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GENEVIEVE
Not only is there a charity event happening in my honour, but all the donations are going towards one of my favourite charities, and they have chosen a masquerade theme. They couldn’t have made it easier than that. Before we ever walked inside the event, Archer had already hacked their system and added our fake names to the invite list, each of us hidden behind expensive clothing and full masks. I’d have liked to wear our hit masks, but that would have been silly, considering those were meant for anonymity during crimes. So today, we wear simple Venetian style masks instead.
As we walk inside after checking in, my arm wrapped around Booker’s, my gaze sweeps along the decorations and the sheer number of people here to “mourn” my disappearance. Most of these people think I’m dead, but they are not really here because they are sad. There’s nothing the rich love more than an excuse to spend large amounts of money. Each one of them is here to either feign empathy or to check into what assets may be available to purchase once I’m officially declared dead.
“The show begins in twenty minutes,” Archer says. “Make sure you’re close when the time comes. Don’t get distracted.”
I sense Booker’s grin, even if I can’t see it. “Well, in that case, may I have this dance, ma’am?” he asks me.
Laughing, I curtsy. “Why, of course. A lady always accepts a dance from a gentleman.”
I let Booker lead me onto the dance floor, where very few people are actually dancing. The music is yet another variation of a string quartet, as if the rich can’t be bothered to play anything modern at their events. If this were really an event in my honour, they’d know to play something more upbeat and exciting. As it is, I let Booker wrap me in his arms and sway us side to side, despite the lack of any real beat.
“Do you think this will all turn out okay?” I query as I look up into Booker’s eyes. My mask covers my entire face, not taking any risk of being recognised. Booker’s comes down to a point, like a plague doctor. A few of those around us give him looks for choosing such a large mask, but Booker doesn’t care. None of my men care for the opinions of these assholes.
Together, all of our masks look luxurious and grand, each decorated with jewels. Archer wears a mask that covers his entire face, his jawline hidden behind an exaggerated small point. Eric wears one that looks like a rendition of Apollo, golden in colour with a sun. Gage’s mask is simple, with small white swirls painted over black and small devil horns curling from the top. My own is a mix of gold and silver, with small jewels circling the eyes. A tiny row of points comes from the top, like a crown. Even in this mask, they tease me with the princess endearment.
“Archer made sure everything is in order. He’s already hacked the system and—”
“No,” I interrupt. “I mean with us.”
Some small part of me still fears that the moment I’m revealed, they’ll disappear. It’ll be difficult having four thieves living in the city they steal from, but it’s possible. However, do they think I’m worth such trouble? Or will they suddenly realise that I’m not the woman they think I am the moment I have money at my disposal again? The money means nothing to me. If it means I can keep them, that they’ll keep me, I’ll give it all up. There’s nothing more important to me than our family.
“Of course it will,” Booker answers. “We aren’t going anywhere, baby.”
“Promise?” I stare up into his eyes, waiting for his answer, knowing it’ll settle something in my soul.
“Promise.” He leans down. “If not for the beak on this thing, I’d kiss you right here.”
“The elite would be taken aback by our show of promiscuity,” I tease.
“Let them stare at us in jealousy,” he murmurs. “When we’re done here, I plan to kiss you.” He leans closer. “And I mean I’m going to kiss you everywhere.”
Wetness pools between my thighs, and I have to clench them together, but before I can act on anything and rip my mask off, there’s a tapping of the microphone in the room. As one, everyone turns towards the stage, where a woman I recognise stands. Mrs. Pruitt holds the mic gingerly as she begins to speak. The moment she does, we move through the crowd, heading towards the back of the stage, where we’re going to start our plan. The others are already standing there, as if listening to Mrs. Pruitt speak.
“Genevieve Dalton was a beautiful soul,” the older woman says, and though the words sound like they should be false, Mrs. Pruitt genuinely means them. Of all those in attendance, she’s probably the only one who cares at least a little, but she’s still part of the elite, still a shark, and she’s standing in front of a crowd of rich people who are hungry for blood. “We’ve gathered here today to raise money in her honour.”
“Let’s go,” Archer commands, and then he hits a switch on his watch.
The lights in the hall go out, and everyone is plunged into darkness. We prepared for the panic and the pitch-black room. We swiftly link hands, and then Gage leads us on stage, wearing his night-vision goggles to keep us on track. I’m tapped on the shoulder once, and I release the hands I have, taking the place indicated. I hear the others moving around, even through the panic in the room. There is screaming, nervous laughter, and the scrambling of feet. For some reason, the panic makes me grin. Strip away the rich’s money and protection and plunge them into the dark, and they are just the same as the poor.
Then the lights flicker back on, and I’m staring out at a crowd of people who would happily steal everything I’ve ever worked for.
The crowd stares at the five of us on stage, our masks firmly in place as we look out upon them. We don’t speak, not yet, but the large screen behind us flickers once, twice, and then begins to play the carefully edited video Archer put together.
“Chaz Dandridge III. Fraud. Cheater. Dangerous,” the filtered voice announces as an image of my ex-fiancé appears behind us. It flashes. A few take out their phones to record. We hear sirens drawing closer, and I almost laugh at how predictable it all is. They are doing exactly what we wanted them to.
“You think he’s one of you, but you’ve all been fools.” Information begins flashing on the screen—proof of embezzlement, of him ordering hits and giving information to the guys without revealing who they are. “And that’s not all,” the voice continues. “The Dandridge family is in ruins, with no coin to their name, and they thought to steal from another.” My image flashes on the screen, and then every other woman he’s talked to after me, ending with Clementine. “Prey, but no more.” The screen flashes again with Chaz’s fake mourning, playing a video of him speaking to reporters, but the camera follows him after, capturing the moment he stops acting and starts to complain to his assistant about how it’s bad for his complexion. More images are cut together—him cheating on me, his family’s good name and PR, and then a final image of Chaz giving out my apartment address and setting up the moment he offered me like a sacrifice. The crowd gasps at the image, and from my position, I can see a few of them take out their phones and start calling their people, confirming the information on the video. Someone must have called the police the moment the video began, because a police officer steps in, and then another, but they stand at the back of the room, confused why they have been called to a charity event.
“Now,” Archer commands.
I take a step forward, and every eye turns to me, reminded of the five people standing on stage during the incriminating video. After this, I’ll be handing the envelope Eric has in his coat pocket to the police, but for now, it’s time to make my big entrance.
With every eye in the room on me, I grab the edge of my mask and rip it off, revealing exactly who they allowed inside.
The room erupts in a clash of sound, gasps of surprise, shouts of glee, and groans of disappointment. Mrs. Pruitt stares at me with respect in her eyes as I walk towards her and take the mic she’s still standing near.
“Well played, Ms. Dalton,” she whispers as I take it. “Well played.”
