☆
"IT WAS DECEMBER 24TH ON HOLLIS AVE IN THE DARK," the low rasp of Run-D.M.C vibrates the phone in her palm. "When I see a man chillin' with his dog in the park."
A surprised grin tugs at her lips as the faint ringtone filters through the low chatter around her. "Seriously?"
"I approached very slowly with my heart full of fear—"
She snickers.
"—looked at his dog, oh my god, an ill reindeer."
When she presses the phone to her ear, the silence is deafening. "Vegas? Are you okay?"
"Star," he rasps, out of breath. "Where the fuck is he?"
Panic threatens to bubble up her throat, but she swallows it fiercely, desperate to mask it with that effortlessly cool confidence that Blue always exhibited. Panic would fucking destroy them. It was her job to keep them on track. Together.
If she didn't, none of this would work.
"Cadillac is coming," she reassures him, tucking her chin to speak lower... and faster. "Traffic jam. It's happening. I'm sorry."
"I'm already up here, Star."
Respect seizes her like a fucking chokehold. If anyone could get this done, it would be Vegas. There was a reason she liked him. "You're already up there?"
"Yeah. I'm up here. I need him to get here now."
Fuck. That frantic edge in his voice propels her back to the sidewalk, shoving through the thin crowd to the curb. Everything still glints in the faint light, edges of buildings and vehicles traced into silvery fragments of a sharp, sharp, sharp city. New York is fucking resilient, all jagged angles and unforgiving lines, a towering skyline of dangerous people. Know your enemy.
Fear is fleeting. It wouldn't take them long to claw out of the darkness, and when this city found them, there would be no mercy.
"Just... just give us a minute," she says, wincing when the words escape in a breathless plea. A dizzy spell washes over her, but she steadies, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, fingers curling into fists. Fuck no. This isn't her.
"Star..."
A warning lines the fake name, and it twists something vengeful in her stomach. No. He wasn't the only one risking something right now. "Don't."
Silence.
That. That's why this will work.
Satisfied with the surrender, she sinks back onto the sidewalk. A few people bustle around her, stumbling in hushed apologies, clipping her shoulder gently, jostling the subtle sickness in the pit of her stomach. Faint light swims across the gravel. A million phone flashlights seem to pool together, clashing, exposing blurry figures, worried expressions, and too many fucking moving feet.
"There are too many people," she finally admits with a tight laugh. "Even if he—"
A scream cuts her off.
It's metal clanking, an engine roaring, and a collective gasp rippling through the scattering crowd. Her breath hitches. "Fuck."
"What is it?" he mumbles in her ear. "I can hear something. What's going on?"
The sounds start to become one, melting into a fucking tragic Christmas soundtrack of shouts and swift footsteps, frantically fleeing the darkness of Rockefeller Center.
Cadillac knows how to make a fucking perfect entrance.
"Star?"
"It's him." As she twists through the crowd, riding the waves of worry, chasing the casualties of Christmas chaos, her heart flutters. "Cadillac is here."
"Fucking finally," he snickers softly. "Tell that asshole that he's three fucking minutes late."
Late.
That one fucking word blinds her worse than the sudden sweep of headlights.
A lump forms in her throat. "Vegas..."
"What's wrong? Did he fuck something up?"
The lights flash impatiently. Stealing another inch to the edge of Rockefeller Plaza, slowing, shifting her hood up over her head, she steers her gaze up to the windshield—the only motherfucker crazy enough to lead Cadillac into the trenches of Christmas hell.
Bang waves a hand at her.
A groan rips free. "I hate him, but he did it."
Vegas chuckles. "Did he crash into anything?"
Her gaze strays from the blazing headlights. As she treks over quietly, peering around at the emptying Plaza to find the looming silhouette behind that fucking SUV, a satisfied smile toys at her lips. "I don't know, and I don't care."
When she stops at the driver's side, the window cracks. Beneath dark Aviators, a smug grin greets her. "Hey, baby."
"Barricades. Now."
The trunk pops. Bang throws the door open. "Only if you help."
A curt nod. "I'm on it."
"Shit's about to get real," he says, tugging a bandanna up over his lips to muffle the slow taunt. "There's no going back, baby. You're on the naughty list after tonight."
Like she wasn't before. Resisting the urge to strangle him or just fucking snarl, she gives him a sweet smile. "Always with the cute comments."
Bang shakes his head with a laugh. "Sue me. I'm feeling the holiday spirit."
They didn't have time for this fucking banter. Not now, not ever.
"Well, if you fuck this up," she threatens, "your name will be more likely to make an appearance in the obituaries before the fucking naughty list."
"Got it." Bang snickers, raising his hands in a playful surrender. Her teeth grind together. "Let's do this. Quick."
When he kicks off his heels, twisting, swiveling to the trunk without another fucking coy comeback, a vicious surge of victory tears through her.
This. This is why it will fucking work.
Blue knew.
Despite everything, they all have something. They're followers.
"Star," Vegas hisses in her ear.
Her fingers tighten around the phone. Her throat closes. Her head spins. Her heels dig into gravel. "Vegas. Time. Now."
A pause. "22:18."
They are late. Fuck.
"How fast can you get it down?" she asks, a demand forcing the words out urgently. They need to work fucking quick.
Vegas draws a shaky breath. "In this boom?"
"No." An icy veil of hostility coats that one word. "From a fucking helicopter."
"Hey, no need to get so nasty with me, babe," he drawls, and she can practically taste the teasing smile. "I can have this bitch off the tree in five minutes."
Star nods. "Okay. We're good. We're not late."
☆
**I'm obviously having WAY too much fun with the Christmas songs and the Christmas commentary. I HATE MYSELF. 😂
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