Chapter 21 Diem
Diem
Diem
I didn’t go straight to the office. My blood pressure was through the roof, and I skirted the edge of control. I’d promised him. I’d fucking promised, and I was so sure the plan would roll out smoothly that I didn’t pay close enough attention.
Christ, he was a fucking kid.
Echo frantically licked my face and fingers, crawling halfway over the middle console so she could rest a paw on my leg and nuzzle my ear.
She chuffed and whined and made all her doggie noises to get my attention.
I tried to reassure her I was okay, but she knew better.
Every time the red curtain of rage threatened to descend, she barked, snapping me back into focus, keeping me on safer ground.
I wanted to punch something. Throw up. Scream until my throat was raw.
When I was able to drive, I consoled Echo and steered aimlessly down random streets until I landed at an LCBO. The bright aisles of liquor beyond the window taunted me, and I wanted desperately to answer their call. Oblivion was within grasping range. All I had to do was reach out and take it.
Aslan told me to contact him if I was taken by a craving so fierce I couldn’t control it, but that assumed I wanted to refrain from drinking.
That assumed I gave a shit about sobriety.
At that moment, with everything that had happened, I didn’t.
I wanted nothing more than to shut off the strobing rage blinding me, and there was only one way to do that.
I leashed Echo and went inside, stalking up and down the aisles with my skin on fire and nerves snapping and popping. For whatever reason, nothing appealed to me, and the indecision pissed me off further. Just grab and go. Since when did it matter? I wasn’t picky. I was fucking desperate.
I made another pass, slowly wandering every aisle, studying the bottles, but as I came to the end, I remained empty-handed.
If I bought a bottle, I would drink the whole goddamn thing.
Tallus wouldn’t say shit, but he would get that look in his eyes.
Not disappointment, but pity. Pity because I struggled.
Pity because he didn’t know how to help.
Pity because he knew how much I would hate myself when I sobered up.
I didn’t want pity.
The weight of the phone in my pocket taunted me. Call Aslan. Stop the moment before it rolls out of control.
But I didn’t want to. I wanted the oblivion. I wanted to turn the switch off inside my brain so I didn’t have to feel anything. Numbness was the goal.
I didn’t need anyone’s help. I was a grown-ass man who had been taking care of himself for years. If I wanted a fucking drink, I would have a fucking drink.
But what about Darcy?
If I didn’t keep my wits about me, I was never going to find him.
“Goddammit.” I stopped short of kicking a shelf of bottles.
Echo pressed her body against my leg, peering up with innocent golden eyes so full of love.
I aimed for the door, but as I passed the front, the display of single-shot bottles, those impulse items they always stocked near the cash registers, caught my eye. That. That was what I needed. I grabbed three. Enough to settle the storm but not enough to fuck me up.
Balance.
See? I was fucking fine.
In the Jeep, I cracked the lids and downed them together, savoring the burn as the liquid slid down my throat and pooled in my belly.
Blistering heat followed by a cooling balm.
Relief. But the second they were gone, I learned how those three tiny bottles were also enough to unleash a wave of guilt and shame. Disappointment. Self-hatred.
This wasn’t control. This was the definition of addiction.
What was wrong with me? Why was it so fucking hard to say no?
Three shots did nothing more than ignite the itch under my skin. I wanted to go back inside the store and get more. A twenty-sixer. A forty.
As a consolation prize, I lit one of Darcy’s cigarettes and told myself it was good enough. Lies. It was not good enough. The smoke barely took the edge off, but I started the engine and left the store before I could make the situation worse.
Tallus was already at the office by the time I arrived, seated at his desk, tapping away at the laptop. I entered wearing a cloak of guilt. One look from my observant boyfriend told me he saw everything. Let’s have a round of applause for Pity, ladies and gentlemen.
“Where have you been?”
I didn’t answer and asked my own question. “What have you found?”
He stared for another beat before refocusing on the laptop screen. “The Bentley is registered to fifty-three-year-old Lukyan Andrich.” He rotated the computer so I could see what he’d discovered.
The face of a good-looking middle-aged man stared back at me.
He was exactly as Darcy had described. Salt-and-pepper hair, sleek and orderly.
A sharp nose and intense eyes. I could practically smell his cologne through the internet waves.
It was a headshot, but his shapely facial structure spoke of a man who was not overweight.
