The Butcher (Fifth Republic #1)

1. Fleur

I entered the building, walked up the five flights of stairs because the elevator had been busted since I moved in, and then got my key in the lock. The door opened, and I entered my small apartment, the one-bedroom flat with a kitchen that also served as a laundry room. I flicked on the light switch and then gave a small jump at the sight of the man sitting in the armchair like a goddamn gargoyle. “Jesus…” I gave my keys a squeeze before I tossed them on the table and set my purse down. “I told you to stop doing that.”

He continued to sit there with his elbows on his knees, his shoulders broad in his jacket, his eyes down on his fingers as he gripped his phone. It took him a moment to lift his chin and look at me, his hazelnut eyes full of self-loathing. “If you don’t want me here, then pick up your fucking phone.”

“I don’t have to do anything, Adrien.” It was nearly two in the morning, but the City of Lights still had people on every corner, riding their bikes to the opposite side of town or smoking in the cafés downstairs. Au Pied de Cochon was right near my apartment, one of the few restaurants in Paris that basically never locked their doors or turned off their lights because it was open almost twenty-four hours. I’d eaten there a couple times after my shift, but mostly just to wind down with a cigarette.

He rose to his feet, in dark jeans and a leather jacket, raindrops visible on the material like it had sprinkled on him during his walk from the car. He left the green armchair and came close to where I stood by the round dining table, which held a vase full of flowers that I’d grabbed from the market yesterday. “I found a marriage counselor?—”

“I don’t want to go to counseling,” I snapped. “I want a divorce.” I’d asked for a divorce the moment I’d discovered his infidelity, a treason he didn’t even have the balls to tell me himself. But he’d made that request impossible to grant. Made me jump through endless hoops, just to get rejected by the court—because he’d paid everyone off.

“We’re Catholic. We don’t believe in divorce?—”

“So you fucked around under the assumption I would never leave?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I don’t want to make this marriage work. I’m a fine piece of ass who doesn’t need this shit. I want a man who keeps his word and is so brutally honest that it’s almost cruel. You are not that man, Adrien.”

The anger flickered across his face, but he tightened the reins on his rage. “I made a mistake. I told you it wasn’t an affair. She meant nothing to me.”

“But she was worth your marriage?”

His nostrils flared, but he still didn’t yell like he normally would. “There was a lot of shit going on at work and I had too much wine to drink, and she came on to me. I had a moment of weakness. I’m fucking human.”

I rolled my eyes. “More like a Neanderthal.”

His desperate eyes were locked on mine. “I said I was sorry about a million times.”

“I don’t want an apology. I want a divorce. I want you to stop popping up in my apartment like you still own me.”

“You’re still my wife?—”

“Fuck you.”

He drew in a slow breath and closed his eyes briefly. “You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t still love me.”

“I’m just an angry person, Adrien.”

“You’re a passionate person, Fleur. There’s a difference,” he said. “It happened once, and it won’t happen again. I will do anything you want to make this work because, despite what you think, I love you with everything I have.”

I stepped away because I didn’t want to look at him anymore. Rain started to pelt the windows and the skylight above the kitchen. The curtains were open, and the light from the lampposts illuminated the city and the wet pavement in the rain.

“Fleur.”

I kept my back to him.

“I’ll never give you a divorce. Every time you submit your paperwork, the judge will deny it. You will never remarry because your marriage to me will remain intact. The only way I’ll lift those restrictions is if you try to make this work.”

I continued to look out the window.

“If you work on this marriage with me.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, and I felt the cold from the windowpane. I could see my reflection as a faint outline. The city below was so beautiful, but it was hard to appreciate it when I felt so low. I never shed a tear in front of him. I turned to the feeling that was the easiest to feel—which was anger. “Were there others?”

“No.” His answer was quick, almost too quick.

I turned around and faced him, studying his hard eyes. His hair was dark like espresso, and his eyes were warm like hazelnut. His Italian ancestry was visible on his skin, and he spoke both French and Italian, one of the things that had attracted me to him. Marriage was such a profound experience that changed everything, and my marriage had left all kinds of scars. Even when we were so far apart, I still felt attached to him. But I didn’t want to be attached to him. “Were there others?”

His eyes flinched slightly when I asked the question again, a subtle hesitation. “No.”

I studied his face, searching for a hint of a lie and unsure how to decipher what I saw. But I knew that I shouldn’t even have to ask the question, that I shouldn’t have to wonder if it was a lie or the truth. “I need to think.”

