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sleekervae · 1 year ago

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You Look So Cool | Remington Leith x OC | The Robbery AU

Masterlist

A/N: wow, so this got really long and it took on a whole other life of its own. However, I haven't written action sequences in a long time and I'm proud of myself! I hope you all like it, don't forget to like, comment, reblog, whatever you feel like! And I'm super excited for the Debilitate video!

Warnings: guns, violence, swearing, some naughtiness but no smut

No one ever batted a second eye at the Hideaway Diner, a local truck-stop dive outside of Vegas that hosted a variety of curious and outlandish characters. The owner didn't really give a damn so long as his patrons paid their bills and no rough housing went about. The paint was peeling off of the walls, the wooden tables were chipped and worn down, and the end-to-end carpet could've used a good deep cleaning, nevertheless the mighty portions and enticing smell of crackling bacon was enough to leave every customer satisfied.

On a particularly sunny late morning, the diner was bustling with truck drivers and hitchhikers. Overworked and underpaid staff went about brewing pots of watery coffee and the kitchen staff were sweltering in the humid kitchen. There was indistinct chattering, retelling of stories and old men getting into debates over their bets for the next big football game. Nobody was paying attention to the young couple in a back booth, two half-eaten plates of hash and eggs sat cold between them.

Remington looked like every straggly, lanky weirdo you'd see on the side of town your mother would warn you not to visit. The people who didn't understand him would make assumptions, he's heard them all: drug addict, drug dealer, parolee, a deviant. Nevertheless, no one could deny how handsome he was, alluring in a dangerous classification that could spell trouble in the best way. The younger waitresses would always light up when he strolled in, instantly smitten with his sharp gaze and his charming smile.

He didn't have a lot to hold on to, just his car, the crucifix chain he kept around his neck, his two brothers, and of course he had his girl. Sitting opposite to him, Vera was a statuesque beauty with pixie-like features, and at first glance not many people would understand what such an innocent-looking girl was doing sitting across from Remington. But those same people making assumptions about Remington made poor ones for Vera, too. They couldn't possibly imagine what greatness the inconspicuous couple had to sit on.

Vera picked at her scrambled eggs absent-mindedly, taking bites between reading through the drawn plans Emerson had given them the night before. Remington had skimmed through them already, but he knew how prepared Vera liked to be for everything. He watched her curiously; the loose hair from her ponytail swinging across her face, how her eyes darted between Emerson's notes to the ones she made on the napkin, and her lips moved slow, chewing her food thoughtfully. They were all such simple things, but Remington couldn't deny watching Vera be in her own presence was a true privilege.

She looked up when she felt his eyes on her, dropping her pen and sitting back in the booth, "What?" she asked.

"Nothing," he shrugged back, his fingers inching across the table towards her free hand, "I just like watching you,"

"I'm not doing anything, though," she smiled at him skeptically.

"So what? You're pretty cool, anyway," he replied.

"I know," she teased back, "Maybe not as cool as you... but still,"

"We're gonna have to disagree on that," he simpered.

Vera didn't hesitate as he took her hand into his, giving her an affectionate squeeze. Even the simplest things he did, how he complimented and took care of her, Vera appreciated him so much. She had never met anybody like him. Underneath all his faults, Remington was truly nothing more than a dorky goofball.

"Well then, would you like to read your brother's blueprint so you can get on my level of cool?" she asked.

"I already read them," he replied simply.

"You barely glanced at them yesterday," she noted back.

"But I cased the place last week. I memorized every exit and noted all the shift changes in security," he reminded her.

"Sweetheart, all due respect, but you have the memory of a goldfish," she smirked.

"I do not!" he exclaimed, mocking offence, "I have a great memory!"

"Oh, really? What movie did we watch last week?" she asked.

Remington shrugged listlessly, he truly couldn't ever recall, "It was at the drive-in, right?"

"No, we were at home," Vera replied, "What about what I cooked for dinner Tuesday night?"

Again, Remington regretfully drew a blank, "You know, it was just so good I was more consumed with eating it than actually taking in what it was," he decided, trying to work his charm. Vera however had been around long enough to know when he was bullshitting her.

"Hmm. My point," she nodded victoriously.

"Hey, hey, hold on now," he interjected, "Those are just minor things. I remember all the big things,"

"Like what?" she asked.

Remington smiled coyly, "Like the red dress you wore for our first date; it had the white buttons going up the front and you had a black shirt on underneath," he recalled, "How about our first vacation together? We booked a ratty little BnB and the generator went out so we had no heat?"

Vera blushed, "And we had to find creative ways to keep warm. I remember," she chuckled.

"Not to mention our first heist together," he went on, "I was all nervous because it was your first one but you handled everything so fucking smoothly," there truly was no denying how proud he was that day, watching Vera take command of ten people so seamlessly and keeping them all in order while the guys took what they could from the bank safe.

