God, that wasn’t far away. A couple of weeks. Alicia wasn’t sure she could wait that long to get started—now she’d had a taste of freedom outside the goddamn chair, she wanted it all. No more dependency on disabled access, no more hiding away because she hated having eyes judging her silently. No more rolling around on wheels, dreaming of walking even a few feet.
“That’s quick. The waiting list for physio was about three months long when I was down with my shoulder. In the end, it was faster for me to come up with my own routine.” Thane rubbed said shoulder absently. “Your friend has access to some handy strings, Att.”
“She does. Unfortunately, those strings are going to be taking us away for a while.” Atticus grimaced slightly as everyone blinked in shock. His hand never stopped stroking, lulling Alicia into a sweetly peaceful existence. “We leave at the end of August to give us a few days to settle into our temporary accommodation.”
“What the fuck, Att?” Jasper almost shot out of his seat. “Where?”
Wide-eyed, Alicia focused on her Daddy’s face. He was as calm as ever, unperturbed by Jasper’s outburst. Because he was so relaxed about it, she followed his lead. Wherever he went, she would be with him. If he needed her to go to the moon, she’d ask if she needed shots and a passport.
“Washington.”
Jasper’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “State or D.C.?”
“D.C.” Atticus held his hand up. “Just calm down, J. It’s not like we’re relocating permanently. It’s temporary. We’ll be back before Christmas. Zach will be taking control of the company, with support from the whole team. Avalon won’t miss me for a while. Alicia is my priority now, and this is vital for her recovery. Hell, if Jules said I had to take Lisha to London for the best treatment, the tickets would already be booked.”
Wow, now she really felt special.
“How do you feel about this, Alicia?” Connie asked gently. “This must be a lot for you to take in.”
After so many years of being the forgotten thing in the corner, only dragged out to be hurt and degraded, the idea of going somewhere new was both exhilarating and distressingly scary. She’d never crossed the city limits, never mind the state line.
The prospect of coming home without the damn chair was a pretty good incentive.
So was spending more time with her Daddy.
“I don’t think it is. At least, it doesn’t feel like it. I’m happy wherever Daddy is, and if we have to go away for a few months, I’m okay with that. Don’t be sad, Connie,” she whispered as the Domme sniffled. “Without you and Daddy, I’d die in that chair. No one believed that I could feel my legs and they treated me like I was stupid. I believed it myself, up until twenty minutes ago. That feeling of standing was amazing, and I need it. I need more of it.”
“Physical therapy is hard,” Thane told her, giving her a wink. “I’ve been through it, and so has the sadist over here, so we know what the pain’s like. One thing you should know going into this, Alicia, is that it takes guts to get back on your feet. Strength, tenacity, determination to succeed. You have everything you need to win this at your disposal, including one incredibly scary guy who will no doubt spank you every time you falter at a hurdle.” When Atticus growled, Thane just grinned. “Go to D.C. and kick some ass, sweetheart. If you want to walk again—and you can—then you need to prove it to yourself first. Fight for it, because this guy here…he’ll do the same.”
There wasn’t much she could say in response. Throat tight, she nodded and dropped her eyes to the floor. It was confusing and slightly uncomfortable, trying to figure out how to cope with the outpouring of support from people who didn’t really know her yet.
“Now that the good news has been delivered,” Daddy said into the quiet that followed Thane’s encouragement, rousing everyone from their personal internal inflection, “can anyone tell me why the door handle has been dismantled?”
Anarchy’s gaze met Alicia’s, then slid over to Connie. The panic in her eyes was bright, then sharpened as her lover leaned over and whispered something in her ear. Shifting uncomfortably, she hissed something back at him, then sighed in resignation. “The lock jammed with Alicia in here—”
So, that was how they’d gotten through a locked door, Alicia thought. She patted Atticus’ arm for attention, and when those green eyes dropped questioningly to hers, she tried to look remorseful. “Don’t let Jasper spank her, Daddy. She’s only trying to stop me from getting in trouble.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured. “Why would my princess be in trouble?”
