DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc., are the intellectual property of the respective author. The original characters and plot are the property of Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

-Chapter Fifty-One-

The coke high came on in stages. A whirlwind of feelings, and I went through all of them. The first snort in the nose burned and stung, but the second line, cut and laid out before me, went into the other nostril with ease. The drug coursed and weaved its way through my veins lightning fast and with a purpose.

It was jarring to me at first, not knowing what to do with this new abundance of energy. Feeling as though I could run twenty miles, logic was creeping in and asking what I would do when I got there. My body and mind were at constant odds with each other, and this was merely a prelude to the drug's grander effect.

Charlotte walked in, took one look at me, and knew what we'd done. Peter scrambled to explain his reasons and alleviate her concerns, but she wouldn't hear of it. Instead, she went into a quiet rage and flushed the remainder of the wildcat down the toilet. Peter didn't attempt to stop her, and neither Edward nor I could find it in us to give a shit. We were too wrapped up in our joyful bubble, more intensified and concentrated than usual, with hands tightly entwined and knowing smiles on our faces.

Nothing was going to interrupt that.

That was the euphoria stage of the coke high, complete and utter happiness, despite outside circumstances. That lasted for about ten minutes before slowly fading into the powerful and invincible stage, mixed with the chatterbox effect. Words would rush out of my mouth in a constant babble. Edward kept up with me, engaging in my nonsense of conversation and countering with lame jokes.

Then there was the kissing Edward on coke. It tingled and electrified every nerve ending in my body. We kissed and kissed, frantic and mad, until our lips and tongues were sore.

I didn't want it to end.

About thirty minutes later, on the south side of Chicago—and after a constant reminder from Charlotte—Edward and I finally got our minds to focus on the job. Peter pulled into the back parking lot and turned the car off. He glanced over at Edward, and there was a universal head nod between men. It wasn't a goodbye, but good luck. We exited the beat-up Ford Escort, gathering our things: Edward's brown leather, gold buckled briefcase, which held our needed documents, and my Gucci knock-off purse.

It was a cloudy day, and the smell of rain was in the air. The wind knew no mercy with its frigid chill, blowing with a vengeful force and pushing my body back.

"What do ya say, Kids?" Edward caught me, his hands on my hips to steer me straight. "You ready for this?"

This bank job was the biggest con that we've ever done, but everything about it was different. But the sudden stage fright that bombards me and constantly plagues me right before a job wasn't there. Instead, I felt invincible, brave, and powerful. I could do anything now; walking into a bank with the faux senator at my side was top of my to-do list.

I looked up and met his downward gaze. "I've been ready."

"Well then, lead the way, boss," Edward said and opened the door for me.

Upon entering the bank, I was surprised to see how small and unimpressive it was. The deco was outdated, with a faded orange and brown checkered carpet. The counters were a pale wood, peeling and aged. There were two guards on duty—one of them was armed. Robberies were out of the norm; the last one they had was in 1976. They've become accustomed to monotony and grew relaxed over the years, feeling secure in their small town. But despite all that and their negligent security measures, they stocked their vault to capacity.

"This place is asking for it," Edward leaned down and whispered into my ear as we stood in line, his eyes roaming over the three security cameras that weren't even on. "Man, I wish Char didn't make us leave our guns."

I nodded, equally disappointed. It would be nice to have a contingency plan if this one went to shit.

Five minutes had passed since we arrived, and we were still in the same spot. There was one teller behind the counter working at a snail's pace, and the line of five people was at a ridiculous standstill. I held on to Edward's sleeve and leaned into him, hoping he could keep me from bursting out of my skin.

Fucking move, fucking move, fucking move, I chanted in my head, fingers twitching and tearing at the fabric of Edward's suit.

Just as I was about to break free and scale walls, a man rose from his desk and came over to us. He took in our well-put-together attire in one glance, and the strides in his legs quickened. Dollar signs were clearly in his eyes.

"You don't need to wait in this line. Follow me," the man said, leading Edward and me back into the rear corner of the bank, giving us a close and personal view of the vault. My eyes took on the dollar sign quality, eager to get my hands on it.

"Thank you," Edward said, pulling out my chair like a gentleman. "We were just about to leave."

I smiled to myself.

Not only was my old man courteous, but he was also a convincing liar.

The man bobbed his head in understanding, circling the desk to take his seat. "We're hiring, and things have been rather slow around here. Sorry for any inconvenience you may have experienced." He held out his hand to Edward. "My name is J. Jenks."

Edward shook it. "I'm Frankie Wallis," he gestured over to me, "and this is my wife Cecilia."

"Nice to meet you," I said, reaching over to shake hands with the man. The smile on my face gave way to my excitement about being called Edward's wife. No matter what shape or form it was in, real or not, I ran with it.

"Likewise." Jenks smiled back. "Now, what can I do for you today?"

"We're here to close our account." Edward brought the briefcase up and sat it on his lap.