Vera giggled some more, "Does it make a difference if I mention I was absolutely shitting myself and was just trying to impress you?"

"It worked!" he agreed, "And every time, you've done better and better,"

"Well, I did have a great teacher," she winked, "He's a pretty cool, guy,"

Remington slid out from his side of the booth and slide in next to her instead, looping his arm around her shoulders and Vera let her head rest on his chest, "Not as cool as you, V,"

Her eyes slipped shut as he kissed her head, a simple gesture but it made her heart flutter every time. No one had ever treated her as well as Remington did, and Vera didn't care if people didn't get it. He was her person, now and -- God willing -- forever.

However, their moment of bliss was interrupted as the waitress strolled over, a pot of sloshing coffee in her hand. Vera moved quickly to hide the evidence of what they were doing under her arm. The waitress, an older woman with greying raven hair, smiled at the couple.

"Well, aren't you two just adorable!" she drawled in a Carolina accent, "Can I offer you some more coffee?"

"That would be great," Remington smiled, pushing his coffee cup towards her, "Breakfast was excellent, as always,"

The waitress giggled merrily, "Oh, you're just the sweetest thing, hon," she then caught on to the blueprints under Vera's arm, "What're you two up to with them papers?"

Vera opened her mouth, her mind racing for a believable answer, but Remington beat her to it, "Oh these? They're plans for our new house," Vera looked at him skeptically. The waitress gasped in delight.

"Plans for a new house? You two are building a house?" she asked.

"Yeah," Vera nodded, quickly catching on, "We're just figuring out whether we have the space to put in a walk-in closet or a man cave?"

"You know which one gets my vote," Remington added.

"Well, good for you! That is excellent! I don't see a lot of young people these days taking the initiative like you two are. That is wonderful," she spoke as she topped up their coffee.

"Thank you," Vera grinned sweetly, covertly brushing her foot up Remington's leg. He did his best to bite back his smirk.

"Can I get you two anything else?" the waitress asked.

"Just the check would be great," Remington nodded.

"You got it," and she walked off back to the front.

Vera slumped in her chair, shaking her head as she began to put the plans away, "Okay. That was too close," she mumbled.

"C'mon, she didn't suspect a thing," Remington assured her.

"To be fair, we could rob this place right now and she wouldn't bat an eye," Remington chuckled as she went on, "But now the next time we come in, she's gonna be asking us about our house that we do not have," she replied.

Remington pulled her in closer, bringing his lips just over her ear, "Hey, depending on how this goes tonight, we can totally have that house,"

At that, Vera was intrigued, "To buy or to build?"

"How about both?" he suggested, "We could get a plot of land out in the country, build our dream house. My brothers wouldn't be around, either, just you and me,"

As much as Vera loved Emerson and Sebastian, having their own separate life to build sounded wonderful, "Sounds like heaven," she drawled, "Let's just not fuck up tonight,"

"We won't," he assured her, "We never do,"

She eyed him skeptically, "People who say 'never' always tend to get it in the end, Remi," she pointed out.

"Okay," he nodded, "How are you going into this, then?"

"With skewed optimism and a prayer to Jesus,"

Ambition was Sebastian's middle name -- or so he liked to think. However, when he saw the news of a diamond bid a year ago, he didn't bat an eye before he told his brothers of their new target. Emerson was skeptical at first; a great big convention centre in the heart of Las Vegas brimming with people of all walks of the economy, housing millions of dollars worth of diamonds. The money alone couldn't compare to the jewels and priceless accoutrements the crew could get away with. But the security was unparalleled to any bank they'd hit before. Nevertheless, the brothers, as well as Vera and their right-hand man, Andrew, had spent the past year preparing and planning for what would be the peak of their heist career.

The ultimate prize tonight was the Warhol Diamond necklace, worth a reported 11.5 million dollars. That should be more than enough for a house.

Of course, since this event was so upscale, it called for upscale tactics. They had to use some of the funds from previous jobs to score some invitations, and of course the invitation required them be dressed to the nines to get in. Of course, this was no problem for the crew, they always liked to dress it up a little on their jobs.

The evening came upon them quickly, and already the strip in front of the convention centre was packed with people. It would be so easy for any of them to slip away unscathed. The top of society was attending, limos and high-roller cars were lined up around the block while dashing men and extravagant woman stepped out, practically dripping in jewels. Remington licked his lips like a hungry predator.

"Did you have to wear the hat?" Sebastian grumbled at Emerson, who was dressed in a tailored red jacket and dark slacks. He had an antique top hat on his head, the brim lined in gold thread.

