25. A perfect fit – Aurora
25
A PERFECT FIT
AURORA
H ow are they so calm? There are other people in the room with us. Other people who could see. Four of them. They meander through the exhibit, taking long moments to appreciate each piece. Seven is tracking their movements, too, I notice. Will he alert Elijah if any get too close as well?
But…the other patrons are all distracted, I realize. Each of them is absorbed in the art they pause to admire. None of them are at all interested in what anyone else is doing.
I register that we should also be admiring the art and shift just slightly from Seven’s grip to face the dead rabbits again, cocking my head as if I’m trying to see it from a different perspective when I sense the security guard’s gaze lingering on me.
Seven’s squeeze at my hip tells me I’m doing well, and I flush with pride.
“You’re doing so well,” he whispers to me in a husky voice. “Keep watch on the guard. I’m going to get another angle.”
A zap of anxiety races through my nerves, but before I can argue, he’s already gone, wandering slowly toward another piece at the other end of the room.
The guard!
My attention snaps back to him, worried I could’ve missed something as my stomach drops.
He watches the people in the room, but I can tell from his demeanor that he’s not taking this job very seriously. He sighs and fidgets, shifting his weight onto his other leg as he does one more sweep of the room, his gaze catching on me again.
Caught staring, I force a smile and drop my gaze. I should move, I realize. I’ve lingered at this morbid piece for a little too long.
As an older couple moves away from the next piece, I take their place, keeping the guard in my peripheral vision, my blood buzzing with anticipation.
He doesn’t seem to notice Elijah near the back of the room. Mostly because I doubt he can see him from there. Elijah is bent low, fiddling with something on the base of the glass enclosure. I guess he must’ve noticed that the guard wasn’t paying attention, too, and decided to keep working despite his presence.
It dawns on me that I am aiding and abetting theft. Wait, not just theft. This isn’t like the time me and a few of the other kids in my grade-ten class jointly stole at least two hundred bucks’ worth of junk food from the Aldi downtown. This is grand larceny.
And I’m no longer a juvenile delinquent who is likely to get off with a slap on the wrist.
But then again, I did already fuck a killer and fail to report him to the appropriate authorities, so what’s a little grand larceny in Paris?
My mind buzzes as if my every thought is laced with speed, and I relish the sensation. Like the feeling of being chased, that moment when you’re just a whisper from being caught and everything goes beautifully, dizzyingly taut .
I shiver.
The security guard turns to do his next patrol back to the main atrium and I clear my throat loudly and see Seven cast his stare over the rest of the patrons before clearing his throat as well.
When Elijah’s head pops up again, I think he must’ve done it because he walks swiftly toward Seven, flicking out the back of his blazer jacket over a familiar gold frame tucked into the back of his pants.
I move to meet them, and Elijah’s eyes flash with vivid life as they rake over me. “Well, I was going to make some excuse as to why we needed to leave but…” He lets the sentence trail off.
“You should’ve just told me,” I mutter back, feeling his hand close around my wrist, and I realize how much faster I’m walking than they are and force myself to slow the hell down.
“Nice and easy,” he says, echoing the mistake I already realized.
I lift my chin and force myself to walk slower, matching their easy pace back down the corridor. Seven tips his head to the guard as he passes us and I figure between the handful of people in the gallery room and the guard, we have anywhere from two to five minutes before someone notices there’s a painting missing.
My heart is a jackhammer against bone beneath my rib cage, but it’s not fear. Not exactly.
It’s something new, but also familiar. Something powerful and thrilling. Something that makes me remember the version of myself that liked to push against limits. The free spirit caged by a society where it never quite fit.
As we pass through the atrium and back out to the coat room, I smile at the attendant at the door and thank her in bad French again before stepping outside into the crisp night air. The soul-deep vibration of confidence that comes from walking between Elijah and Seven should be bottled and sold as a street drug because it is absolutely fucking intoxicating.
The car pulls up on cue, and I have to assume one of them must have told the driver we were coming out. Wow. They really are a well-oiled machine.
We slide into the back, Elijah first, me second, and Seven last, sandwiching me into the warm cabin of the luxury Mercedes.
