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“Beautiful isn’t it?”
Felicia tilts her head in the way of her namesake, to the buyer sitting across from her. The man is easily in his early thirties, well dressed, well put together down to the polished shine in his shoes. The man reeks of wealth, his hand is in a form fitting leather glove, holding the pendant high between them both. The pendant twirled freely in the light of the oversized loft, reflecting brilliant little rainbows and colorful fractions across the walls.
“It is,” She answers him, sitting back on the leather sofa, crossing her legs and keeping her gaze on the man before letting it slip to the pretty piece in his hand. Two nights ago she had broken into the transportation center to steal pieces of a royal Tsar jewelry collection.
Two nights ago her lover had thrown her to the ground.
She had pushed him through a window.
Felicia let her eyes slide over the chain once more, thoughts drifting back to the trouble she had gone through for the priceless piece. She closed her eyes momentarily remembering the sour damp smell of the port, how her boots made little slapping noises across the tops of shipping containers, making her feel more vulnerable than ever before. She had chosen the docks for its lack of security and poorly maintained guards. They had left their radio turned up, the Yankees playing well into the seventh inning with a crowd favorite at bat. She waited, biding her time while they ate and cheered and ignored the little televisions overhead going to static one by one as the wiring was pulled out of the aux connections. Then she went for the warehouse. Letting herself in by skylight, finding the maroon cargo container with the blocky lettering of three zero nine across the side. Felicia had run a finger over the siding with rust before cutting through the weakest point. It had all been too easy. The thought had hit her mid-grab, this was all too easy. Pockets weighed down, she made a move to slip back out, when the lights flickered on.
One by one fluorescent lights burned to life with the voices of guards echoing around containers, barking orders at one another to spread out. Felicia had escaped silently back out of the container, pressing her back into the cool metal before edging around to find purchase on the side. She needed to get to higher ground, scope out the hide and seek game about to take place around her.
“Should we call the police?”
“I already tripped the silent alarm when the cams went out.”
A curse touched her tongue, but she held it in and heaved herself up to the top of one box, silently rolling over to her back. The skylight above her to the west was still cracked open, her escape rope dangling a few feet into the warehouse. If any of the brainless brigade had noticed, they didn’t say anything. Instead she waited, listening to the familiar pattern of heavy boots, stalking around in circles with whispers of a possible false alarm.
Felicia wrapped her arm around her middle, claws gently pulling at her hip, keeping her breathing soft and steady when the flash of color from the skylight directly above her caught her attention. She tilted her head, emerald eyes squinting. Had he come running with the alarm?
Now, she moved. Rolling over she carefully moved to her feet, leaping from her container to the next. The sound of metal under her echoed and the first shot rang out in her direction.
“Over there!” A shout had echoed followed by misfired gunfire.
“When did they start giving you all real weapons?” Felicia had called out, smirking at her own tone. Knowing good and well they weren’t the best and brightest, third shift guards left with nightsticks and tasers. Holes had appeared in the metal side of the building not far from her head, markers of their bad shots and her good fortunes as she moved from one container to another, playing a dangerous game of hopscotch.
The jewels in her pockets were heavy, reminding her to keep going, to pad that Swiss account a little more before taking an extended vacation. She doubled back to avoid gun fire, then moved once more, heading for her escape rope, digging her heels into the metal to gain momentum. More shouts, curses and gunfire rang out and she moved as if nothing could touch her, freely mocking those below her with the curve of her lips. When she went for her rope though it was occupied.
Felicia had pulled herself part of the way up when a red hand had extended itself down, palm out, friendly and expecting.
“Hello Spider,” She mused, twirling a bit on the rope, moving in a small circular motion as the guards below scrambled to reload.
“Cat,” He exhaled, sounding disappointed in her so soon, the night had barely begun.
Felicia took his hand, letting his fingers curl around her own and he hauled her up like she was nothing more than another damsel in distress. Her arm looped around his shoulders, behind his neck and she had pressed her painted lips to the cheek of his mask.
“Mwuah,” She mocked the kissing noise, “My own personal hero.”
“Very funny,” He wasn’t laughing at her antics, instead he was pulling her away from the skylight, hand going for her pouch behind her hip, “Give it up.”