"I like the hat," Emerson grumbled, not very impressed with Sebastian's own velvet maroon suit, "You're the one wearing an ascot with an open-neck,"

"It draws less attention than a top hat," Sebastian pointed out. The brothers were hanging around in the lobby, shuffling through the herd of people who were oohing and awing at the gold-crusted, lavish Venetian decor. Everything oozed expensive, even the security guards at the metal detector appeared in bespoke tailored suits.

"Hey, c'mon. He likes it, just leave him alone," Remington grumbled back, dressed up in his own dark tartan suit.

Emerson was gawking around the halls, "They really beefed up security around this place. Are you sure about the shift change schedule?" he asked Remington.

"Of course I'm sure. We've been casing this place for a month," he assured, "Trust me, everything is under control,"

"It's all under control as long as V does her part," Sebastian whispered.

Remington smirked back at him, "You talk like she never pulls through," he said.

"I'm not saying she doesn't," Sebastian replied, "But it doesn't matter how many of these we do; there's always an outlier,"

"You were the one that wanted to hit this place," Emerson mumbled.

"Vera is gonna' be fine," Remington assured them, "She knows what she's doing. As long as Andrew's not late we'll be just fine,"

The boys got into the security line up, separately of course. They didn't want to draw attention as a group. One by one, they each went through the metal detector and a pat down, neither of them were flagged.

Meanwhile, Vera was already inside the party. She assimilated well into the crowd of philanthropists, politicians, and unabashed millionaires. She stood off from the bar while she waited for her drink, appearing lusciously priceless in a sleek, velvet black gown. It was a more expensive piece she bartered for, it made it so easy for her to slip into the persona of someone she could only dream to be.

She thanked the bartender for her whiskey soda and she wandered around the venue, meeting eyes with inconspicuous guests. Everyone was gathered around an empty stage front, awaiting when the bidding would start for the extravagant variety of jewelry pieces. Where would the money gathered be going? Well, the front man, Alister Warhol, announced that a percentage of the proceeds would be going off to benefit various charities. The only thing he neglected to mention was he was keeping over 90% of the proceeds for himself, as most philanthropists did.

With most of the guests distracted, she stopped to bend down in front of one of the vent grates. Attached to her garter belt were five canisters, each the size of a large fingernail. Vera had distributed the other four already, having slipped them into the vent grates. Making like she was adjusting the strap of her shoe, she was about to slip the last canister inside when she heard a throat grumble from above her.

Vera looked up, coming face-to-face with an older, distinguished gentleman. He was slender, his stark cheekbones protruding harshly through his skin, and his sunken eyes made him appear older than he appeared. He nursed his own champagne flute, and he smelled as though he'd enjoyed a few beforehand.

"Hello," he drawled, looking her up and down.

Vera strapped an alluring smile to her face, "Hello,"

"I'm sorry if I startled you, but I noticed you from the bar," he said, "You are absolutely stunning,"

"Why thank you," Vera smiled back, "Are you a bidder, tonight?"

He chuckled blithely, "Not exactly. I'm an acquirer for Mr. Warhol,"

Vera raised a brow, "Ah, so these pieces have come from your collection?" she asked.

"Some are mine, some are from other generous cohorts, some have been sold off to Warhol to pay off debts," he replied.

"I imagine I wouldn't want to be the person to owe Mr. Warhol money," she said.

"Absolutely not," he then took her hand in his, "The name's Redmond. Redmond Barrymore," and he kissed her knuckle.

Vera swallowed back her distaste, "Sophia Blackwell," her public cover name.

"Sophia Blackwell..." Redmond drawled, his expression furrowing, "... Oh, yes. I recall seeing your name on the guest list,"

Vera hummed, "I thought you were just Mr. Warhol's acquirer, Mr. Barrymore?"

He chuckled heavily, brimming with the bravado of a man with enough secrets to eradicate every person in this room, "Well, I like to have a handle on who may be bidding on my diamonds,"

Across the room, the brothers had finally entered the major ensuite. Remington immediately accepted a martini from one of the passing serving staff, scanning the room for their target. And there it was, the Warhol Necklace on full display in bullet proof glass, shelved on a high platform and out of reach for any person of general stature. Of course, it was surrounded by a handful of security guards.

"God, it's beautiful," Remington awed, "All 11.5 million of it,"

"We could make out pretty well with some of the pieces on these guests, too," Emerson added, looking around at the crowd.

"Remember, we have to stay focused," Sebastian reminded them, "Where's Vera?"

"I'll find her," Remington nodded, "You remember where we put the bag?"

"Yeah, I'll get it," Sebastian nodded, "We'll meet at the south-east corner in twenty minutes," and he ducked out of the crowd.

"I'm gonna' get a drink," Emerson decided before he too took off.

Remington sipped his martini meanwhile, his dark brown eyes skimming for faces and the odd Tiffany or Rolex he could knick away with. In the next pass he locked on Vera, her exquisite appearance accentuated against the shimmering gold and marble fixtures, not to mention the peak of her long leg beneath the high slit in her dress was so sexy. Remington had so many ideas of what he could do to her in that dress... if only that old man chatting her up wasn't ruining his picture.