The driver pulls away from the curb and into the sparse traffic, and I’m unable to sit still.
My ears are ringing. The adrenaline still coursing through my veins has my legs shaking and I can’t remember the last time I felt so…so fucking alive.
It tastes like power , bold and electric, but there’s an undercurrent of something else that I didn’t expect: trust.
It’s just as exhilarating as it is terrifying.
I want to stick my head out the sunroof and howl like a fucking wolf. But instead, I clamp my hands on my knees, trying—and failing—to steady them.
God , when was the last time I smiled like this? Not forced, not polite, just…real.
As our driver blends in with the other vehicles in the busy street, the security guard from the gallery room in the back appears at the threshold of the door. He scans the sidewalk as he shouts at someone next to him, causing a scene that draws a crowd of curious tourists.
He doesn’t look at us. He has no idea we’re in this car.
My lips split into a grin and the tiny hairs along the back of my neck stand up, prickling at the triumph.
Oh my god. We’re really going to get away with it.
Elijah gives the driver instructions in perfect French, and when the divider rolls up to separate him from us, I drop my gaze to Elijah’s lower back.
He’s sitting forward in the seat, careful not to crush the prize tucked into the back of his pants.
“Let’s see it, then,” I say, barely recognizing my own voice for how fucking excited it sounds. I earn myself a raised brow and a smirk from Elijah, who pulls out the artwork carefully, resting it on my knees.
It’s heavier than I thought it would be for something so small. And so much more beautiful this close up. But maybe it’s like how a drink tastes better when it’s free. Or stolen.
I run my fingers over the gilt frame with my heartbeat loud in my ears.
The rush is almost unsettling in its intensity, like something clawing its way to the surface after being buried alive for so long it’s forgotten how to breathe.
“When did you know?” Elijah’s question brings me back to earth.
“A couple minutes after we went in,” I answer honestly. “I didn’t know exactly what you were doing right away, but I knew something was off.”
He and Seven share a look. Elijah seems mortified, while Seven seems entirely unsurprised.
“I don’t think anyone else noticed, though,” I add, hurrying to soften the blow.
Elijah shakes his head, laughing quietly to himself. “So, you aren’t upset?”
Upset?
Oh. Because they made me an accomplice to theft?
Right .
That would make most people upset, wouldn’t it?
“I wish you would’ve told me. What if I did something to ruin it?”
“I knew you wouldn’t,” Seven says with a level of absolute certainty I don’t think I’ve ever had with anything in my entire life.
“How?”
He shrugs. “Call it intuition. You just fit .”
I remember the puzzle I’d been fighting against building in my mind, piecing together these men and their motives and my feelings for them. Maybe I wanted to tear apart the pieces instead of finishing the puzzle because I was terrified to see the final image. To lay myself down as the final piece and find a perfect fit.
I’m pulled from my own tumultuous thoughts when there’s a distinct shift in energy in the back of the car. Confused, I glance between Seven and Elijah, finding them both sitting a little more rigidly. Seven leans closer to the window, looking intently at something in the rearview. Elijah cranes his neck to look out the back windshield.
“Black sedan,” Seven says.
“I see it,” Elijah replies.
“Is it the police?”
I swivel to see what they’re seeing, catching sight of the black sedan about five cars behind us just as it weaves into our lane.
“No,” Elijah says, his voice low and dangerous to match his darkening expression, and my teeth clench. “It’s worse.”
He massages some tension out of his scarred hand, inhaling shakily, his entire body hard. I want to back away, but instead, I find myself reaching out, wanting to soothe the rage-tinted pain in his eyes. When I set my hand cautiously on his thigh, he immediately snatches it up, gripping it tightly.
Seven growls beside me. “How the hell did they find us?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Elijah says ominously.
I swallow hard, not liking the sensation that’s replacing the exhilaration still singing in my veins. “If it’s not the police, who is it?”
“We need an escape route,” Elijah says, speaking directly to Seven, ignoring me. “ Now .”
Seven hammers the side of his closed fist on the panel separating the driver from us, shouting for him to stop the car in French.
He shoves the passenger door open and steps out before the car has even come to a complete stop.
“One escape route, coming up.”