27. A welcome distraction – Atticus
27
A WELCOME DISTRACTION
ATTICUS
T he three small blue dots on the map of Paris flicker and disappear from my monitor screen, and I shove away from my desk, pushing to my feet.
“Fucking idiots.”
As if summoned by the curse, Aurora’s dog comes padding into my office, sitting by the door with its tail wagging over the floor.
“What? What do you need?”
Eleven barks.
“Not now.”
Think, I will myself. What can I do?
I already fired off a message to the pilot and to Céline, telling one to get ready and one to get out, just in case. I can’t believe their fucking stupidity. Why risk it? What was the point?
Eli can’t replicate the Van Gogh, and it’s not like we have a proper collection to add it to anymore. Everything, save for the handful of pieces still on the walls of this house, was taken by Ambrose when he double-crossed us.
They just had to poke the proverbial fucking bear.
I never should have let them go to Paris.
Shoving my hands through my loose hair, I struggle for a full, unrestricted breath.
They’ll be fine.
They’re always fine.
Except for the one time Eli walked out and didn’t come back for almost two goddamned years.
My chest constricts again and I am about three seconds from losing my mind. I remind myself there’s nothing much I can do from here. I have a last known location, but not much else.
Eleven barks again, and I ignore her, going back to my desk.
I push the chair out of the way, preferring to stand over the monitor as I type out a quick message on the secure server to my contact in the préfecture de police , letting him know their approximate last known location and to stay out of it unless they want blood on their hands. He won’t help them. That’s the limit. But this—keeping his men out of the fight and busy elsewhere—this he’ll do.
After I hit send, I need to let the energy out. If I don’t, I’m going to fucking lose it.
In my head, I’m already calculating the number of hours it should take for them to get to the airstrip, for the plane to take off, and for them to land, and drive home.
A wet nose pushes into my hand, lifting it from my side.
Nine hours max, I think. If they aren’t back in nine hours, I can start properly worrying.
Nine hours.
I can do nine hours.
Eleven whines, echoing my distress as I unconsciously pet her head.
“Want to go for a run?”
It’s either that or try to jerk off until I can calm my racing thoughts and the last time I did the latter, I wound up picturing Aurora’s face when I came, so that’s out .
Ellie barks again, her heterochromic eyes lighting up as her paws scrape against the floor in a sideways leap of excitement at the word ‘run’. I grit my teeth at the new scratches in the hardwood, and sigh.
“All right, all right, calm down. I’m coming. Go on.”
She races from the office, and I listen as her claws scratch and scrape over the floors as she darts like a bat out of hell to the front door.
In all the chaos raging in my skull, I make a mental note to add one of those puppy nail files to my online cart. There are already new food and water dishes in there, a big dog bed, a few toys and treats, kibble, and some contraption to pick up her shit from the property.
Aurora’s been doing an okay job of that herself, but we’re running out of compost bags because of it.
Stop thinking about her.
Cloths! Right, I need to get cloths, too. So she can stop using my good ones to wipe Eleven’s paws.
Doggy shampoo would be good, too.
Jesus, at this rate, I’ll be picking up the whole goddamned pet store to bring home with me when I go to pick up the order this afternoon.
I meet Eleven at the front door and bend to change into my running shoes, grimacing when she excitedly licks my face and starts to canter her paws on the floor like every second is an eternity of waiting.
“Patience,” I hiss, determined to train this word into her. It has to be the twentieth time I’ve said it since Aurora and the guys left. I give her a look and repeat the command. She licks her lips, closing her panting mouth to sit in a state of mock calm, her twitching ears giving her away.
“Good girl.”
When I’m finished with my shoes, I pull off my shirt and hang it by the door.
“Ready?”
I know I am. My skin itches with the need to move. To do something when there is nothing I can do to help them.
The metaphorical knife twists in my stomach and I remember my promise to myself when we weren’t sure if he’d ever let Eli go.
If they don’t come back, I’ll hunt down every last one of Ambrose’s men, saving him for last. I will find his hideaway, and even if it kills me, I will fulfill Eli’s promise to his father. Only then will I kill Ambrose. And only after he’s dead will I let myself follow my brothers to the afterlife.
Eleven barks, letting out an almost frantic keening sound that makes me think she can sense the dark path my thoughts wandered down.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, hating how I’m soothed as I stroke her forehead. I said I’d take care of the thing, but truth be told, she’s been a welcome distraction. Even if cleaning up after her and keeping her entertained kept me from seeing where my brothers were headed until it was already too late to stop them.
“They’re going to come home,” I decide. “No one gets to wring their necks but me.”
She makes a throaty sound of agreement and I drop my hand.
“Now, let’s have that run.”