TOP OF THE ROCK

☆ | 12.0

☆

"HE FUCKING KNOWS."

"What?" Cadillac hisses sharply, shooting her a dark look. "¿Qué carajo? Did you just throw your phone out the fucking window? Are you crazy?"

A nod. A lump in her throat. A hollow feeling in her chest. Maybe she is crazy. Maybe that's why Blue chose her. Her fingers curl tightly, nails digging into her palms. Her hand is empty, but her ears are still ringing with Dean Martin's soft, soft, soft lyrics.

...I really can't stay... but baby, it's cold outside...I've got to go away... but baby, it's cold outside...

It's a beautiful song, fragile, but fucked up—two voices tangled together, desperate to disengage, separate, just... unravel.

...the neighbors might think... baby, it's bad out there... say what's in this drink... no cabs to be had out there... I wish I knew how...

...your eyes are like starlight now...

...to break this spell...

Frustrated tears sting her eyes. There were too many factors, too many people, too many moments that had led to this, but when it came down to it, it had always been simple to her. Don't trust Blue. Never.

So how the fuck had she let this happen?

A vice grip clenches around her heart, icy with the sensation of betrayal. Eight. There are eight of them, and if it wasn't Blue, if it was someone else, if it was... then...

"Ay, Star. Stay with us."

"Stay with us, babe."

Us.

Something about the concept feels surreal. Because one late night in the beginning of December, even for a fraction of a second, when they'd all been just strangers, it was them. It was them against New York. United.

...maybe just a cigarette more...

"Blue knew exactly where we were," she finally says, her stomach churning with something dangerously close to regret. Vans, Vegas, even Bang.

Keep them together, he said. You're it, Star.

Lies.

Fuck. This isn't how it was supposed to be, and this... isn't how she was supposed to feel. No. They'd blindsided the fucking city, blacked it out, and stolen something worth millions on Christmas Eve.

Where is her fucking holiday spirit?

"Wait." Cadillac stiffens, and her gaze flickers over his profile, a frozen silhouette cut into the dim moonlight cascading through the windshield. "Are you saying that—"

"Yes."

His foot eases onto the brake. "You're sayi—"

"Yes," she cries, lunging over the console frantically, desperate to claw at the jacket he's wearing. They jerk, but her fingers graze denim, rough and worn and... vibrating. There. His phone.

Cadillac curses under his breath. "What the—"

"You know what I'm saying." A scowl twists at her lips as she tears his phone from his pocket breathlessly, muffling the sudden ringtone with her palm. "Either he's tracking these fucking phones."

The screen flashes with his name.

"Or someone fucked us over."

"Claws?"

Her teeth grind together. No. "I don't think so."

"Shit."

A scratchy ringtone begins, and as they cruise past Ninth, the lyrics to Blue Christmas flutter through the silence like a fucking snowstorm.

"And when those blue snowflakes start fallin', that's when those blue memories start callin'."

Of fucking course. How cute of him.

"Answer it," Cadillac suddenly snaps. "Answer him."

"No."

The vibration teeters out; the ringtone dies.

"I want him to answer me," she rasps.

Because that's the game they're playing now. Sure. They've always played dirty, but in real time, Blue didn't get to win. No. Fuck that. So with quick fingers, she redials the number, presses the phone to her ear, and then waits, waits, waits.

One, two, three, four, five rings. A flat fucking silence.

Despite everything, a laugh threatens to break free. Blue knows what kind of game she's playing now, and that asshole probably loves it.

"Okay, okay, okay," she snickers, shutting down the phone and shooting Cadillac a smile. "We'll do this."

A wary silence chases her words. Hesitant. Waiting. For an order.

Yes.

"Okay. Tenth Ave, babe."

When she rolls the window back down, winding up to toss the phone, Cadillac catches her arm. "What the fuck? That's our only way to get ahold of the rest of them."

Her brows raise. "North on Tenth Ave."

A sliver of disbelief flashes in his eyes, and somehow, buried beneath the shadows and the soft light, it fucking hurts her. "You're abandoning them?"

Her heart sinks. Fuck. Wouldn't it kill him to know?

They roll to a stop, and for a moment, lost in a million secrets, Cadillac stares at her like he doesn't even know her. And the truth, the fucking truth, is that he doesn't.

Because she never has been... and never will be... nice.

"I'm sorry."

"This isn't—"

"Ramón," she rasps, twisting over the console to catch his lips in a hard kiss. "I'm sorry."

"This isn't part of the fucking plan."

No. This wasn't part of their plan. This wasn't part of their beautiful foundation of lies together. This wasn't part of them.

"New plan."

Plan C.

☆

**LOOOL apparently traffic is pretty fucking light in this story. 😂 Some day, I'll have to go back to edit and flush out these chapters a bit more. Because right now, it's mostly about the dynamics between all of them.

ANYWAYS. Thanks for reading! 😊