Page 80 of The Finish Line

We finish the last of it huddled around the fire, piss drunk, with the future buzzing heavily between us. I gaze on at each of them as the familiar inkling comes over me. It strikes hard, the hairs on the back of my neck lifting despite my drunken state, and with its arrival comes the knowledge we are exactly where we’re supposed to be. It’s time to make our first move.

It’s been a long fucking time coming.

But for the first time in years, surrounded by my brothers, I embrace the present. When the chatter starts to die out, and they begin to pass out one by one, I shift my gaze up at the night sky, and the image of the flock that inspired me comes to mind. Though pitch dark, I can see them so clearly, just as the pieces start to move on their own. Turning toward the newly built mansion, I see a single light on in the house and briefly wonder what kind of thoughts keep a man like Roman Horner up at night. Soon, I won’t have to wonder. Piece by piece, I’ll steal chunks of his kingdom from beneath him until it starts to crumble around him. And then, and only then, will I reveal myself as the thief responsible.

“I’m coming for you, motherfucker,” I whisper vehemently, tossing another log onto the fire just as the lone light clicks off.

*

My head splinters as the recollection of that night fades, and the heavy pulse of fresh hell sets in. Prying one eye open, I see Cecelia sleeping soundly next to me and wince through the invasion of morning light. Beau’s nails click on the hardwood announcing his entrance into the bedroom, and he nudges the hand I have hanging over the lip of the mattress, beckoning his new bitch to escort him out for his morning leak. Moving far too quickly, my body reacts, my head screaming obscenities as I usher him out of the room and through the back door to relieve himself. Shivering in the onslaught of cold, I’m slapped awake by one thought.

One step ahead, Tobias.

Alarm shoots up my spine as I rush inside and gather both phones before heading into the bathroom to check them for missed texts.

Russell: New birds in the nest.

The text was sent at eight o’clock last night. I feel slight relief knowing we’re covered with Tyler’s trained birds, especially since I wasn’t of sound mind. For me, blind trust is damn near hard to come by, but over the years, I’ve tried my best to return it. Still, with so much to lose and flying blind, I’m in the worst imaginable position. I’m no longer in control or calling the shots, nor am I aware of every move being made on the daily, and it’s nearly fucking impossible for me to deal with that day by day. Blind trust is what I have to continue to give so I can navigate my way with Cecelia. But now? I’m not so sure I’m capable. Especially if Antoine’s planning on making a move. I’m just not sure of what his motive would be or what his intentions are, other than to keep tabs on me. But if he took the time to send someone—in lieu of a fucking phone call—chances are something’s brewing.

Hitting a separate text feed on my burner, I see a message from one of the two birds I kicked to the curb after my run in yesterday.

Oz: He’s working alone. He came to report and nothing more.

You’re sure?

Oz: Positive. He showed us his itinerary, and we cross-checked it with every single passenger on the flight and every other within days of his arrival. So far, everything checks out. We’re combing the sidewalks now.

Wait for word from me.

Oz: 10/4

Furious with myself that I let my emotions and nerves get the best of me yesterday to the point I drank myself into a blackout, I switch phones to see the demand for a report on the idiot’s cell. I’m relieved when I see the message was sent only minutes ago. The order short and to the point.

Quelle est la situation?

I mimic the previous text.

Pas de changement. No change.

Anxiety slices through me as I will the fucking phone to go off with a reply. A reply that will ensure me more time for damage control with Cecelia.

Adrenaline spiking, I wait with bated fucking breath and see Antoine’s response time has varied anywhere from one hour to five. It’s too soon to tell if Antoine’s onto me, so I shoot off a text to Tyler.

I want two birds in the air. Now.

His reply is immediate.

Tyler: On it. Need to talk?

I’ll let you know.

Cursing the situation and the fucking disaster I made of date night, I summon Beau back into the house before creeping through the bedroom and softly shutting the bathroom door. After a brief inspection with bloodshot eyes, I wash my face, brush my teeth, and rinse my mouth out before swallowing down a couple of Tylenol from her medicine cabinet. The reality of last night slams into me as I take one last look in the mirror. “Run for your life, Trésor.”

Phones cupped in my hands, I quietly open the door and slip them both into my duffle before easing back into bed. Cecelia stirs slightly with the dip of my weight, and I slowly exhale a breath of relief when I fully make it back in without waking her.

She slept in today purposefully. I’m part relieved, part terrified because I can’t remember much past finishing the book and emptying the closest bottle.

Brief images flash through my mind of what happened after that fatal sip and some of the verbal vomit I spewed. I’m positive an apology is in order at the very least.

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