"Oh." The smile on Jenks fell, instant regret that he was the one who called us over. "Well, that's certainly a shame. Can I ask why?"

"It's not of your concern," Edward replied in a flat, somewhat terse tone. He sounded and looked identical to the senator. It was eerie, and I am ashamed to say it turned me on.

"I understand," Jenks said, briefly glancing over at me. I portrayed the role of a prim and proper wife who stayed quiet—which was a little hard to do, considering there was so much I wanted to say. I had to place my hand on Edward's leg, discretely hidden from Jenks view, to distract myself. Returning to Senator Edward, he sensed the impatience behind his steely eyes and swiveled his chair towards the computer. He cleared his throat. "Account number?"

"3-2-8-3-5-5-1," Edward said, opening the briefcase and pulling out the driver's licenses, passports, and social security cards. He prepared everything and laid them out in a neat pile, pushing it across the large oak desk.

Jenks picked up the licenses and compared them to our faces. They were flawless. He set them back down, seemingly satisfied, and typed all the information into the computer. It took a moment to click on the keyboard and twirl the mouse on the pad before the account popped up.

"All right, I got your information right here and you'll be withdrawing…" he stopped mid-sentence, eyes focused on the screen, rapidly moving side to side, "two million dollars?"

Edward's smirk was smug. "Is that a problem?"

"No, of course not, Mr. Wallis," Jenks said, shaking his head and double-clicking on the mouse. "It's just, uh, a lot of money. It's a part of our banking policy with withdraws over ten thousand dollars that customers have to fill out a form and a manager has to sign off on it." He smiled with ease and stood up. "How about we move you to our executive lounge? It'll be more private and accommodating for you and your wife."

Edward glanced around, towards the tellers and the front door. The rain was pouring now, fogging the windows with moisture and making it hard to see outside. There was trepidation about the offer. Was it legit or a scam to contain us in a room?

Either way, Edward didn't like it, and being on edge made him curt. "No, we're fine right here. Do you think you can hurry this along? We have a flight in an hour."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Wallis." Jenks nodded. "I'll get my manager and have you out of here shortly."

"Thank you," Edward said, aiming to be polite but still managing to come out clipped.

Jenks was impervious to the treatment, gave a benign smile, and knocked on the desk with his knuckles. "Sit tight, I'll be right back."

His shoes clicking on the floors signaled his departure, fading as he got more distant. There was a stifled air between us, thick and suffocating, filled with unspoken questions. Our collective gut instinct told us that something wasn't quite right. Or maybe it was the coke talking, and the rare but genuine paranoia stage was kicking in.

"It seems too easy," he said, rising from his chair and casually walking over to the desk's front side.

"What does—what are you doing?" I said, quickly stealing a glance over my shoulder.

"Calm down. I'm just looking," Edward said, putting his hand on the mouse and swiveling it, waking up the computer.

I leaned over the desk, barely catching the corner edge of the screen. "What does it say?"

"Nothing," he said, but there was a hint of relief in his voice. "Everything seems good." He reached into the blazer and pulled out his phone. "No one has called me."

I sat back in my chair. "We can relax then, yeah?"

"Fuck no," he chuckled, dimming the screen and coming back to join me. "Not until we get to Mexico. Then we can relax."

I stared at the side profile of his face, in awe of his long eyelashes or how the close shave made his jaw more defined and his lips fuller. He was beautifully unreal, practically perfect, but it made me miss the more minor details, like the scruff and facial piercings.

"Love you," I said, reaching out and grabbing his hand, intertwining our fingers.

I knew we agreed to act indifferent to each other to avoid getting distracted, but that was an onerous restriction for me. I needed to touch Edward. He was my connection to the world. Besides, there was no one around. Jenks was taking forever—or it seemed, and I just wanted to feel his warmth.

"Love you." He squeezed my hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing it.

I could hear those words every second of every day, and it still wouldn't be enough for me. Two words, powerful and accurate, made my heart constrict to the point of pain. If it hurt this much with him, I can only imagine how much it would ache and destroy me from the inside out if I ever lost him.

In that instant, I understood why Edward was scared to love me as much as he did.

"All right, Mr. and Mrs. Wallis, this is my manager, Paul Stanley," Jenks said, and Edward and I glared up at the intrusion. Jenks had a short and stocky man in his late sixties with him.

"Good morning," the man said, forcing a smile and thrusting his dry, severely cracked hand out to me. I refused to touch that thing, but Edward was more than willing to play the game, leaning across me and shaking it with vigor. The man winced, unprepared for Edward's strength. "I hear you're closing an account with us today, and it's a fairly large amount."

"Is two million really considered a large amount these days?" Edward asked, adopting his father's pompous attitude.

Both men chuckled and pulled up a chair.

