they seemed pretty committed to being a girl gang—but who knows, maybe Macy would forgive him.
I was second in line now. I stood to the side, where I wouldn’t show up on the front-and-center bank camera, feeling proud of how much I was observing and how normal I was acting in spite of being on the verge of an orgasm.
I watched the way all the employees watched the blond manager. He was pretty good looking, but you could tell he thought he was extremely good looking.