“There was no one else?—”

“I need space, Adrien. Stop blowing up my phone and lurking in my apartment like a goddamn stalker so I can have two seconds to think.” I turned back to the window and watched a water drop streak to the bottom and disappear.

He lingered for a moment, his eyes hot on my spine, but then his feet eventually shifted and he left the apartment, taking as long as possible, as if I might ask him to come back.

I was a bartender at Silencio, a bar that was a thirty-minute walk from my apartment. I never took a taxi, even when I got off work at almost three in the morning, because it was just too expensive. And there was nothing more peaceful than walking Paris at night—especially in the rain.

It was a busy night at the bar, lots of people in the main room and dispersed throughout the other lounges. Waitresses would wait on those people and bring them drinks and small bites. I stayed at the bar and helped the people waiting for a table. At the beginning of the night, it was usually young people who’d just gotten off work and needed a drink after a stressful day. As the night passed, it turned into romantic dates. And then around midnight, different characters came in, rich men who wanted a place to drink in peace.

I’d adopted a habit of constantly scanning down the bar to see if anyone else needed a drink, and while my gaze wandered, I spotted him come through the door.

I gripped a bottle by the neck and halted where I stood. Holy fuck.

The second he entered the room, he disturbed the air around him. I wasn’t sure what I noticed first, the fact that he was tall as fuck or hot as fuck. He had to be at least six foot three, but that might have been a conservative guess. He wore only a black t-shirt even though it was a rainy night, and he filled it out better than any mannequin at the mall. Thick shoulders and muscular arms, the kind that had veins so strained they looked like they were about to pop. He carried himself like he was important but also with an I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. He had black ink everywhere, visible on both of his arms and on his hands, and even up his neck to his jawline. I’d never felt any particular way about tattoos, but I’d also never seen a man wear them so well.

He seemed to be alone because he moved to the only vacant chair before he took a seat, and the light from the bar behind me illuminated his beautiful and rugged face. I’d only been working at Silencio for a couple weeks, so perhaps he was a regular I’d never encountered before.

I continued to stand there with my fingers on the neck of the bottle, the rest of the patrons at the bar absorbed in conversation, my attention on the man who made my hair stand on end just because he’d stepped into my space.

The only pretty feature about him was his eyes. Crystal blue, like the waters along the white shores of a tropical paradise, more brilliant than the sky on a clear day. But the rest of his face was harsh, with sharp cheekbones, a jawline that could cut glass, and a mouth that looked like it could do more damage than a bullet from a gun.

His elbow rested on the counter as his fingers gently grazed his jawline, veins popping. He glanced at the menu that sat there but didn’t seem to read it, like he already knew what he wanted. Then his eyes shifted to me, the confidence so striking it was like staring straight into the sun.

Oh my lord.

I was still holding the neck of a wine bottle, and I finally returned it to its holder behind the bar and walked over, my heart like a frog in my throat, so intimidated by his appearance that I wasn’t sure if I could wait on him. “What can I get you?” It took all my strength not to stumble over my words, not to make a complete idiot out of myself and just act natural.

He stared at me for a solid three seconds, his blue eyes not needing to blink, having way more confidence than I did. “Scotch, on the rocks. Make it a double.”

“You got it.” I pulled out the bottle and made the drink.

He didn’t watch my hands as I prepared the drink. Stared straight at my face. Still didn’t blink.

I presented the drink to him. “Lemme know when you need another. I’ll be around.” I turned so I wouldn’t see his reaction, knowing I needed to put as much distance between us as possible. He was so distracting that I wouldn’t be able to finish up my shift if I continued to look at him. The fantasies were already passing through my mind, and I told myself it was only because it’d been a while since I had any dick.

But I had a feeling I’d never had any dick like that.

The bar started to grow quiet as people left for the night. He ordered another scotch and drank it alone at the bar, the chairs empty on either side of him. He didn’t distract himself looking at his phone, just stared at his reflection in the mirror against the wall or stared off into the distance. He seemed perfectly fine drinking alone, not having anyone to talk to or anywhere to go. It didn’t seem like he was there to pick up a woman for the night because he never looked at anyone in the room.

I wanted him to leave so I could finally release the breath I held, but I also dreaded the moment he walked out of that bar and I never saw him again. I stood at the counter and wiped off the bottles, doing my cleanup during the downtime so I could get out of there quicker after we closed.

“Bastien.”

My eyes flicked to him, my heart in my throat again.

He took a drink then licked his lips. “This is where you tell me your name.”

