"Smile!"
Eli laughs and when Atticus realizes what I'm doing, he lurches out of my grasp with a groan, and steps up into the back of the van with a growled, "Move your asses.Let's go."
I'm around the van in seconds and into the driver's seat as the doors all close.
"Follow the route on the GPS. Donotdeviate," Atticus says as I pull away from the side of the road, and make the U-turn.
"You got it, Daddicus."
Eli is still laughing quietly in the back, and it reminds me of our first-ever solo job without Jules. Fuck, did we ever make a mess of it, but we managed. And afterward, when we escaped despite the odds being abysmal, we'd all laughed until I felt like I was going to piss myself.
I wonder if he's remembering that right now, too.
A low chuckle joins Eli in the back as I drive us away from the scene of the crime.
Atticus's laugh goes from barely there to loud enough to wake the dead, and I know this is it. We're fuckingback.
This time, it wasn’t about the art.
Maybe it never was.
Tonight was about proving we can still do this. That Ambrose didn’t break us and we’re stillThe White Rose, even without the collection. Without Julian.
This is about taking something back.
"Goddamn," Atty says as his laughter trails off, and we make it onto the main highway without incident. "I forgot what it was like…"
"We all did, bro. Welcome back to the land of the living."
31
TEN THOUSAND TINY DICKS
ATTICUS
Ishove through the creaky rear door of the laundromat, throwing my hood back as soon as I'm inside.
It's fuckingcoldout there tonight, and having to head straight from the airstrip all the way back to Boone running on almost zero sleep wasn't exactly enjoyable, but I'm still riding the high from the heist, so I'm oddly unbothered.
As always, the twenty-four-hour establishment is completely dead at nearly eight in the evening on a Wednesday night. If we'd bought this thing to make money, we'd be bankrupt by now. The only couple of people who come in are this one homeless guy who sits inside to get out of the cold late at night, and a lady who only brings blankets to wash once a week, probably because they don't fit in her machine at home.
Unlocking the office, I step in and flick the light on, tossing my secret pack of French cigarettes on the table and my jacket onto the back of a chair at the table.
I pause halfway through pushing the loose hair from my face, noticing the new decor.
The wordcongrats!is on the wall, its letters made of printer paper cutouts taped to the gray paint. I snort. So, that's what she was doing in here?
Cute.
But I know better than to think it's for me. It's forthem.The ones she told to be careful.
The ones she cares what happens to.
And, of course, she knew we'd pull it off. I knew, too. Although part of me feels it was almost too easy. Ambrose wouldn't have made a play for the painting until today when it would've been moved, but I told the guys he was likely already scouting it out.
And if he saw us…
I took extra precautions because of it. Planting Eli as a temp replacement guard wasn't fucking easy, and making Sev sit in those rafters for six hours wasn't anyone's idea of a good time, but the extra work paid off. We got the Modigliani before that motherfucker and made it home without incident. Like old times.
