Chapter 5 Florian
Florian
It turns out Arabelle is in Chicago, and it’s just a coincidence that I’m here, too. As soon as Hugo gave me her whereabouts, I sent a rose and note to her hotel suite to show her my thoughts are always with her.
The day was off to a fantastic start, and I eagerly looked forward to seeing her.
I wasn’t about to let this chance slip through my fingers since she’s so close.
I’ve been longing to see her in person for weeks now, but business has prevented it.
However, today, I cut my business meeting short when I received an urgent phone call from Hugo, who revealed that my beauty is on a date.
As I crack my knuckles, a wave of anger washes over me, intensifying my urge to kill this motherfucker.
When she’s with other men, I spiral out of control.
It’s frustrating how Arabelle has an unsettling ability to make me feel like a wild animal, even though I prefer stability.
She drives the beast inside me crazy, and she’s the only one who can calm me.
“Where’s she now?”
The sounds of laughter, music, and the distinct clinking of pool balls reverberate through the air.
She’s only been in Chicago for a few days, and now I’m on my way to where she’s hanging out at a bar with some fucking guy.
My irritation is only rising the more I think about what led up to her actually going out with this guy.
She doesn’t date.
“They’re sitting at the bar at The Black Star Bar and Grill, and she’s having a glass of wine.” Hugo sighs. “Don’t you think this is a little too much, Beast? You’ve had me following this woman for months. You’ve also been following her when I’m not around.”
“Are you questioning my orders, Hugo?” I ask, annoyed he’s even saying anything about what the fuck I’m doing. One thing I don’t tolerate is anyone questioning me about my business. “I don’t see how what I’ve had you do affects your pay, so what’s the problem?”
“I just don’t understand what I’m doing here, Florian.
What’s the point of following this woman twenty-four-seven?
She has no life. All she does is dance, travel for her job, and go home.
This is actually the first date she’s been on the entire time you’ve had me keeping an eye on her.
Don’t you think my time would be better spent on your father? ”
His time would probably be better spent on keeping an eye on Olan, but I need him here.
“The point is I pay you to do what I ask regardless of whether you think it’s a waste of time. What I’ve asked is for you to watch her. If you have an issue doing that, you can always be replaced. The choice is yours, Hugo.”
I don’t expect anyone to understand my obsession with her.
I don’t understand the shit myself. But what I expect is for my men, who I pay very well, to do what I want.
No questions asked. If they don’t want to, there’s always someone out there who will gladly take their place.
While this job is perfect for Hugo, all he needs to do is say the word, and he’ll be on the next plane back to New York.
I’ll hate to do it because he’s one of my best men, and I can trust him to do everything in his power to make sure Arabelle is safe, but I can easily replace him with someone who won’t question me.
“I’m good.” He lets out a deep, exasperated sigh. “It’s just fucking weird, that’s all.”
“Who the fuck is this guy?” I ask, suppressing the annoyance I feel toward Hugo. Yes, it may have been weird, but I don’t give two shits what he or anybody thinks about what I’m doing. He’s here to do a job.
“He works at the hotel she’s staying at,” Hugo says, breaking through my thoughts. “His name is Pierre Gaultier. He’s the son of a French diplomat.”
He’s getting ready to be the dead son of a French diplomat.
“Before you get any thoughts in your head, Florian, he’s the son of a very high-ranking diplomat,” Hugo warns, like it will make a difference in my decision. It won’t. “One who can bring hell down on you if you harm his son. It’s not worth it.”
Only I have the authority to decide if it’s worth the effort. If Arabelle is on a date with him, then it’s worth it.
“Why the hell is a diplomat’s son working at a hotel?”
“He attacked some girl and got kicked out of school. His parents refused to fund his lifestyle because of ruining the family name,” Hugo says. “But I will repeat, it’s not worth it.”
Even more reason for him to be far away from Arabelle.
“My driver is pulling up outside,” I say, ignoring his comment. “When they leave, keep your eyes on her.”
“And what are you going to do?” he asks, sighing because he knows whatever he’s concerned about, I don’t give a fuck about.
“I’m following him.”
“I’m going to sit at the bar next to them so I can keep a close eye on them.”
“Good,” I say, ending the call.
I don’t need to hear anyone tell me what I’m doing is wrong. I know it’s not right. I just don’t give a fuck. She belongs to me. If I want to follow her around or have my men follow her, that’s what I’m going to do. If this guy even tries to touch her, I’ll kill him.
My driver stops across from The Black Star Bar and Grill, the bar where Arabelle and this motherfucker are having their date. Tonight is the first time in a long time she’s changed her routine, and I don’t like it one fucking bit.
“I can’t believe she’s on a fucking date,” I mumble, waiting for an update from Hugo. “Her laughs and smiles are mine. Not this motherfucker’s.”
As soon as my phone rings, I grab it. Before I can speak, all that fills the air is the sound of Hugo’s loud breathing, music, and laughter.
“I think the motherfucker drugged her, Beast. Move the fuck out of the way!”
Anger surges through my body like a tidal wave. “I’m going to gut that motherfucker.”
“I’m following them toward the back of the bar,” Hugo continues. “She’s stumbling, and her words are slurred from what I can hear. They haven’t been here long enough for her to have drank that much, Beast. He had to have drugged her.”
