My throat is thick with emotion that I fight to keep contained. It won't help me now. It won't helpthem.
And something tells me, I won't have to feel any of it soon.
Fuck, it was so idiotic to think that a man like him wouldn't hurt his own daughter.
A small sound breaks free from my lips, unable to be held in when I realize what all of this means for my Ellie girl. I won't ever see her again. She'll think I abandoned her. She won't understand.
And then a worse thought punches through all the rest…
If he knew about me—about the guys' plans—does he know about Céline?
Does he care?
Would he go after my sweet Ellie girl and?—
I can't finish the thought, it's too much. I…can't.
Tears fall, and my hands shake in the grip of the man at my back.
Ambrose nudges the busted pieces of flash drive with the toe of his boot, making sure it's all thoroughly destroyed before he fixes his hair and huffs a sigh. "I'll bet you're wondering how I knew."
The creeping smirk at the edge of his mouth makes me want to set him on fire, but the rage is still so slippery, and I can't grip it long enough to hold on with all the thoughts spiraling in my head.
I mentally slap myself, stopping the onslaught of terrifying images from bombarding my mind, reminding myself who I am and whotheyare.
Seven, Elijah, and Atticus wouldn't roll over and take this. They'd fight. They're probably fighting right now.
And I need to fight, too.
"I was there, you know," Ambrose muses, but I'm not paying much attention as I force myself back to the present, grounding my body in this moment.
I force myself to register the hard tile beneath my knees and the rough grip of the man holding me here.
In thenow, I can still do something. Atticus said there's always a way—always a solution—I just have to find it.
I put away the panic, shove down the abject terror at whatcouldhappen, and pay attention to what is happening right now. There has to be something. A weapon. Or something I could threaten him with.
Think, Aurora. What do you know? What can you use?
"In Paris," Ambrose continues. "AtLa Tante Sophistiquée."
His words register, and I frown.
"Oh yes." He grins at me wickedly. "Seven and Elijah were so focused—or perhaps so distracted byyou—that they didn't even notice. I was just another face amid the Parisian upper class."
He couldn't have been…
"I had my eye on that Van Gogh for a while," he explains. "I knew Flo always wanted to add it to their collection. I thought of it as my duty to the dead to see that goal realized."
"You're a disgusting excuse for a human being," I mutter, my mouth still not working exactly as it should. Tongue swollen where I must've bitten it when I was hit in the head.
I spit blood onto the tile.
His nose wrinkles in revulsion.
"It really is too bad Atticus wasn't with them. That one was always too smart for his own good. Too cunning. Gave me a run for my money on several occasions and sabotaged some of the most lucrative deals I ever would've made."
I don't miss how he's already talking about them in the past tense, and I almost,almostam sick all over the floor, but I choke it back.
