Page 142 of The Finish Line
“Je t’ai dit tout ce que je sais.” I have told you all I know.
This I know to be the truth. The texts are too vague for this asshole to be Antoine’s most trusted.
“Tu n’es rien de plus qu’un putain de chien de garde, et tu n’es même pas bon à ça.” You are no more than a watch dog, and you’re not even good at that.
His eyes flare with anger, but he remains mute, swallowing his temper. And because I’m the bastard I am, I want more. “It’s a waste of your skills if you ask me. You should have demanded more for yourself.” Rolling my eyes down his frame with clear disgust, I bait him for any excuse to strike.
“Tu n’es même pas digne d’être Français.” You’re not worthy to be a Frenchman.
His answering sneer is barely perceptible, but it’s all the ammo I need. Gripping my Glock, I toss the table aside and hover above him, pressing it to his forehead. To his credit, he doesn’t flinch. Gripping him by the throat, I dig my fingers into his Adam’s apple and bend so we’re eye to eye.
“Dis-lui que le temps ici est parfait.” Tell him the weather here is perfect. I lean in as he struggles for breath, eyes darting toward the motel door. “Et que l’eau est prête.” And the water is ready.
Resisting the urge to crush his skull with my Glock, I storm out, lifting my chin to Oz, who’s waiting outside. “Put him on the plane.”
Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours until Tyler sends his finest—until we’ve got the protection of the Secret Service alongside my birds. It’s just enough time. And in that time, I have to come clean about every detail, starting with my history with Antoine. I have ten of those hours until Julien gets to France, and after that, the real clock will start ticking. I have zero doubts it will be another fight with Cecelia, but I also know it won’t break us to the point we can’t recover. Even with that protection on its way, I’m unsure of what’s coming. That alone has me hastening toward her, intent on keeping us as close as possible. Not only could my confession drive a fresh wedge between us, but the fact that I’ll refuse her any personal space from here on out is going to be just as fucking nightmarish. She wants my trust, but when it comes to the unpredictable, I can’t give it, and on this, I won’t budge. Pulling up to the café, I don’t see her Audi and frown before shooting off a text.
Where are you?
When I don’t get a reply, I reason with myself as best I can as I try to ease my rapidly pounding heart.
Chill, Tobias, she probably went to make a deposit.
She usually does before she comes home, typically carrying a bank bag with a receipt in her apron. I walk into the café to see Marissa at the counter, cleavage on display as she dotes on a customer. She lifts her chin in my direction, her eyes shining in welcome, as the man sitting behind the bar does the same, a distracted smile on his face before his eyes connect with mine.
Mr. Fucking. Handsome.
“Hey, Tobias,” Marissa chimes in nervously, drawing my attention from him. “She just left to make the deposit.”
“Is she coming back?”
“She didn’t say.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Want some coffee?”
“I’m good.”
Glancing down at my phone, I see no message from her and try not to panic. I shoot off a message to my birds, lingering in the doorway as Greg stands and pulls out some bills.
“I’ll get your change,” Marissa drawls out in a tone better suited for the bedroom.
“No need.”
“I’ll be off in a few hours,” she says, and he nods. It’s obvious they’ve got something going on. Cecelia’s mentioned seeing Greg a few times back in the café and assured me he no longer had eyes for her. His new prey leans over the counter again just as I lift my gaze back to my phone before shooting off another text to Cecelia.
She’s probably driving, Tobias.
Mr. Handsome leans over in my peripheral, no fucks given and suggestively whispers to Marissa, and I only manage to catch the ass end of it:—“about the company you keep.”
Frowning, I lift my eyes as he drapes his coat over his arm before strolling toward the door, whistling. He stops when he reaches me, giving me a ‘I’ve fucked her wink’ and the dip of his chin. “Tobias.”
Blatantly ignoring him, I look back down at my screen.
“She probably went on home,” Marissa sounds up. “She usually does after she makes the deposit.”
I nod. “Okay, see you later.”