It’s a good thing I followed the cleaning crew Dante sent a few weeks ago after I killed the boy who hurt Lucie. I drive to the pig farm south of the border and drop the body by the side of the barn. In the front compartment of my bike, I always keep a stack of green in case of emergencies. I leave the fifty thousand pounds in the pockets of the spy and don’t linger before I drive back to the city.
The wind whips my face as I ride fast. I’m antsy. Without any camera inside Lucie’s flat, I can’t be sure she’s okay. I spent weeks adding cameras to her building, and detection systems.
It’s not enough. I’m starting to be afraid it won’t ever be where Petar is concerned. I might have to do something drastic.Like kidnap her and keep her hidden on a remote island. Unfortunately, I like that idea but she might resent me for it and I can’t have that.
The man I killed tonight proved that nothing will ever be enough when it comes to her. I need a new tracker, preferably implanted under her skin, cameras all around her flat, at uni. I need to hack into the city’s surveillance. Fuck, maybe the whole world just in case.
I’m spiralling.
I’m the only one who can protect her and I’ve left her alone for too long. My watch indicates that I’ve wasted three hours with this stupid fuck.
I park on our street and immediately check my phone for any missed text. There’s none. I check Lucie’s phone. No activity to notice. The blinds are still open on her windows. Like after our texts, she knew to leave them open for me to watch over her.
I inhale the dewy morning air deeply and sigh it out, tiredness suddenly catching up to me. I can’t afford to sleep yet. I have to look into the spy’s phone and see what he reported to my brother. And take a shower, scrubbing myself raw to rid me of the stench of death.
I’m about to enter my building when I hear a weak, little bark. I frown and look for the source. Sure enough, the abandoned dog trembles like a leaf, two feet away from where the asshole left it. Who’s fucked up enough to use a dog as a prop? It makes me want to kill the man with my bare hands all over again, instead of whatever poison he ingested.
The chihuahua barks again, but when it sees me approach, his tiny tail wiggles side to side. It moves his entire body and I fear the poor thing is going to throw itself off the railing and fall into the terrace of the basement flat underneath. His beady eyes and lolling tongue make him look so weird. And too fucking cute.
The temperature has fallen to two degree celsius and I don’t now if the dog is trembling because it’s cold or because it’s afraid.
“Fuck.”
I crouch in front of it and the mutt sniffs me, wagging his tail even harder.
“Okay, okay. I won’t leave you here by yourself.”
Picking him up, I plaster him against my body. Well, it’s not a him apparently. The shaking decreases but isn’t fully gone. “I swear to you, if you pee inside, I’m making gloves of your hide.”
The little thing just closes her eyes and starts to snore, making me snort as I enter my flat. I look up what to do with the breed and form a nest of blankets to deposit her into so she keeps her body heat.
After too quick a shower for my liking, I fall asleep next to the dog, weary and bone-tired. I’ll look into the spy’s phone tomorrow. I can’t protect Lucie if I’m half-asleep and have poor reflexes.
THIRTEEN
TOMA
On the third night after disposing of my brother’s spy, I’m running on Red Bull and pure determination, having caught only three or four hours of sleep every night.
Biscuit has, as predicted, peed on my carpet when I failed to take her out one evening. I’m still figuring out this whole pet thing but I’ll admit, she looks damn cute with her insulated, little pink dog jacket I got for her.
“Be good,” I tell her as I kiss her little head, then go out the door.
Lack of sleep and fear for Lucie’s safety are the only explanations for the irrational decision I just made.
I can’t keep myself in check any longer. I have to make sure she is okay. The anxiety at any danger surrounding her, the very thin but real potential of my brother getting his hands on her—or her family—is eating up at me. Watching her from the other side of the street isn’t easing any of it. Even the texts that I’ve been sending more frequently aren’t helping anymore.
It’s past one am when I enter Lucie’s flat. She’s been in bed for an hour or so.
I need to be close. I need to hear her breath. If a threat enters the place she resides in, I’ll be ready.
That’s what my exhausted brain tells me as I sneak towards her bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar. I don’t hesitate to push it fully open and take in the view in front of me.
I’ve been here before, staring at an empty bed and inhaling her sweet scent like a junkie taking a hit. But it’s never been like this. The room smells even more like her now, the heat coming off the bed inviting. The only light is coming from the living room, where she didn’t close the blinds. But even in the pitch black night, I’d know where she is.
I’m transfixed, my feet unmoving. Breathing is getting harder. I want to step inside the room and climb into bed so bad I’m afraid I’m about to whine with need. Lucie sleeps on her left side, turned away from the window, her hands tucked together under her cheek. It’s adorable. Her body is just a mass under the warm duvet going all the way up to her ear.
The weird, round clock I noticed on my first visit indicates one twenty-two in the morning. I’ve been staring at my reason for living for twenty minutes and it feels like only a minute has passed.