He was just as arrogant as I pegged him to be—but still hot as fuck. “Fleur.”

He extended his empty glass, silently asking for another.

If he were someone else, I would have cut him off, but despite all the scotch he drank, he didn’t seem even remotely incapacitated. He was either a functional drunk or his tolerance was sky-high. I poured another drink and placed it in front of him.

He raised his glass in a gesture of gratitude before he took a sip. His striking eyes were glued to mine, having the confidence to hold an intimate level of eye contact like we were lovers when we were strangers. He cocked his head slightly, as if he saw something in my stare. “There’s a story behind those eyes.”

“Is there a story behind yours?”

A subtle smile moved over his lips, and that little shift changed his entire face. The arrogance dulled in his eyes, and it was replaced by a hint of playfulness. He shook the ice in his glass before he took a drink. “Definitely.” He returned it to the counter and stared at it for a second before he looked at me again. “You first.”

Normally, when men made a pass at me, I flirted back in a restrained way, wanting them to have a good time and for me to get a good tip. But I was never honest about who I was or what I felt. But when I looked into those blue eyes, the truth was pulled out of me. “I’m in the middle of a divorce—sorta.”

“Sorta?”

“I’ve tried filing the paperwork multiple times, but it’s always rejected.”

A sharpness entered his gaze, and his fingers moved over the top of his glass.

“He’s well-connected to powerful people.” I answered the question he never asked. “And he’ll put me through hell to get away from him.”

“Power and wealth go hand in hand,” he said. “So why are you working here?”

“Because I don’t want his money. I was poor before him, and I can be poor after him.” It had been a harsh change, not having a driver to take me where I needed to go, getting my own groceries and carrying them up the stairs, having to do my own laundry and make sure I didn’t turn the heater too high. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to afford the bill. But it was still better than a life of luxury with a liar.

He continued to stare at me, his eyes narrowing in interest. “I could ask what prompted you to run, but I think I already know the answer.” He shook the glass and took another drink. “Men say women are complicated, but they aren’t. Just text back, and don’t stick your dick in other people. Pretty straightforward.”

I abandoned my cleanup at the bar because I’d become engrossed in this deep conversation with a stranger, feeling a connection to someone I didn’t know. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” He looked at me head on, having so much confidence it was nearly toxic. “I don’t text back, and I like to stick my dick in a lot of places.” He drank from his glass without breaking the connection with our eyes.

I felt no disappointment because that was exactly what I’d expected from him. If he was trying to pick me up, he wasn’t doing it in a sleazy way. He was brutally honest, that if we left the bar together, I wouldn’t hear from him again. He would probably be gone before I woke up in the morning. But honesty was a trait that I valued the instant I realized my marriage lacked it. “He wasn’t the one to tell me. I had to hear it from her.”

He didn’t cast judgment or voice an opinion. Just stared at me and listened.

“He’s been trying to get me back. Tightens his grip when he feels me slip further away.”

“How long have you been married?”

“A couple years.”

He gave a slight nod. “That’s not a good sign. Who was the woman?”

“Someone he works with. Said it didn’t mean anything.”

Both of his elbows went to the bar as he leaned forward, cupping his knuckles in the other hand, the muscles and cords visible up and down his arms.

“I asked if there were others… He said no.”

“You believe him?”

“I—I don’t know.” Every time I thought about what he’d done, I felt so shitty that I wanted to curl into a ball in the corner. It disgusted me, thinking about where his dick had been before it pounded inside me like there had never been any treason.

He continued to watch me, rubbing his knuckles like they were sore from a recent brawl.

“Have any advice?”

He lowered his hands to the counter, taller than me even when he sat down because he had a foot and a half of height on me. “I don’t give advice—just opinion.”

“Okay, then. What’s your opinion?”

A subtle smile moved on to his lips as his eyes flicked away for the first time. “You don’t want my opinion, sweetheart.”

I hated it when men called me that, when they tried to get my attention from across the bar with the endearment, but Bastien pulled it off like it was my actual name. “I want honesty, and that’s something I haven’t gotten in a while.”

His eyes came back to me and stayed there for a long time, studying my face like he could see words in bold ink across my skin. He tilted his head slightly before he released a sigh. “Trust is like glass. It takes time to heat and temper, to make it transparent for both parties to see through. But once it’s shattered, there are so many broken pieces on the floor that it’s impossible to put back together. A year may pass, and you’ll step into the kitchen barefoot for a glass of water and get a shard in your heel. And you’ll remember how it got there.”

