Portmanteau: More Than a Feeling: Part 2

Diamonds Are Forever. Journeys and choices.

Based on a post by Wendy Trilby, in 4 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.

Well, that was fucked, the dark-haired woman thought as she ran through the doors of Christie's Auction House on Boston's fashionable Newbury Street. No sooner had she exited the building when alarms sounded. So fucked.

Wearing a black Dolce and Gabbana double-breasted trench coat, which matched her jet-black hair, she walked fast with purpose toward a parked Tesla, clicking the remote. The car started, and the gullwing driver's door automatically opened.

Stick to the plan, she thought.

Moments earlier, the 3-minute countdown began when her gun came out. Clockwork. The guards walked the Red Scarlet to the auction room down an empty hallway; a quick and silent zap with the stun gun. The jolt was a lot, but they needed to stay down.

The box was grabbed, opened, the necklace removed, slipped between her tits, and secured by her bra. Quick and easy. One minute to go.

A brisk walk to the exit. Too easy. Alarms blared. Shit, they found the guards.

The lobby was chaos as security guards tried to lock the doors. Blending in with the crowd of auction attendees, she needed to get to the doors before they secured. She needed a distraction. Pulling the trigger on the tiny Baretta secluded in her right hand, she fired into the floor. The loud report of the gun sent people running and screaming.

"They've shot the guards," she screamed. The room became chaos, and she slyly joined the surge of the auction house patrons as they pushed through the doors and outside.