He finished the martini promptly and placed it on a discard tray, making his way through the crowd and towards his girl. Vera meanwhile made her attempts to leave, though Redmond wasn't ready to let her go.

"Why don't you join me at my table?" he offered, "We're having dinner courtesy of Wolfgang Puck,"

Vera smiled politely, "That's very kind of you to offer, Mr. Barrymore, but I'm afraid I already have a table tonight," she replied in kind.

"Oh? With whom?"

"With me," Remington appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and Vera was relieved. Redmond looked him up and down, a little more critically than he had with Vera.

"Ah. And you would be...?"

"Aldous Blackwell, sir," Remington shook his hand, "Of the Toronto Blackwells,"

Redmond nodded slowly, "I see. I haven't seen you around here," he replied skeptically.

"I was kept late at an important business meeting, so I sent my wife ahead," Remington explained.

"And... what business do you run, Mr. Blackwell?" he asked.

Vera linked her arm with Remington, "The type that could afford him over half of Alister Warhol's diamond collection," she said. Remington squeezed her hand, never breaking his gaze with Redmond Barrymore.

"Very well, then," Redmond nodded, "I wish you luck in the bidding. As for you, Mrs. Blackwell," he took Vera's hand again and planted another kiss on her knuckle. Remington felt his blood pressure flare, though he kept his composure without a flinch, "It was a pleasure,"

"The pleasure was mine," she tried not to sneer as he walked away. She squirmed on the spot and rubbed her soaked knuckle on her hip, "God, what took you long?" she whispered to Remington.

"I couldn't help it," Remington ushered her through the crowd and towards the back hallway, "They got into it over accessories,"

"Well, they sure picked a time. If it wasn't for you, that creep would've suckered me into sitting for a dinner by Wolfgang Puck," she scoffed back, not thinking as Remington ushered her away from the crowd and into a dark, quieter hallway, "Not that I'd complain about the latter part,"

"I think with this, we could buy us a set meal from Mr. Puck's restaurant," before her eyes, Remington held up Barrymore's Panerai watch.

Vera wasn't shocked per say, though more or less impressed at his speed, "When did you take that?"

In a sharp instant, Remington had her backed into the corner, the watch shoved deep into his pocket, "While he was slobbering all over your hand,"

Remington stepped impossibly closer and pushed her legs apart with his knee. Vera's gasp was swallowed by his mouth engulfing hers, lips and teeth smacking in a rough, passionate kiss. She squeezed her legs around his, fingers threading through his hair as he moved to nip at her neck, his hand coming up to wrap around her throat. She had to bite her lip as he marked her, the rush of adrenaline and carnal tension shivering through her body, every touch of was electrifying and excitement bubbled beneath her skin.

“Remington,” she breathed, trying her best not to smirk as his dark expression, "Did it really bother you seeing the old man so close to me?"

He chuckled suddenly, though she knew it wasn't from amusement. His hand left her throat, slipping down the silky material of her dress until he reached the slit of her dress. His hand slipped up, caressing the inner part of her thigh, his eyes never leaving hers and his smirk widened.

"You belong to me," he mumbled, the intensity of his stare so dark and sharp, "You're all mine, and anybody who tries me will fucking regret it," he did not hesitate before pressing his lips firmly against hers, a desperate attempt to feel more of her. Vera looped her arms around Remington's neck and threaded her fingers within his soft locks, tugging it, smirking against his lips in satisfaction once he hissed at the action.

He swiped his tongue against her lower lip and pushed his tongue inside her mouth, deepening the kiss. With his other hand, he jerked her hips closer to his and pushed his hips against her, she moaned at the sensation of him rubbing against her. He emitted a low groan, his eyes clouded with pure desire as he pulled away from her lips in order to trail kisses down her throat. Oh, if only they had the time, the privacy, she would wrap her legs around his waist and let him take her against the wall right now, the crowd be damned.

"Are you for real?" their moment was slighted by Emerson, standing at the mouth of the hall, his unimpressed glower lit dimly in the shadows. Remington groaned, pulling away from his girl to face his brother, "You guys are like God damn rabbits; can you wait at least until we leave the premises?"

Vera couldn't help but laugh, the brothers equal annoyance with each other a nice breather for her.

"Alright, c'mon then. Let's go find Seb," she patted the lapel of Remington's jacket and walked off, all the while he stared a hole into his cock-blocking little brother.

"Five minutes," he grumbled at him, "You couldn't have let me have five fucking minutes?"

Emerson shrugged, not bothering to hide the shit-eating grin on his face, "You forget your room is right next to mine. You take way more than just five minutes," he smirked.

