Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Mac
I arrive in Paris late at night, as they’re only an hour ahead of us.
It’s been a long fucking day, and I feel like absolute crap.
There has to be another way than breaking up with Bryn. There has to be.
I text Leith when the plane lands.
Mac: Any word about what she’s done?
A moment later, I get a reply.
Leith: Nothing. No move from her father, none from the Aitkens crew.
Did he make me break up with her for nothing? If no good comes of this… God.
I stare at my phone for long minutes, thinking about how I want to handle this. I want to reach out to her, to tell her it’s okay. I need to tell her that I love her.
I need to tell her I’ve made a mistake.
Leith: Give it time, brother. We can’t expect an immediate response, can we?
I shake my head, and mutter under my breath.
Mac: No.
Leith: Keep your head about you. You’re going to the rooftop bar, and you’re meeting a woman dressed all in black.
Mac: Aye.
Leith needs me to prove my allegiance to the clan. I believe breaking up with her did just that, but I've also proven to myself that I’m not worthy of a woman like Bryn. Not fucking worthy.
We begin taxiing to the gate, and the darkness around us nearly swallows me whole. I hate that I’m here without her. I hate that I left her alone.
I make up my mind. I’m going to finalize this fucking deal. I’m going to do what I came for. I’ll confirm that Bryn was never spying on us, because I know now that she never was, I know it.
And I’ll go back.
I’ll beg for another chance.
I’ll fucking grovel if I have to.
“Mr. Cowen?” The stewardess is giving me a curious look.
“Aye?”
“I’m sorry, sir, did you hear the captain? You seem a bit distracted.”
Distracted? I’m a bloody mess.
“No, I’m sorry.”
“He just said we’ve landed, sir, and you may unfasten your belt and exit.”
I leave in a sort of haze, blindly following her off the jet. I glance at the clock and realize there’s an hour before I meet Mademoiselle Black at the bar. Just enough time to get to the hotel room and get things sorted. Not the right bloody things, though.
I go through the motions, not paying attention to much of anything. People pass by me, cars pass by, and my driver stops outside a swanky Parisian hotel with valet parking attendants.
"Bienvenue, Monsieur.”
“Merci.”
“Par ici s'il-vous-plait.”
It’s a cool, brisk night in Paris.
Before I follow, I take my own bags, frowning when I see the smaller, lavender one. This is the bag my staff packed for her. They anticipated she was coming with me. My heart lurches.
I consider leaving it in the car, but I can’t bear to be separated from her things. My staff doesn’t know we broke up yet.
I take her bag with me.
I go up to the room and have a strange feeling that something’s off, but I'm so distracted that I haven’t paid attention. Have I been followed?
I look to my left and right, but the men are both familiar blokes. They follow me to my room and stand outside my door as I get dressed.
The next step of this plan needs to go off perfectly if my plan with Leith is going to happen.
I have to seal the deal with Mademoiselle Black. I need to do it in such a way that it excludes the Aitkens clan. If I arrange the deal correctly, Aitkens will be stonewalled.
I know what I have to do. And I know that if I do this correctly, if I seal the deal, then we don't have to worry about getting vengeance on the Aitkens with Bryn because this will do it instead. By then, I can prove to the Clan that Bryn isn’t out to hurt me.
I pace my hotel room, unable to settle. My clothes are tossed in a bag by the closet. I haven’t even taken my shoes or suit coat off. I’m preparing myself mentally for meeting with Mademoiselle Black.
It's too early to go and meet my contact, but I can't stay in this room any longer. I freshen up in the toilet. Throw cold water on my face and run my fingers through my hair. I stretch, try to limber up. I exit the room and punch the number on the elevator to take me downstairs.
But every thought is on Bryn. I can hear her voice, I can see her eyes, I can feel her in my arms.
I'm determined to seal this deal.
As I left the room, I had a sneaking suspicion again that I was being followed.
“Have you seen anything suspicious?” I ask my guards.
“No sir.” But I haven't been raised in the Cowen Clan without knowing things, and I know when I'm being followed. There's no question about it. Someone's after me.
Could it be Mademoiselle Black that’s come to see me?
Or someone else?
I take the elevator to the rooftop bar, where I’m to meet her.
I check my vest, I check my pockets. I know I have all my weapons if I need them.
I remember her soft voice, her head on my chest, the way I held her after I punished her and she cried.
The doors to the rooftop floor open.
I remember the way she laughs so easily, her witty sense of humor, the way she drinks her coffee, as if she relishes every drop.
My shoes click on the marble floor as I walk down the long hallway that takes me to the rooftop bar.