Fidgeting, she let her fingers play with his shirt. “Maybe I got upset and wanted to be alone. Maybe I locked the door and wouldn’t let them in.” Her shoulders slumped. “Maybe I worried them, and they broke the door to make sure I was safe.”
“I see. Why did my little girl get upset?”
Connie spoke before Alicia could. “It’s my fault, Att. I thought she was asleep, and I was discussing something with Archie that shouldn’t have been brought up. Alicia knows about where you’ve been this morning, and the explosion at the warehouse district.”
“I thought you were dead.” Alicia whispered, wrapping her hand around his thumb. His hands were twice as big as hers, rough and calloused. “I thought it would be better if I was, too.”
“Here I am, thinking about being lenient with your punishment, and you go and tell me that. Dead is never better, not when it comes to you. Do you know what happens to a little girl who believes it’s better if she were dead, that it’s better if she’d never been born?”
“She goes to hell?” Another whisper, barely audible.
“Worse. Her Daddy gets real mad, because he knows that he’d have no one to love if she wasn’t with him. He can’t imagine not having her in his life, and it hurts him to think his princess is hurting so badly, she’d rather pull the plug on everything sweet and innocent and beautiful she brings to light every day.” Atticus’s beard tickled her cheek as he leaned closer to her ear. “So he shows her how much he loves her, cuddles her, tries to make her understand how fucking vital she is to a world that’s dark and bloody.”
“Does she listen?”
“I don’t know. See, her Daddy has no control over what his princess feels, just like she doesn’t. He can give it his best shot, and she can try her hardest to overcome what hurts her to the point she wants to die, but if someone wants the pain to end, they always find a way. All he can do is love her, cherish her, make her the focus of his world, and pray to God every damn day that his princess is strong enough to fight the demons until she wins.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “Can she?”
“Her Daddy knows she can, if she trusts him to get her through the hard times. If she talks to him when she feels she doesn’t belong or like she doesn’t deserve to be here anymore.” He leaned his forehead against her temple. “Her Daddy will walk through the fires of hell to keep her with him, happy and safe.”
“What if my Daddy isn’t here?” A twinge of the pain she’d felt when she thought he was dead hit her in the heart, squeezing a whine from her throat.
Atticus eased back stiffly, taking her face in both of his hands and holding it firmly in place. Green eyes boring into blue, he let her see every emotion inside him with a passion that scared her. It was like staring into a supernova and watching everything he was burn with determination.
“Alive or dead, Alicia, I will always be here.”
The spread of his palm over her heart was her undoing.
Chapter Fourteen
The rest of that week was chaotic, to say the least.
After Atticus had reduced Alicia to tears for a second time on Monday, he’d fed her and tucked her into bed for a nap while he left Thane and Jasper to reprimand their subs for their individual infractions—neither woman had left the games room without a sore derriere.
From there, his life became a whirlwind of work and organization. The Bangers had scattered for now, and word on the street w
as that they were meeting in secret under C-Note’s leadership. It infuriated Att that his team hadn’t been able to dig anything up about Fable, despite Sonic’s best efforts.
The dead woman had no history they could find. No one knew her real name, where she’d come from or who her family was. Even the Phoenix PD were having difficulties identifying her.
Atticus was beginning to believe she’d been born inside the club under Abraham’s rule, without ever being legally acknowledged. Something in his gut made him wonder if she was the asshole’s illegitimate daughter, another of his playthings to fuck with, body and mind. Abraham had, after all, shown how adept he was at keeping his flesh and blood hidden.
For that reason, plus a few others, Atticus had ordered Sonic to keep working on it whenever she had a spare moment. He wanted answers for himself, and in a way, for the dead girl. She’d been completely psychotic—a police raid on the Bangers’ headquarters had proved that—but if Abraham had conditioned her into becoming the monster she’d died as…well, some monsters deserved a touch of compassion.