"Oh, fuck off," and he brushed right past Emerson.

Sure enough, twenty minutes had past. Bids were called, alcohol was consumed, and the diamonds glittered so deliciously under the chandelier display. No one was the wiser to the crew crouched down behind the stage, the dapper looking group having switched out their classy shoes and heels for treaded sneakers, and each of them slipped a gas mask over their head. Sebastian kept checking his watch, it was almost time for the canisters to go off.

"Are we all ready?" he asked.

Remington nodded as he checked his phone, "Andrew's ready and waiting downstairs," he reported.

"And the canisters should be going off in five minutes," Emerson added.

At the mention, Vera's face changed. A sharp fear ripped through her as she realized she never finished her assignment, "Fuck!"

"What?" the boys turned to her, praying her exclamation wasn't anything bad.

"I forgot one," she whispered, reaching under her skirt.

"Forgot one what?" Sebastian asked nervously. They were stunned in silence as Vera pulled out the last canister from her garter.

"Fuck," Emerson covered his mouth.

Sebastian glowered at her, "How could you forget?!" he snapped.

"I didn't mean to! I'm so sorry!" she gaped.

"It's not her fault," Remington cut in, "She was almost caught by Warhol's collector,"

"And yet you wanted five minutes," Emerson snickered at him, slipping his mask over his now hat-free head.

"Shut up!" Remington snapped at him.

"Five minutes? Five minutes for what?" Sebastian asked.

"Nothing!" Vera replied swiftly, "You guys go ahead, I'll slip the last one in the vent real quick," she pulled her mask off and hid it behind her back.

"You're gonna' go out there without your mask?" Sebastian queried.

Vera started for the curtain, "I'll make it. Security just hit shift change," and she disappeared around the velvet material.

"Is she serious? Fuck," Sebastian kicked at the wall.

"She's right, though. She'll be fine," Remington assured, slipping his gas mask over his head, "Let's move,"

Sure enough, the security was switching to the late shift, leaving just a few crucial minutes for the boys to take the stage. Sebastian was swift to subdue the first guard and Remington hopped onto the platform. The auctioneer was more than confused as he turned mid-bid of another diamond piece, coming nose-to-nose with a stranger in a gas mask. Remington knocked him upside the head with his own microphone, taking the stage to address the astounded crowd. Gasps and screams of horror bounced off the marble-slated walls.

"Ladies and gentleman!" he announced, his voice muffled by the mask, "Please, we ask you to remain calm! You are not in danger! However, in case it wasn't clear: this is a robbery!"

Vera meanwhile was slipping through the crowd, the gas canister clutched tightly in her fist as she ran for the last vent. She heard it begin to sizzle and it burned against her skin. In the chaos of the mess however, she was suddenly slammed by another body. The impact threw her to the side and the canister went flying. It was long gone by the time Vera realized what had happened, and she was sure to catch shit for it later. Nevertheless, the canisters were beginning to release the gas from within them and she needed to get her mask on fast.

Some people tried to run for the door, though they found they had been locked in. It was all thanks to Andrew and his quick skills with heavy chains wrapped around the handles from the outside. The sleeping gas began to fill the room, no one would be getting out.

"We're not here to hurt you! In just a few minutes, you're all gonna' feel the most relaxed you've ever been," Remington called out. And sure enough, the gas had begun to take effect. The echoing of coughing, sputtering, and gasping bounced across the walls and bodies began to slump. It wasn't just the guests within the hall, the gas traversed through the vents, reaching the security wing above them, as well as the kitchen below. No one within the immediate vicinity would be able to call for help. Sebastian was holding some taken aback guards at gun point while Emerson was tying them up with duct tape.

"Hey you!" Remington glanced down towards a brave security guard, aiming at the younger boy with his gun, "You get the hell down from there, right now!" he shouted angrily.

Remington, ever so the one to tempt fate, stepped out from behind the podium, his arms raised in an open target. He was goading the guard to shoot him, revelling in the chaos, the panic, and the thudding of bodies beginning to hit the floor.

"You talking to me?" he chided. The guard coughed, trying to cover his mouth and nose with his jacket lapel, and he fought diligently through the gas.

"Yes! Now, I won't tell you again!" he exclaimed. He was none the wiser to the striking young woman coming up from behind him, the bottle of champagne in her hand she used to crack him upside the head. He went down hard and fast, his gun flying off to the side.

Vera stared up, annoyed with her showman boyfriend, "Really?" she groaned at him.

"Hey! You love my theatrics!" he replied, pulling her up on the stage.

"Not when you're goading a loaded gunman into shooting you," Vera rolled her eyes, watching as the last few groups of people began to succumb to the sleeping gas. It was truly a marvel to behold, the room that was bustling with excitement not ten minutes ago was wilted and weak, struggling for air like plants in a drowsy, dark room.

