Heartbeats

Chapter 13

I have no idea how Cam managed to get us two incredible dresses and masks in so little time. Cam’s was silver with sequins lining the edges, making her shine every time she moved. She would draw a lot of stares tonight. Our masks were simple; hers a pure black with silver vines crawling around her eyes. Mine was white with a few music notes incorporated and golden swirls.

My dress was black and simple – just how I liked it. Cam had insisted I styled my hair up in the salon, and now curls teased the nape of my neck. Slipping into the dress in the hotel’s bathroom, I had a sudden realization.

If there was something I hated more than wearing a dress and heels, it was a long dress and heels. You had to have some kind of grace to be able to pull off these things, even more to do what I had to do, and when it came to dresses, this was a grace I lacked.

I knew an older thief that specialized in these kinds of heists. She’d wear a dress and some heels to a high-end party and by the end of the night, the patrons would be a hundred thousand dollars short and Tamara a few hundred thousand dollars wealthier. I seriously didn’t understand how she could do that. These dresses were nothing short of complicated. They were by no means cheap, prevented movement, were uncomfortable, and you couldn’t even think of running in these things. Especially while wearing the heels. This caused a complication we hadn’t foreseen. In about three hours, we would partake in a hit and dash. There wouldn’t be much of the actual dashing, I thought.

“You about ready Gin?” Cam asked from the other side of the door.

My face in the bathroom mirror grimaced. Watching myself in the mirror, I smoothened my face and checked again my make-up, unwilling to go through another hour of Cam having pointy things near my face. She had steady hands of course, she couldn’t be the shooter she was without them, but she was laughing way too much and she couldn’t prevent her hands from shaking when the rest of her body also did. I had grumbled the whole time, of course. I knew how to do my own make-up, and yet, she had insisted it wouldn’t be enough this time. Her end result was definitely ten times better than mine ever was, but I still had a hard time seeing why it was so important. We wouldn’t even stay through the whole party.

Opening the bathroom door, I almost hit a startled Cam who had been still waiting for my response. Looking at her slim figure clad in the amazing dress, I had the urge to scowl.

“I’m seriously regretting this. You could go in alone, you know.” I told her.

She rolled her eyes. “We’ve been over this already. I’m one of your back-up plans. We both have to be there if shit starts raining on our parades. And anyway, you’re ten times better at this than I’ll ever be. We both know that."

I sighed, knowing that even if I managed to avoid going, I wouldn't be content just watching the action from afar. It just wasn't in me to watch from afar. I always felt like I had to contribute something, especially if its something I thoroughly enjoyed doing.

"Alright then, lets get this show on the road."

Reach was waiting for us in the van in front of our building, dressed in jeans and a comfortable shirt. He smirked when he caught me staring at his clothes longingly as I sat rather uncomfortably in the passenger seat.

"Well, you two look nice. You should wear stuff like this more often."

I scowled. "Shut up, Reach."

"What?" He said innocently. "I'm just giving you a compliment."

I made a noncommittal noise, already distracted by my thoughts. Something about this mission felt weird. Like it was too rushed. Even if we had already planned out every single detail. We even have had missions planned out in less time than this, with even fewer chances of them working, and yet, I hadn't harbored this feeling. That something was going to go wrong. I frowned, trying to shake it off, but unable to do it. From when I was little, it had been burned into my mind to trust my feelings and go on my instinct. But what could I do? There wasn't a big enough reason to express my worries. Feelings could also very well be misguided, I reasoned, remembering my father telling me that even though your gut had to be taken into account, reason and logic always counted. Right now, logic and the lack of a reason was stopping me from calling it quits.