Stealth

Saedra had always preferred stealth. Robbers (really everyone in the Piques) tended to carry guns. And while lead wasn't exactly silver, the idea of having a bullet lodged inside of her was less than appealing.

She removed both daggers from their pouches, balancing one in her left hand, and placing the other gingerly between her teeth. She silently slipped the key out from between her breasts, and knelt down to open the door.

As she focused on the lock, the sounds became more distinct. She could make out the voices man and a woman. He was angrily whispering something about the “damn locked safe,” and the woman was apparently trying to placate him. Saedra was having trouble believing her ears. The “safe” was perfectly empty and only served as décor (her parents never got beyond old and vampire-y furnishings). Furthermore, it wasn’t locked…it was welded shut.

And then Saedra heard the sound of cool burning–they had actually brought an acetylene torch.

Under the cover of the torch, Saedra turned the key in the lock, and pushed the door open a crack.

---The same oddly dressed woman, nubile breasts like flowing glass in the glow of the new day, gazed coldly into the sliver of harsh light, and upon the backs of the hapless pair.