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"HEY, HEY, HEY," she rasps, flinging the door open haphazardly, the phone still clutched between her numb fingertips. "Cadillac, he's up there. Already. Vegas is up in the boom."
Cadillac doesn't waste a moment. The engine kicks, sputters with one fierce twist of the key, and they're both fumbling for a harsh kiss—
—and then he's gone.
There's nothing but a cold urgency—cold lips, cold cheeks, cold fingers. A fire sinks into her heart, stifled by the soft murmur on the other side of the phone.
"Star?"
"Vegas, hey." Hastily, she tucks her hair back and eases into the seat, setting him to speakerphone. "Hey, Bang just left the car for you on 51st. We're... we're coming right now. Okay?"
They surge forward, and the impact is destructive, a deafening collision of the plant pots and iron borders that line and protect Rockefeller Plaza. Every sound erupts around her like a fresh explosion—grinding metal, splitting plastic, crunching branches. Beneath it all, there's a soft click, and light floods over the gravel, exposing golden engravings and a marble building, a fence, the trace of pine needles, empty bulbs glittering in the faint luminescence.
"Star!"
His voice, full of panic and pressure, tears her from the moment. "Vegas, hey, I'm here. I'm here."
"Stay with us, babe."
Frustration clogs her throat, stings her eyes with unshed tears, pries a frantic curse from somewhere deep in her chest. "Fuck. Yeah, yeah. I know. I know."
A quick halt. A jerk, a sound of surprise, fingers shaking. They freeze in the December night, a million mistakes threatening to wreck three weeks of premeditated bullshit. "Listen, Star, I can't do anything until he's lowered the crane to me."
Cadillac nods, shooting her a stern look in the darkness. "I know. I'm on it." There's an urgent edge to his voice, so low and soft that it elicits a shiver down her spine. "Tell that son of a bitch to light a flare. One."
Nothing leaves her lips.
A bright light blazes through the night sky, igniting in one spark and burning into the black backdrop of skyscrapers. Beneath a foggy windshield, 80 feet in the air, it looks like nothing, but she knows it's... everything.
22:21
Nine minutes.
"Got you," she whispers. "We're coming for you."
A faint snicker floods the line. "Wouldn't be the first time."
Beside her, Cadillac shakes his head, a growl unraveling, somehow affectionate and annoyed at the same time. "Not the time, asshole. Try to be fucking careful."
"Fuck, I know. I mean, this is a fucking safety hazard," Vegas rasps into the phone, teetering off into a nervous laugh. "We're doing everyone a favor. That thing is more of a lethal weapon than an ornament."
There are too many things moving. Cadillac is a blur in the shadows, hands moving too fucking fast, and every little light on the dashboard is twinkling like stars in a starless city.
"Yeah, we're making Christmas safe," Cadillac huffs with a half-hearted laugh, echoing him with that same shaky, soft anxiety, concealed with the cute comment. "Great. I approve this message."
Her eyes close. A flutter of butterflies storm through her chest. This is why she needed them. They're skilled and smooth and so fucking sure of everything she's... told them.
"Alright, Cad, you—"
"I've got it. We're secured. Give me a minute. I'm just—"
"Are you really going t—"
"Yes, Star," Vegas cuts her off with an exasperated sigh, only a sliver of hesitation holding him accountable for whatever the fuck he's about to do. If he fucks this up...
"Are you sure?"
"Why waste the time unfastening it when you can just burn through it?"
A scowl twists at her lips. "Don't burn the whole fucking tree down. Please."
"Just for you. I promise."
Despite everything, despite the chaos capturing the entire catastrophic plan that they've conjured up, that promise, faint and nostalgic, leaves a wistful smile on her lips. Three weeks ago, that meant nothing to her. Three weeks ago, this was nothing.
But now, they... they were doing this.
"Is the..."
"Vans said that it's parked on 51st and 6th," she explains quickly, succumbing to a strange surge of victory—impulsive and fucking premature. They were nowhere close to done. "You should be good."
"You'll be right behind us?"
"Yeah."
Another flurry of fast motions spurs her into a frenzy. When Cadillac hisses, they move, rotating, and in the moonlight, it glitters.
3 million fucking crystals glitter in the moonlight.
Her breath hitches. There's something, something, something about it—something beautiful, but tragic, a stolen symbol of hope and love. It's theirs. Something is finally theirs.
"We're good. We're good." A streak of relief chases the triumph, and it dances across her eyelids with that delicate flicker of light, barely caressing Swarovski crystals in the icy darkness. "Just get down. Get down. Get Vans. Grab the SUV. Okay? You know what's next."
Vegas doesn't hesitate. "Got it. Let's do this."
Let's fucking do this.
A sharp jerk of her head, a nod, a silent command cast over at Cadillac. "Okay, okay, we—"
And then a siren peels through the Plaza, cutting her off with a blaring sound, the blinking red and blue lights, the fucking—
"Get down, get down, get down," she hisses, hanging up without another word or warning. Her fingers tremble as she dials Bang's number.
There isn't even a single ring before he answers: "Do you hear this shit? We gotta get the fuck out of here. Are we good? We've got it?"
"22:27," Cadillac chimes, already shifting and starting forward with a jolt, a jerk, a lurch into the darkness. Perfect.
Three minutes.
Blue is waiting.
"We've got it," she rushes out. "There's no time. Grab Vans and Vegas. Just hit 51st for now. Don't fucking stop."
She hangs up.
☆
**LOOOL I got in trouble with the security at Rockefeller Plaza this year for acting... suspicious. That shit is REAL. 😂
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