A pain settled on my heart, an anchor lowered from a ship, a disappointment so heavy it dropped to the bottom of the ocean.

“Power and wealth can be taken away—and all that’s left is your word. If you don’t have that, then you don’t have anything. He betrayed his word when he betrayed you, so he betrayed himself. There was a chance of redemption by being honest with you, but he chose cowardice instead.”

I hadn’t expected this beautiful man at the bar to have so much depth, to be more than a pretty face with a stiff drink in his hand.

“He tells you there was no one else, but because his word is invalid, you don’t know if you can believe him. A man should treat a woman with the same respect he treats his boys. If anything, she should be his number one guy.”

“You make it sound like you’ve been in a relationship before.”

“No.” His hand rested on the top of his glass. “And that’s why I haven’t been in one. I know what it takes—and I haven’t found a woman worth the effort. Probably never will. Not that I’m looking anyway.” He stared at me as he took a drink from his glass. “So what are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure if I have much of a choice.” Adrien would never stop, constantly blocking any motion to legally separate, showing up at my work and my apartment, as if I would find his persistence charming when fidelity was far more romantic.

“You always have a choice.”

“You don’t know my husband.”

“But I know men.” He gave me a hard stare. “And I know how to get rid of yours.”

“How?”

He shifted his position on the stool, his shirt gripping his muscles with the movement, cords visible up his neck despite the ink that covered his skin. He had a skull right at the center of his throat, a dagger up the right side of his neck, the edge of the blade right at his jawline. “Fuck someone.”

Heat from a roaring fire burst inside me, picturing him as the one doing all the fucking. Buck naked and deep inside me, his fat dick making me come with minimal effort. I knew he had a big dick because of the big dick energy he’d brought into the bar when he’d first walked in.

“No man can see past his ego, and he seems no different to me.”

“What about you? Do you have a big ego?”

He smirked. “I wouldn’t be a man if I didn’t.” He took another drink, making the glass empty with the exception of the ice cubes that hadn’t melted yet. “I’ll take the tab, sweetheart.”

It was the time for him to make his move, but I suspected the offer would never come. He was the magnet that drew everyone in. He didn’t need to chase anyone. Just sit there and wait for all the pretty girls to come to him.

I moved down the bar to the computer and generated his tab, putting in all the drinks that would have put a normal man flat on the floor. But before I could print the tab, I glanced to the other side of the room and instinctively knew something wasn’t right.

Three men entered the bar, moving far too fast if all they wanted was a drink. And they had handkerchiefs tied over the bottom half of their faces to hide their identities from the cameras in all the corners.

Frozen to the spot, all I could do was stand there and watch one of them come at me—with a fucking machete.

He held up the machete at eye level. “Cash in the bag.” He tossed a burlap sack on the counter. The other two men also had their machetes out, watching everyone else in the bar to make sure no one came to my rescue.

I stilled on the spot, struggling to breathe through the sheer panic.

“Bitch, fill the bag.”

I didn’t gasp or scream, but I was frozen to the spot in sheer terror.

“You picked the wrong bar, man.”

My eyes glanced at Bastien, who remained on the stool. Everyone else at the bar had scurried to the wall. The other people in the seating area had tried to crawl under their tables or put their shaking arms in the air. Bastien was the only one who regarded the situation with an insane level of calm.

The man turned his attention to Bastien, taking the heat and the knife off me. “What’d you say, asshole?”

“I’m not the one threatening a girl with a knife, asshole .” He left the stool and stood upright, and he seemed to grow several inches taller from when he had walked inside. He brandished no weapon other than his words, but he was still armed to the teeth with invisible power. “ Homines ex codice .”

My eyes flicked back and forth between them, having no idea what was transpiring.

The words were in Latin, but the meaning was unclear. I couldn’t tell if my assailant understood what that meant or if he was just as bewildered as I was.

There was a silent standoff between them, a tension that rose like flames from a newly lit bonfire. The bar was normally loud and boisterous with chatter and laughter, but now it’d gone deadly quiet—like a graveyard.

The asshole with the machete moved, slashing his weapon down like he would hack Bastien to pieces.

I screamed in terror and moved for one of the empty bottles behind the counter.

It happened so fast that I wasn’t sure exactly what transpired, but Bastien made the other man’s face bloody and wrested the machete free. He slammed the guy’s face down on the counter, not once but twice—and broke his nose. He pinned his head to the top of the counter and looked at me. “Your turn, sweetheart.”

I slammed the bottle down on his head, and it shattered into pieces.