Felicia spun away from him like a professional dancer, stopping to point a clawed finger at him, “Not going to happen.”
“I’m serious.”
She raised both of her brows with a smile tugging at her lips, “So am I, Lover.”
The air around them had grown thick, tension pulling them together and tearing them apart like old times. Peter was first to break. He lunged for her and she ducked. His hand came onto her fur trimmed collar, dragging her back with him. Using her momentum against her, he threw her into the open skylight. She fell through it, curling her legs in to avoid taking the hit on the ledge of the building, falling with her back to the enemies below, hair whipping ahead of her face. It obscured him from her vision, his masked-face coming into view, almost worried for her, but not before she managed to throw her hand out, letting go of the little pressurized hook up her sleeve. The cord shot out, metal head biting into the wood beam of the ceiling and catching her weight before she slammed onto the tops of old rusty containers. Felicia swung over the guards below, making a show to blow a kiss to her lover as she swung out of the way. Of course he couldn’t just let her go, he never could. She knew that better than anyone. Whether it was between the thousand count sheets of her hotel room or the cold tiles of his too-small shower that she insisted they share, he never could let go. Peter followed suit, webbing coming to stick next to her grappling hook, swinging towards her. She tilted her head back and laughed.
“You really think I’m going to let you catch me? After what you just did?”
She swipes at his webbing, claws pulling at the strings, breaking through some of them but not all. He makes a sound, something between a yelp of surprise and her name. When he swings close enough to her though she grabs hold of him mid-air, enjoying the heat of him against her own suit, her head tilting forward. For a moment, she thinks about kissing him, about peeling his mask up and feeling his lips on hers like old times. The moment passes too swiftly and she turns using his body as a springboard.
“Sorry, Lover.”
“Felicia, don’t.”
There it is, that name of hers on his pretty mouth, the disappointment in his voice, it’s almost a quiver. She wants him to say her name again, but for now she has other plans and being tossed in jail isn’t one of them. Both of her booted feet hit him just below the spider-emblem on his chest. She kicks him through the warehouse windows, listening to the glass shatter around him and puts as much distance between them as she can, escaping behind the now-open glass, and scaling the next building over. Felicia only paused to look back once, with his body on the ground and glass around him like silver confetti. That was the last time she looked back, running over the tops of semi-trucks and heavy machinery until she’s certain he’s not touching her shadow , until she’s certain he’ll run home to lick his wounds and curse her name.
He’ll curse it the same way he does when she steals the air from his lungs in kisses meant to bruise.
“-- I’ll take it.”
“Mm, sorry?” Felicia snaps out of her stroll down short-term memory lane, lips pursing a bit at the man still holding the priceless jewelry.
“I said, I’ll take it. Cash?” He waves to one of his partner’s and a man in a suit two sizes too small for his large build moves over with a suitcase which he flicks open with ease. More than enough cash is bundled together, non-sequential bills looking crisp and ready for spending. Her heart skips a beat and she glances from the jewelry to the money.
The jewelry is what he wanted.
The jewelry is why he came.
She chews the inside of her cheek for a moment only to shrug her shoulder in a single fluid movement, “Not for sale anymore.”
The man looks bewildered, dark eyes widening, mouth parting like a fish fresh out of water, gasping for air, “What? Is this how you do business?”
His tone is accusatory, and she knows this is bad for personal business, but she can’t help but remember her name on Peter’s tongue, that tone, that hopefulness that she’s a sucker for in even her darkest moments.
“Not usually.” She stands and the man does as well, along with his four other acquaintances. They are all reaching inside their fancy suits, most likely for something to harm her with. She’s in no-mood for a fight, no mood to get her new dress dirty or torn.
Instead she moves for the necklace and snatches it before the man can take a step back, “I just have a personal attachment to this one.”
“Personal attachments are a liability.” The man waves to his employee who closes the suitcase of money, however her attention is still on the necklace in her palm.
“Yes,” She answers him automatically, “Yes, he is.”
The meeting ends.
The dress is left on the side of her couch.
The necklace shows up on the steps of his place wrapped in a velvet box with a bow where she took the time to curl the ribbons and kiss the card, before drawing a little heart over the xx left in the wake of her pen.