Elliot had vanished along with the rest of the gang. He wouldn’t be unaccounted for as long as he hoped, not when Att had utilized two of the newest members to the Alpha team on a mission to track the fucker down and haul him back to the holding cells below.
With the reward Atticus had posted on the streets, Elliot’s bolt holes in the city would dwindle rapidly, and those that remained would be fraught with predators desperate for the cash on offer.
One way or another, Atticus would get his hands on the asshole who’d damaged his princess so fucking badly.
Most of his team had been moved onto other projects, but Zach had volunteered to hunt down C-Note and discover what was next for the drug dealers once they returned to public view. If they came after Alicia again, Atticus would either have to deploy the team again, or find a way to persuade C-Note that revenge would cost both sides more death.
For his princess’s sake, he wanted the whole saga over and done with, period.
Christophe remained on the Russians’ heels, tracking them over the city. His reports were fairly sparse on details. More family had come in from Chicago, ostensibly for the funerals. So far, they were keeping their heads down and their noses clean.
By Friday morning, he was ready for the weekend.
When his phone rang, Atticus answered, keeping his eye on Alicia as she sat at the desk beside his, her tongue peeking from between her teeth as she struggled with mathematic equations. “Heisler.”
“Boss, there’s a parcel at the security desk for you.” One of the research techs, Rachel, sounded abnormally nervous. “Accompanied by a very big Russian with a very big gun.”
What the fuck? Atticus stood quickly. “I’m coming now.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Yanking open his desk drawer, he took out his Glock 19 and checked it was fully loaded before shoving it into the back of his waistband. Normally, he would fasten on the holster, but if the Russians had decided to come make trouble, he didn’t have time.
“Daddy?”
Alicia stared at him, mouth open, the pencil she was using dangling from her fingers.
Bending, he kissed the top of her head. “Stay right here, princess. Tiny emergency.”
“Do you take big guns to all the tiny emergencies?” she asked as he hurried toward the door.
“Just this one. Stay put. I’m locking the door.” He didn’t like locking her in, but it was the safest place for her. The door snicked shut and he engaged the lock, then strode down the corridor toward the security desk.
How the hell had an armed Russian gotten through the security gates and into the building? It was a huge security breach in his opinion, and one he wouldn’t be able to let slide.
As he walked into the small room, his eyes immediately met Christophe’s, and one mystery was solved at least. A flurry of messages passed between them without words, and there was no urgency in the operative’s gaze.
There was indeed a very big Russian standing beside Christophe, his suit jacket open to reveal the butt of a weapon. However, the Russian—gray eyes, blond hair, stubble—made no move to reach for it as Atticus stepped closer.
“Rachel, head on back now. I’ve got this.”
The spinning chair behind the desk made several revolutions on its axis at high speed as the terrified tech vanished without any further encouragement. Atticus set his hand on the back of it, stopping it in its tracks.
“I scare woman.” The Russian said in a thick accent. “Apologies.”
Cautiously, Atticus inclined his head, keeping his hand deliberately at his side. “She’s a research tech, she’s not used to greeting strange men with their firearms in plain view.” He jerked his chin toward the gun. “What can I do for you—”
“Boss, this is Kirill.” Christophe made the introduction, but didn’t move forward. “His spoken English isn’t fluent as he’s only been in the US for a couple of months, so I’ll give you the rundown of events. That’s okay with you, Kirill?”
“Da, spasibo.” Kirill frowned as he began fastening his charcoal-gray jacket with thick fingers, concealing his exposed weapon, and corrected himself hesitantly. The big guy reminded Atticus of Alicia when she was reading aloud. “Yes, thank you.”
“Kirill and several of his family members flew out from Chicago for the Pakhan’s funeral. He’ll be staying for a while to help his brother, Sergei, during the family’s relocation back to Chicago.”
A fist of relief smacked Atticus’ ribcage, and he nodded in acknowledgement. There might be more Russians in his city, but he didn’t mind as long as they all left peacefully.