I can hear the genuine concern for her safety in his voice, which sends another surge of anger and panic through me.
“I’ll meet you around back.” I end the call, and without hesitation, I exit my vehicle and sprint toward the back of the bar, where a narrow, dimly lit alleyway separates the bar from the neighboring business.
The air is saturated with the scent of damp wood and the sour smell of garbage. Stacks of crates lean against the brick wall of the bar, contrasting with the rusty green dumpster nearby. I dodge greasy-looking puddles of God knows what, maybe dried vomit or piss, and shards of broken glass.
The metal exit door to the bar swings open, creating a loud bang as it slams against the building. Pierre Gaultier steps out, his arms wrapped tightly around Arabelle. She can barely walk, her footsteps are slow and heavy, and she can’t keep her eyes open.
I’m going to kill him.
He hasn’t seen me yet, and I look over his shoulder when Hugo steps out of the bar. He quietly closes the door behind him.
As Pierre Gaultier pulls Arabelle along, she trips over her own feet, and one of her heels comes off, her bare foot hitting one of the many puddles of muck.
“Come on, bitch!” He slams her tiny frame against the grimy brick wall of the bar and pushes her skirt up above her waist.
Mumbling and resisting, she tries to push him away, but whatever he gave her has left her disoriented and powerless to fight off someone who has at least seventy-five pounds on her.
While he tries to undo the button on his jeans, her head falls onto his shoulder.
“Whoa, is she all right?” I ask as I approach them. “She’s not looking too good.”
I’m trying to stay as calm as possible when all I can see is red. He looks up and stops fumbling with his jeans. He grabs her and begins pulling her toward the end of the alley while attempting to maneuver around me.
“Yes, she’s fine,” he says. “You know how drunk bitches can get.”
I stop him in his tracks by placing my palm on his chest. At the same time, I remove my knife from the sheath attached to the waistband at the back of my dress slacks. I like carrying knives better than guns. They’re silent and efficient.
“I’m just trying to take my girlfriend home,” he says in an irritated tone. “Get the fuck out of my way!”
He hasn’t noticed Hugo moving up behind him.
“Your girl?” I chuckle, arching my brow. “She’s mine, Pierre. Not yours.”
Ignoring any possible response, I thrust the knife into his abdomen, warm blood instantly staining my hands.
As I observe his eyes widening with shock and then filling with fear, a twisted pleasure courses through my black soul.
He releases his grip on Arabelle, and Hugo catches her before she hits the ground.
I glance at Hugo. “Take her to the hospital,” I order. “Call me.”
Seeing the dazed look in her eyes and hearing her struggle to speak tightens my heart in my chest. Despite the consuming need to go with her, I need to deal with this asshole first.
Hugo nods and disappears from the alley, carrying a confused Arabelle.
My attention is drawn back to the man, his hands tightly gripping my shoulders while blood slowly trickles from his mouth.
Fury, rage, and determination surge through my veins, igniting every fiber of my being—fury because he thought he could get away with raping her, rage because he tricked her to get her in this position in the first fucking place, and determination to protect her from anyone who wants to harm her, including myself.
“You think you can touch her and get away with it?”
The knife sinks deeper into his stomach, and his face twists in agony. “Please,” he begs, his voice trembling. “Do…don’t kill…”
“Please…please, don’t kill me,” I mock, my voice rising. “No amount of begging will save you, motherfucker. How many women have you done this to?”
I don’t really need to know the answer.
Arabelle definitely isn’t the first woman he’s done this to. There’s no telling how many single women he’s lured to this bar from that hotel. However, she will be the last.
“Anyone else involved in this?” I ask.
I’m not sure how he was able to spike her drink, but if anyone else is involved, they will end up just like him.
“I…I didn’t do anything,” he says, stammering over his words. “You have no idea who I am, but if you let me go, you won’t get into any trouble.”
“Of course you did something, Pierre,” I say, ignoring his comment about who he is because I don’t give a fuck.
“You drugged her. You were in the middle of taking something she wasn’t going to give to you willingly.
And one thing I do not tolerate is anyone fucking with her.
You picked the wrong woman. I’ll see you in hell, motherfucker. ”
With a swift motion, I remove the knife from his gut and drive it back in, over and over.
The noise of the surrounding city drowns out his screams, grunts, and pleas for mercy.
Pleas for me to stop. However, no one will hear him, just like no one would have heard her desperate cries for help if Hugo and I hadn’t shown up. He deserves this and so much more.
I stab him until he’s no longer a threat to her. Until he’s no longer a threat to anyone. With a final gasp, his eyes roll, then close before he collapses, his body crumpling to the filth-ridden alleyway. I wish I could piss on his body, but I have to make sure not to leave any evidence behind.
I pull my white handkerchief from the inside of my coat and try my best to get most of his blood off my hands and the knife I used. Once I’ve gotten rid of his body, I’ll ensure that there’s no trace of evidence left behind.
I pull out my phone and dial my driver. Once he answers, I instruct him to bring the car into the alley. I wanted to make him suffer more for what he did to her, but his quick death will have to do for now.
As my driver pulls into the alley, I make a plan on how to dispose of his body. I have to be careful since he is the son of a high-ranking diplomat, as Hugo warned.
This isn’t how I thought my day would go, but at least she’s safe, and he’s no longer a threat to her.