"I saw you coming, anyway," Remington assured her, "Did you get rid of the canister?"

Vera inhaled sharply, "Kind of,"

"What does that mean?" he popped a brow.

"... I might have lost it," she admitted sheepishly, fear flashing through the eyeholes of her mask.

"What do you mean you lost it?"

"I got knocked into one guy who knocked me into another guy and it's out there somewhere!" she pointed to the sea of bodies.

Remington peered out in shock and dismay, scanning as though he could magically spot the canister in the mess. He had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"And which vent were you supposed to put it in?" he asked tentatively.

Vera shook her head, self-resentment and disappointment settling in her chest, "... The one that leads to the security office,"

"Shit," Remington turned to the plethora of diamonds, calculating as their estimated time was now cut by half. Surely, security would be down within minutes, and it wouldn't take them long to cut the chains off the doors.

"Sebastian's gonna' kill me this time," Vera shook her head, "I fucked up, I fucked up real bad --"

"Hey! It's okay," Remington took her by her shoulders, "Listen, you tried. Shit happens,"

"But Remington --"

"But nothing, Vera! We'll be fine! I'll handle Sebastian, you start on the codes for the cases. Let's just get what we can,"

Remington directed Vera to start getting the diamond cases open. Emerson went to help her while Sebastian kept watch over the guards. Remington wandered over to him sheepishly, knowing fully well he was going to be pissed.

"Don't be angry," he muttered to him.

Sebastian eyed his younger brother cautiously, "... Why should I be angry?" he asked.

"Our time was just slashed in half," he admitted. Sebastian gawked at him, his furious expression maximized by his mask.

"Okay, I'm angry. What happened?" he asked.

"It's not important right now,"

"Remington --"

"Don't argue with me right now, please? It was one slip up," he pleaded. Hell, Sebastian of all people had to know nothing was perfect, not even circumstance. Remington just prayed that they could get away with enough bounty to calm him down later.

Sebastian was at a loss for words, staring back and forth between him and the diamond cases. He decided quickly; if they only had half the time then they had to go for the most valuable pieces. He immediately looked up to the Warhol necklace, still perched on its high platform.

"Alright. You scale the platform and get the Warhol. We'll take it and whatever else these guys can get, and we go," Sebastian decided.

"Deal," like a bat out of hell, Remington began to climb the stage set up, clinging to the bars like a howler monkey in the jungle. He had had enough practice that every move was a calculated piece of cake. The Warhol diamond was just within reach.

He jumped for the platform, clinging tightly to the shelf as he shoved at the glass case, moving it until it just teetered off the edge.

"Hey sweetheart!" he called down, garnering his girl's attention, "Here's our house! Heads up!" and the case plummeted down into Sebastian's arms. Emerson and Vera meanwhile had broken out a few key valuable pieces, definitely enough to warrant Remington and Vera their own property and then some.

However, the true crown jewel of the collection was the Warhol Diamond Necklace; a custom waterfall design with stardust African diamonds, ordered by Alister Warhol himself. The rumour around town was he'd had it especially made for the woman he wanted to marry, the only woman in the world who had supposedly rejected him and his high-class attempts.

"Emerson! C'mere!" the youngest brother discarded the last case he had in favour for the big one. He was an expert at cracking codes, give him any safe in the world and he could have it open within minutes. Time of course was not a luxury they could spare.

"What house is he talking about?" he asked.

"I don't know," Sebastian shook his head, "They're at the stage where they wanna' start playing house,"

"Ew. Gross," Emerson chuckled, working as quickly as he could to unlock the case.

"I heard that!" Remington called, still hanging from the rafter. Vera laughed to herself, working quickly to pack what few pieces they had into the duffel.

"Don't be upset, honey. They're just jealous," Vera teased.

"Oh, you wish," Sebastian simpered.

It was painstaking process, and every second they spared was another second authorities had to gain on them. However, Emerson heard the last click of the combination lock and the lid snapped open. With glazed eyes, he pulled out the million dollar masterpiece, truly feeling as though he had grasped the Golden Idol.

"God, she's beautiful!" he mired.

"All 11.5 million of her," Sebastian agreed, swinging around to Vera, "That's buy each of us a house and then some,"

"Hell yeah it will!" Remington leapt down onto the stage with a hard thud, though he walked away unscathed, "I can see it now: large open yard, rock wall faces, Italian fixtures --"

"How about a pool?" Vera suggested.

"Dream house needs a dream pool," Emerson agreed, slipping the necklace into their bag.

Remington chuckled, "And a big pool we can light up at night so we can --" however, he was cut short when a sharp bang rang out through the air, and a crippling pain in his torso followed. Remington fell to the ground to the horror of his crew, Vera and Emerson dropped what they were doing and rushed to him.