“Sergei sends his apologies for declining to assist with the operation on Monday. He felt that his lack of manpower and weaponry would have been more of a hindrance, putting both his men and yours in greater danger. He’s very grateful that the threat against his family has been removed, and has in turn repaid the favor.”
Atticus noted his friend turned slightly pale as Kirill bent and retrieved a beechwood box, setting it reverently on the desk, snapping the two metal clasps off the lid and opening it so that Att could plainly see the freshly decapitated head inside. The blood splatters on the inside of the box were still wet.
“Holy fuck,” Atticus breathed.
“Kirill did the honors,” Christophe continued. “Sergei asked if there was a reason why you wanted this particular man. Zach had filled me in on the situation, so I explained it to the new Pakhan. The Russians have a fondness for their women, and have an intolerance for anyone who disrespects them.”
Not wanting to leave his DNA on the box or the head, Atticus peered at the horror-stricken face that was already an ashen gray. As though sensing he needed a closer look, Kirill reached in and snagged the body part by the hair, lifting it out of its tomb just enough for Atticus to see the true extent of Elliot’s demise.
“Ah, this is very thoughtful of you and your Pakhan, Kirill, thank you. You can put it back in the box now.” The last thing he needed was any of his staff passing by and seeing a goddamn severed head. “You did this yourself?”
“Da,” was the reply, followed by a long, complicated string of Russian that Atticus struggled to keep up with. Realizing Atticus wasn’t as impressed as he should be, Kirill scowled and tried again in English. “I make painful. No chop,” he said, bringing the side of his hand down on the desk, then wagging a finger. “Saw.” He moved his arm back and forth in demonstration. “Many screams. He sorry. Cry.” A blunt fingertip dragged down his cheek. “No mercy.”
Jesus Christ, Atticus knew how to hold his own against an enemy, but to see that slightly demented smile on Kirill’s face made him glad they seemed to have struck a tentative alliance. Strength, skill, and experience was no match for a killer with his screws loose.
“Sergei has instructed Kirill to take the gift with him when he leaves,” Christophe said pointedly. “He asks that you think of this as an olive branch. He doe
sn’t wish any animosity between the two of you. Kirill’s family has experience with cleaning up, and they’ve already started by taking care of the local trash. A symbol of friendship.”
“Da, druzhba.” With a solemn nod, Kirill snapped the lid back into place.
Part of him was annoyed that his one opportunity to beat the blood and piss out of Elliot before putting a bullet in his head was gone forever. He didn’t have the luxury of that element of closure. However, Atticus understood that he had certain limits when it came to the levels of murder, and sawing someone’s head off when they were still alive crossed his line.
The Russians had given Elliot the death he deserved, and more.
“The Pakhan is dealing with the Bangers?” Atticus asked Christophe.
“Total head count so far is fifteen dead. Kirill and his brothers, their cousins, are hunting the gang members one by one and removing them from society. Sergei knows your reputation, and that you’re a busy man. He doesn’t want you wasting resources on a, um, menial task when his men can handle the problem they contributed to—he admires you.”
Admiration wasn’t always a good thing. Atticus didn’t like the idea of being beholden to the Russian Pakhan this way—sly favors and grandiose gestures of friendship often had a way of coming back to bite people on the ass, hard and deep. “Tell Sergei I appreciate the gesture, and give him my condolences for the deaths in your family. I hope you all have safe travels home.”
Kirill’s hand jerked out.
They exchanged a civil handshake, then the Russian picked up the box and strode toward the door without another word. He really was a strange, dangerous man.
Atticus wanted him far away from his staff.
“Sorry, boss. Kirill was pretty damn insistent he needed to see you while his gift was…fresh. Just be thankful he didn’t drag the body along for the ride.” Christophe’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve seen some shit in my time, but when it comes to murder, that guy’s like Van Gogh.”
Walk For Me: Club Avalon Book 4 Page 38