* THIS STORY CONTAINS MATURE & EXPLICIT CONTENT*
Please refer to the list of possible triggers and kinks.
Harry Styles. Twenty-Five. Green eyes. One hundred and ninety-six pounds. Six foot even or one hundred and eighty-seven centimetres. Born to...
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A paper aeroplane flies directly into the side of my head, right as I add another pink post-it to the board, staring at said post-it as I try to calm myself down. This has been an ongoing event for the past hour. I seem to be the only one serious about making plans for the heist. Louis and Niall take turns in snickering and making mini paper aeroplanes out of the post-its.
Instead of the auction being in two weeks, somehow Harry knew what strings to pull so that it's happening in a little over a month. More than enough time for us to come up with our game plan. I want to be able to see what Harry's men are capable of.
So, my plan is to orchestrate a much smaller heist in another country, possibly Italy or Monaco. I'm leaning more towards Monaco but for now, I focus on the heist of the Red Beryl.
I know that on file, The Devils' Tribe has been linked to a string of bank robberies and what looks to be murders disguised as robberies gone wrong. We have no tangible evidence to link them to any of the crimes. It's like they're ghosts. Phantoms of the night. There are no witnesses and no evidence.
They're also under suspicion for multiple stolen cargo containers from shipyards, the suspected contents of these containers are artillery weapons and ammunition. Conveniently the security footage just seems to disappear on the night of the robbery, or the night guards just conveniently didn't see anything.
MI6 is also under the assumption that the gang has been shuffling money under the table with illegal, fake storefronts and casinos or strip clubs. One of the reasons why I was placed specifically in the Butterfly Effect. The workers there often change or leave. The turnover rate is high. Some are never seen or heard from again.
The crew they have now are the ones that have been there for a while. I have this sneaking suspicion that the girls before saw something they weren't supposed to and they're being paid to stay quiet.
Out of the three weeks that I have worked at the club, none of the girls have given me the impression that they know of something they aren't supposed to. What I have seen is an abundance of powerful people exiting the Red Rooms. They never stop to watch the shows. They don't even stop for booze. They just make their way to the back where the red rooms are and then promptly exit as if they were never there. Ghosts.
Another paper aeroplane hits the back of my neck, breaking me from my thoughts as I turn around to see that the culprit is none other than Louis fucking Tomlinson.
"Oh, please enlighten me on how this is a group effort again?" I question, gesturing to the board with push-pins and post-its that only contain my handwriting. It's obvious who has done the work.
"It is a group effort, little one," Niall speaks up, his head popping up from over the couch. The ugly leather couch that Louis has in his home. It's atrocious, to say the least. "You see, you write and plan while we hand you the post-its in the shape of aeroplanes. Teamwork makes the dream work." He cackles, moving to take another bright coloured post-it and fold it into the shape of an aeroplane.
