Bella's POV:
"I told you to lock the stupid door!" The man stalked over to us, waving the gun angrily. Mary Anne shrank back in fear.
Carlisle tensed as the gunman continued his tirade. "But no, you had to play hero and leave it open. But you know what you did, lady? You just killed two more people!"
Carlisle stiffened even more, as I pressed myself against his back, afraid.
"Robert, stop!" the other teller begged, then clamped a hand over her mouth as he turned on her. "How do you know my name?"
Lilly Duvall turned sheet white.
"How?" he screamed, getting in her face. Fear shivered up my spine – this guy was obviously nuts. Which only lessened our chances of getting out of here alive.
"We…we um, dated once or twice a few years ago," she quavered, backing up as far as she could.
He narrowed his eyes, his gaze scraping her face. "Lilly," he said, his tone dangerously smooth. "I do remember you."
She closed her eyes, shaking, as he waved the gun in her face. "But if you're smart, you won't remember me."
I could tell Carlisle was aching to intervene, but he didn't move. One wrong move and the gunman could lose what little control he had left.
His attention jumped back to us. "You get your girlfriend and go sit in those chairs against the wall."
Carlisle reached behind him and took my hand, keeping his body between me and the gunman as we inched towards the chairs. Robert had pulled the blinds, erasing any hope I had that someone from outside would see our predicament.
I sank into the hard plastic seat, keeping a death grip on Carlisle's hand. I didn't think this was any ordinary robbery – nothing made sense.
"Tell that spineless coward to get back out here," he snarled.
Lilly had to clear her throat twice before rasping out, "Mr. K-Kendall."
Nothing happened.
"Mr. Kendall, please," she said again, a little louder this time.
The door to the manager's office cracked open, slowly, reluctantly.
"Now!" the gunman yelled, and it swung open the rest of the way in a hurry. A tubby, short little man reluctantly poked his balding head out.
"Get out here!"
He scurried towards us, sweat rolling down his face. His watery gray eyes were filled with fear, and something else I couldn't quite define.
"Sit," the gunman ordered, his tone laden with disgust.
The bank manager plopped down a few seats away from us and mopped his face dry.
Robert stomped over to the door and locked it with enough savage force to make me jump.
He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, his movements jerky – with nervousness or rage, I couldn't tell.
"What do you want?" I dared ask.
His bloodshot, cobalt blue eyes locked onto mine. I couldn't look away; they froze me in place.
"Revenge."