Things moved along rather quickly after that. They didn't ask invasive questions. They just told us where to sign and asked how we would like our money, cashier's check or large bills. Edward made it easy for them, half and half. The check would be given to someone who wasn't wanted in the states. The cash was ours, every single Benjamin, and there were ten thousand.

I broke character and grasped the edge of the desk when they discussed the amount. Edward laughed, rubbing my back and trying to get me to calm the fuck down. It was hard to watch them go into the vault with a large duffel bag and stuff it to the max—and we were far from done after we left. There were still six banks to go to, and each account varied in cash. For all we knew, there could be less than a thousand or more than twenty million. After that, it was a mystery and entirely up for grabs.

Two trips and two bags later, Edward and I were ready to leave. They shook our hands and thanked us for our business. They were sad to see a large account depart with them, but I could see it in their eyes; packing that much dough gave them a thrill for the day.

"Easy peasy, Kid, what did I tell you?" Edward said, bumping shoulders with me.

It was playful and not how a senator should be acting. But we weren't out of the woods yet.

"It's a little early to be getting cocky, Cullen," I countered, hooking my arm in his.

"Good point."

We were two steps away from the door. Two steps ahead of our freedom. Two steps further away from Mexico.

Until I die, I will never forget those two steps were taken a moment too late but delivered our fate right on time.

"Wait, hold on! Don't leave!" Jenks yelled, his voice echoing off the walls, and we froze, slowly turning around to see him running after us. Edward's phone in his hand, the screen lit up, and I could hear it buzzing. "You forgot this."

There was a sigh of relief, and Edward set down the bags, reaching out to take the phone from Jenks. "Thanks, man."

"Not a problem," he replied, panting. He was out of shape, and it showed. "I would have missed it under all the paperwork on my desk if it wasn't ringing off the hook. Someone sure wants to get a hold of you."

My heart stopped, and Edward gave me a sideways glance, our thoughts the same.

Someone was calling to warn us.

"Business," Edward said, flipping the phone open. "If you'll excuse me..."

"Oh, of course," he said, chuckling and waving us off. "Have a good day."

Edward waited until Jenks was out of earshot. Then, "Peter, what's wrong?"

We took two steps towards the front, coming out the swinging glass doors and into the dreary weather. I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation. I could only read Edward's face. It took two steps for him to know before it happened and two steps for him to be powerless to stop it.

"Oh, shit," was all I heard him say, eyes closing and head lolling back.

"Freeze! Don't you fucking move!"

There were multiple voices, overlapping and shouting, coming from every direction. It was loud and disorientating. It took me a second to figure out what was going on. Through the downpour of rain, I saw twenty men with FBI vests and guns pointed at our heads.

"Drop the bags!" one cop said, closer than the others, his Glock's muzzle inches from my left temple.

Edward saw the gun pointed at me and panicked. "Okay, all right, just..." he slowly set down the duffel bags, "take it easy."

The man didn't lower aim. Instead, he redirected it from me and towards Edward, which seemed to ease the tension.

"Both of you, hands on your head! NOW!"

My hands shot up in the air without hesitation, interlocking my fingers behind my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Edward's fist tighten around the phone, squeezing it until Edward's strength obliterated it. He dropped the plastic pieces to the ground and raised his arms.

"Turn around and face the wall."

They were all descending upon us, circling and closing in, making escape impossible. I caught a glimpse of Edward's eyes, fierce and resistant, and I was thankful the guns were in the Ford Escort, long gone from here. I knew he or I would do something stupid and Billy Badass to kill ourselves.

"Sorry, baby," Edward whispered, leaning his forehead against the wall, unable to look at me.

"Me too," I whispered back.

"Shut up!" The cop snapped, pulling my hands down from my head and cuffing them behind my back. He then patted me down and read me my rights.

Beside me, the same was being done to Edward. It was fitting that it should happen this way. We ride together and get arrested together, side by side.

They swung us around and pushed us towards the waiting unmarked FBI cars, but there was a fork in the road, where he went right, and I went left. So we were being detained and transported separately.

When Edward realized this, getting further away from me, he struggled in the cop's hold and shouted over at me. "Don't you fucking tell them anything, all right?! Nothing! Do you got me?"

"I got you!" I shouted back.

"Bella…" his eyes, desperate and filled with remorse, sought out mine, "I fucking love—" And that is where it ended as they threw him in the car and slammed the door shut, cutting off my lifeline.

Terror rushed through my veins, never knowing when or if I'll ever see him again. But then, the engine roared to life, the tires rolled, and I felt his pull quickly slip through my fingers.

"NO!" I screamed, watching as they took him away. "EDWARD!" I ran after him, but something thrust me back and kept me in place. It was the cop, arrogant and smug. "Fucking let go of me!" I bucked my hips and trashed my head back, hitting the fucker in the nose. He cursed and tightened his grip on my arms, lifting me off the ground and tossing me in the back seat of the police car. The door closed behind me with a heart-wrenching finality.

Two steps were all it took to kill me.