I remember my fingers in her hair, all tangled, when I give her a tug, the way her mouth parts and I capture her mouth with mine.
The doors to the bar slide open, and I enter, my guard at a safe distance behind me.
She’ll be at the bar. Wearing all black.
But the bar’s nearly vacant.
“Puis-je vous aider, Monsieur?"
I tell him I’m looking for someone in the rooftop bar.
God, the first night I held her, the first time we were together, we were on a rooftop. I remember every vivid detail of that night.
What she wore, her sweet, intoxicating scent, the way she responded to me when I pinned her wrists and made her come.
I shake my head, trying to snap myself out of my memory. I have to focus. I have to do it for my family. I have to do it for Bryn.
There are only four people at the bar. There’s only one wearing all black, clutching a silver bag.
I come to a halt. I stop and stare. It can’t be.
“Bryn?”
She turns to me, and it all hits me at once.
She’s wearing black. All black. She doesn’t look surprised to see me at all.
Bryn is Mademoiselle Black?
“What are you doing here?” I’m caught between the desire to run to her and kiss her, and to haul her over my knee for putting herself in so much fucking danger. “How did you get here?”
“I’ll tell you later, Mac,” she says quietly. “Have a seat, please.”
She wears a sad smile as she gestures at the barstool across from her.
“I’ve already ordered our drinks.”
I sit on the stool, eying her warily.
“What’s going on?” I cast a glance at the drinks beside me.
“You can trust me,” she says softly, and her voice wobbles a little. “Your drink is fine.” She jerks her chin at the bartender. “If you don’t trust me, have him pour another for you.”
“Of course I trust you,” I say. To prove it, I lift my drink and take a sip, welcoming the scalding taste.
She smiles sadly.
“I have so many things to tell you,” she says softly, and she drops her voice to a whisper. “But first, you need to know we aren’t alone.”
I nod. “I suspected as much. Who’s with you?”
She winces as if I struck her, then beckons me with a finger.
I lean in, and she whispers in my ear.
“Not with me, Mac. With my father. I love you, and I couldn’t betray you. Not now, not ever. I’m here because I can’t.”
Can’t? Had she been she planning on it? Is she?
“Man at six o’clock,” she whispers. “Don’t look. But when I give the signal, you’ll have to pull your weapon. Don’t worry, though. Everything will be alright. This is going to work out.”
I give her a quizzical look. I hate that she’s talking like this, as if she’s set this into motion and knows she won’t be saved.
“Anyone else?” I ask. I want to be prepared to shoot if anyone comes after her.
She nods quietly. “Man in white by the exit. Also my father’s.”
I nod slowly. She draws in a deep breath.
“There’s only one way to escape him,” she says quietly. With a trembling hand, she lifts her own glass. “Mac, take my phone, will you?”
I look at her curiously. “What do you mean?”
“Put the camera on. Take a picture when I drink this, will you?”
“What?”
She lifts the drink to her lips and begins to sip, her eyes closed, a look of determination on her face as if she’s facing an executioner. And it all dawns on me with vivid clarity.
Her father’s text is still on the screen.
I read it too late.
She sips the drink while I read the message.
Send me a picture when he drinks it.
In one fluid motion, I knock the glass out of her hand, but she’s already emptied it. It falls to the ground and shatters into pieces. People scream around us, and she looks at me with wide eyes.
“What have you done, Mac?” she whispers, white as a ghost. “What have you done?”
She falls off her stool, and I catch her before she lands.
“I couldn’t do it. I never planned on it,” she says, as her eyes close.
“Bryn! God, Bryn!” I look around me, frantic. “Get a doctor! Someone get a fucking doctor! Obtenez un docteur!”
“Mac!”
I draw my weapon just as one of her father’s men reaches for me, but he doesn’t come for me. He goes straight for her, his pistol loaded and pointed at her head. I tackle him, rolling him onto the floor as I deck him. I hit him again, and again. Someone’s on me, trying to pull me off him.
He rolls with me, reaching for her, and I know he’s bent on killing her. He’s been given orders, I can fucking tell he has. I hit him again, and again, until his gun falls to the floor, when another one of Aitkens’ men pulls a gun on Bryn.
Without thinking I grab the gun from the floor and pull the trigger. I hit my mark. Glass crashes and people scream, and we fight in a bloody battle to the death.
I tell my men to hold them back, to keep them away, and they respond perfectly, trained as they’ve been to fight.
Sirens ring, and lights flash, but I don’t fucking care. She’s slipping away, right in front of me.
Slipping away.