The pompous tilt of his chin told the story of a guy who thought his shit didn’t stink.
“Lukyan. Luke. I fucking knew it was something close.” I pulled up a chair and sat, averting my gaze when Tallus assessed me yet again. “Have you done a—”
“Yeah.” He swiveled the computer around and tapped at the keyboard. “Lukyan Andrich is a multi-millionaire, purportedly having made his fortune in real estate investments. There are a ton of articles about him—not all positive. Also, his success seems to be fairly recent.”
“Meaning?”
“The last five or six years. One article I was reading seemed to imply a dramatic upturn in his financial empire around 2019. He founded his company, Andrich Development, in 2018, but they didn’t put themselves on the map until…
Hang on. I’m still reading. There’s a lot to unpack. Let me finish, and I can summarize.”
“I don’t need a background. I want to know where Darcy is.”
“I know, D. Part and parcel. Hold your horses.”
Tallus adjusted his glasses and clicked around in full-concentration-mode. He had gotten good at the deep dive investigating, something he’d initially claimed to hate. Working for the lawyer helped unveil his strengths and boost his confidence.
Tallus dedicated himself to discovering quick, efficient, and sometimes shady methods of getting all kinds of information about people, learning their dirty secrets, and uncovering their financial profiles—particularly the stuff they tried to hide.
My backdoor, not-always-legal tips and tricks helped a great deal, and he sponged them up. Having a computer super-whiz cousin didn’t hurt either, although I doubted Ruiz promoted or taught him anything illegal, but when Tallus had questions, Ruiz usually answered them.
“How much is he worth?” I asked when I got impatient with his silence.
“Upwards of two hundred million.”
“Jesus. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Weird, right? Why would a guy like this need to run a grandparent scam? It makes no sense. He doesn’t need the money.”
“I don’t know.”
I bounced a knee and cracked my knuckles. Darcy was out there with that freak, and we were sitting at the goddamn office doing nothing. I wanted to chase the asshole down and jam my hundred-dollar boot up his two-hundred-million-dollar ass.
I was about to ask Tallus for a home address when it dawned on me that a real estate mogul who owned a fucking development company would likely own dozens of properties.
My stomach sank.
I shoved from the chair, unable to sit still, and rooted around in my empty pockets. Fuck. Darcy’s smokes were in the Jeep.
Tallus shifted his attention from the laptop, a far too keen look in his hazel eyes. “Going somewhere?”
“Echo needs to pee.”
Instead of backing me up, Echo cocked her head questioningly as though saying, No I don’t.
Tallus deadpanned. “I’m not stupid, D. Go have a cigarette, and hopefully I’ll have something when you get back.”
“I’m not going to—”
“You are. It’s fine. Just… try to stay sober. I can’t do this alone.”
I wanted to say I wasn’t drinking, but he knew better. He always knew. He had a sixth sense when it came to alcohol.
Shame followed me out the door. I lingered near the Jeep as I succumbed to my nasty habit, hating myself. The self-loathing only made me wish I’d bought more alcohol so I could dampen those hateful emotions.
Yet, more alcohol would perpetuate the aversion.
And so on and so forth. The cycle was brutal.
I withdrew my phone and stared at Aslan’s number for a long time. I should have called earlier, and I should have called now, but I hated admitting to failure. I hated talking to people.
I thumbed a text instead and hit send before I could change my mind. When’s the next meeting?
Aslan’s response came as I stubbed my cigarette under a boot.
I can find one anytime. You need to go? I can pick you up right now.
I growled and typed, No. Too busy.
Do you want to talk?
No, I didn’t want to fucking talk. If I did, I would have called. I wrote, Tomorrow?
Sure. Everything okay?
“Fucking peachy.”
Why had I started this?
Fine, I typed, Let me know where to meet you.
I pocketed my phone as it buzzed again with an incoming text. I didn’t check it. I’d reached my limit when it came to discussing failures. On second thought, tomorrow would only work if we found Darcy. Otherwise, I would cancel. Darcy came first.
I returned upstairs to the office, and Tallus handed me a printout the second I collapsed in the chair. “List of properties he owns. Can you check if they’re vacant or under construction? His home address is a penthouse in the Eglinton Park area, and I doubt he brings Darcy there.”
I skimmed a list of half a dozen addresses.