"Remington! Oh my God!" they quickly turned him onto his back. Remington was still alive, he was sure of that as he saw the gruesome fear rippling through his brother and his girlfriend, and his body felt as though it was burning from the inside out. He had been shot.

Sebastian meanwhile turned out to the crowd, finding himself in a gun draw with Redmond Barrymore. The older gentleman's gun was still smoking from his fire. He wheezed heavily, keeping himself upright on the table with shaky limbs. It wouldn't have taken much to take him out if not for the nine millimetre he had aimed for Sebastian's head. He grunted through the gas, his willpower seemingly stronger than the gas.

"You put my diamonds back! Or you're next!" he sneered.

"How in the fuck..." Sebastian drawled.

Redmond chuckled darkly, "What's the matter, son? You didn't expect to see an old man come back from the dead? You don't work for Mr. Warhol without having some special tricks of your own," he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like an epipen at first glance. Whatever was in that needle was a counteract to the sleeping gas, an insurance policy should an occasion as this arrive.

"We don't want to hurt you," Sebastian assured him, "We're just gonna take our loot and go. You'll never hear from us again,"

The older gentleman was in hysterics, "Really? You're quite brave for a man with no options, sir! You're down a man with no escape route because the security will be busting through those doors any minute!" he roared, "I commend your efforts though, the gas masks are a nice touch!"

Remington was gasping for a deep breath under his mask but he knew he couldn't remove it. The air was still too thick. Emerson had to hold him down while Vera ripped off part of the curtain, trying to clot the pack the wound so he bleed out. In his haze of pain and uncertainty, Remington focused on the giant chandelier. Thousands of crystals glinted and twinkled, giving him a brilliant yet crazy idea.

"The chandelier --" he sputtered, "The chandelier!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. It's pretty," Emerson grumbled.

"No! The chandelier!" Remington snapped at him.

"What about it?!"

"Use it!"

"What?"

Vera faced up to the ceiling, almost being blinded by the chandelier and its many glinting, sharp crystals. There was a cable holding the entire structure up; and it hung smack over Redmond Barrymore. If only she had something to cut the cable, they could make a clean get away. It was then she remembered the guards carried their own guns.

She raced over to the group of large men, each of them still out cold as she felt around for a gun. She found the perfect line of trajectory behind the stage, aiming at the guesstimated angle she prayed would make quick work for their escape.

Sebastian froze as another gun shot rang out, but it wasn't from his nor was it from Redmond's. He heard a distinct tinkling, jewels clanging together above his head. The cable holding the chandelier up was sizzling, and he caught wind of what was about to happen. He took a cautious step back.

"You know, I believe things are looking up for us," he noted. Redmond glanced up to the vibrating chandelier, just as another shot rang out. He leapt out of the way just as the chandelier plummeted to the ground, sending thousands of crystals smashing and flying everywhere, electrical sparks raining down from the cable.

The brothers didn't have time to take cover, they made quick work to get Remington to his feet. Vera took the gun with her and grabbed the duffel bag while Emerson had the bag with their stuff.

Redmond hadn't gotten away from the crash unscathed, his leg was pinned down by a metal rod, effectively shattering his shin bone. He cried out in pain and in anger, lashing out as the crew headed for their escape route. He roared like a lion who had missed his dinner, rage flaring through his body as he called, "Who the fuck are you people!?"

The crew stopped, turning back to Redmond with a great smugness hidden under their masks. Remington gathered his wits enough to taunt him back with a sassy remark, "Us? We're The fucking Bastards,"

A loud banging thundered from the doors, and they knew their time was up. Vera and Emerson lead the way while Sebastian hobbled along with Remington, all the while the middle brother kept pressing the curtain tightly into his wound. It hurt like hell, but it was nothing compared to what being caught would feel like.

They cut through the kitchen, a mess of passed out staff, bubbling pots and burning pans. The smell was distinguishable of just burnt, burnt flakey char that nobody would eat. The service elevator was in the back and they all piled in, just as a flood of footsteps entered the kitchen. They had a second to relax.

"Well, that was fun," Emerson puffed.

"Yeah," Sebastian turned to Vera, "Nice thinking with the chandelier,"

Vera shrugged, "It was all your brother's plan," she replied simply.

"Do we have everything?" Remington groaned.

"Not like we can go back," Emerson replied.

"I just hope Andrew's ready," Sebastian shook his head.

"What's he driving?" Vera asked.

The boys looked between each other, realization hitting that they never asked what vehicle Andrew was going to be in. Vera stared dumbfounded between them.

"He didn't tell you what he was driving?" she asked in disbelief.

"We were running late, we just trusted him," Emerson replied.

"It's okay," Remington assured, "Andrew always pulls through,"

The elevator dinged to the basement level and the giant doors swung open. Much to their luck, security hadn't reached the basement yet. They quickly shuffled out, looking around for any sign of Andrew. It was then Emerson found the obscure looking ambulance in the sea of high-end cars, and sure enough, Andrew and his wild head of hair were sitting upfront, his own gas mask covering his face.

"I found him!" he pointed to the ambulance.

"Huh, fitting," Remington chuckled.

Andrew looked up from his round of candy crush and spotted them immediately. He started the truck before Sebastian could wave him down and pulled out in front of them. Sebastian ripped the back doors open and they all clamoured inside. Remington slumped to the floor.

"We all good?" Andrew called them.

Sebastian took the seat beside him, nodding and panting heavily, "Yeah. Drive,"

Andrew however had focused on Remington and the pool of blood staining his shirt, "What happened to him?"

"Just drive!" Sebastian snapped.

Andrew didn't need to be told again, he peeled out of the delivery truck exit and onto traffic. Police cars whizzed by them meanwhile, all stopping at the convention centre. Vera watched out the back window with bated breath, finally relaxing when she saw they were safe.

"We're clear," she announced, and they all pulled off their masks.

The fresh air was a welcome reward for their strife, that and the bag full of diamond trinkets and other jewelry pieces the crew pocketed. They drove unscathed out of the city, the flashing lights of the Vegas strip quickly dissipated into blacked out desert. Some lights flared from homes in the distance, the further they drove the less there was around. Remington stayed slumped on the ground, breathing slowly through his pain whilst he gripped tightly to Vera's hand. She cleaned his wound as much as she could, more of the dirty work would have to be done at home. When they hit a particular checkpoint they had to switch vehicles, Andrew already had a camper van waiting and left the ambulance behind.

After thirty minutes of driving through seemingly nowhere, they turned into an obscure bungalow neighbourhood. It was a lower middle class community where nobody asked questions and everybody usually kept to themselves. The camper van pulled into their home, and the engine hadn't even been cut before the back door flew open and Emerson and Vera helped Remington inside. Sebastian and Andrew meanwhile took charge of unloading their loot.

Remington groaned as he fell into the bathtub, turning over to rip his shirt off. Vera began soaking rags in disinfectant, beside her a hastily thrown together medical kit. It wasn't much, but the tools she had were enough to patch her boys up when necessary.

A half-drunk bottle of whiskey sat on the rim, and Remington swigged it plentifully to numb the pain he knew was coming. Vera's hand were already a sticky mess of blood from the centre and she scrubbed hard to get herself clean.

"I thought he'd killed you," she rattled off, "I didn't know he had a gun, I should've known. He's a diamond collector of fuck sakes --"

"Vera. Vera!" he called, "Sweetheart, we got away scot-free,"

She fell to sit on the rim of the tub, staring at the open wound in his skin with marred distain, "But you got hurt, anyway," she huffed.

"We knew what we were signing up for," he assured her, taking her hand, "You did so fucking well tonight,"

"I fucked up, Remington," she sighed, "We could've gotten more than double what we made away with,"

"And it's enough. Vera, I don't care what we take or what happens to me, I just need you to be okay," he replied, searching for a depth of sparkle in her eyes, "Are you okay?"

She inhaled deeply. She couldn't lie that she had been rattled, and it was surely just a fluke of luck that she had shot down that chandelier so skillfully. She hadn't done her job properly and yet Remington was still so concerned for her. She couldn't imagine how she could even begin to repay him for his love. But then that was it: love wasn't supposed to be something transactional, it was a deep connection and profound fondness for one another. Remington wasn't just her partner in crime, he was her partner for life.

"I'm okay," she nodded, staring wistfully at the rags on the sink counter, "You're probably not gonna' like me in a few minutes," she warned.

"Impossible," he smiled, "You're so fucking cool,"

Vera blushed, supporting herself on the rim and wall of the bath and leaning in to brush her lips against hiss, but was interrupted when their foreheads bumped together, making them both giggle and the tension faded away.

She kissed him sweetly, muttering softly under her breath, "I love you,"

"I love you, too," he sat back in the tub, bracing himself for the stinging pain of retrieval and cleaning. He'd done it before, but every time it never got easier.

Vera took her own swig of the whiskey bottle, holding it out for him, "Drink," she ordered. He obliged her happily, his eyes stayed glued to hers.

Vera sighed as he handed her back the bottle, making a silent apology, "Good, now bite your tongue," and she poured the alcohol over his wound.

The boys couldn't help but tense up when they heard Remington shouting from the bathroom, a position neither of them envied him for. He would bitch and complain for about twenty minutes, grovel about his pain for a day, but he would be back to normal in no time. It was all worth it anyhow as Emerson held up the Warhol necklace, every individual diamond sparkled in the low light. No matter how many hitches they hit in their job tonight, The Bastards were successful in what they'd come for.

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