Chapter 19
Brooks
“Ms. Landry, you’re wanted outside.”
I look up from my dinner at the man standing in the doorway and work hard not to react to his tone.
Since I’ve been here everyone has treated me with various amounts of respect, depending on who they are, but the servant now staring at me looks like he thinks I’m nothing more than a bug on his shoe.
And I’m wanted outside.
Terrific.
My father is out there with some of his men, and I’m immediately on edge at being summoned like this.
When I got back to the mansion this morning in one of Lucien’s dress shirts and a pair of his pants, my father stopped his breakfast long enough to give me a long, leering stare, and then went back to his food, leaving me with the creeping feeling that I’d somehow done exactly what he expected.
Now that I’m called to some sort of business meeting without any warning, though, I’m starting to wonder what exactly that meant. This morning I thought it was because I’d so obviously been ravaged by Lucien.
As I stand, though, I realize that it might have more to do with the girls who’ve gone missing. He must have noticed by now, though he hasn’t said anything to me.
And if the wrong people are talking to him, I’m sure they’re mentioning me as the most likely perpetrator of any mischief.
Right. If he asks, I’ll give him the story I’ve already prepared.
Masked men came into the warehouse while I was there trying to learning the ropes.
They held me at gunpoint while they shot my father’s men and stole the girls.
I know nothing. I didn’t see their faces and they didn’t exactly introduce themselves.
I ran outside to try to catch them, and that’s when Dom’s men found me.
As far as the girls in the basement, I know nothing. I was in the bathroom upstairs at the time.
Insert innocent shrug.
They’re very valid excuses, as far as I can see. I don’t know the intricacies of human smuggling, but surely there are competitors, and surely competitors steal merchandise when and where they can. My father’s security at the warehouse wasn’t exactly tight.
Honestly, I’m surprised people haven’t broken in before–or maybe they have, and he just doesn’t like to mention it to the daughter who’s just been kidnapped and forced into a leadership position in the family.
I walk stiffly toward the door, the ache between my legs echoed by bruises up and down my neck and stomach, each of those marks murmuring Lucien’s name. As if my mind isn’t already as full of him as it can be.
When I get through the foyer and into the garden courtyard behind the house, and catch sight of my father’s face, I wonder again why I didn’t just leave with Lucien like he wanted me to.
He talked for at least five minutes straight, giving me every reason he could think of for me to escape with him rather than going back to my father.
I told him no, of course. Not only because my father would go to war against the Boudreaux to try to get me back, but also because I still have work to do on the inside.
Namely, finding my brother and Lucien’s sister and getting them out of here alive.
I can’t leave until I have them, and once I pointed that out, he agreed with me.
Still, I’m allowed to regret that decision. Every second I stay here is another second when my father might kill me. I don’t want to go meet with him I want to go upstairs and go to bed. Wake up in Lucien’s house with his hands on me and his promise that I’m safe.
Instead, I straighten my shoulders, take a deep breath, and put my mask back on as I walk out to meet my father and find out what he wants this time.
He’s seated in the moonlight tonight, surrounded by wrought iron and magnolia trees, sculptures and old stone.
Torches and men in dark suits. It looks like a Hollywood set. A scene where bad people do bad things.
And I’m walking right into it.
“Dominick,” I say when I reach him.
He makes a face. “I wish you would stop calling me, that, daughter.”
I return the face. “And I wish you would use my name. So I suppose we’re even.”
His face registers displeasure at that, but he clear the expression and puts on a look of satisfaction. “I’ve heard you played very well at the poker tables. Even took some money off one of my men.”
I cringe at the way he says it like it’s some sort of surprise that I know how to play poker, but don’t answer. That wasn’t the sort of statement that required any input from me.
“I’m giving you a promotion,” he continues. “A position with more power, if you will. Your own crew. Higher access to our process. More power with the clients.”
He looks at me like I should be jumping up and down with joy, and he’s confused that I’m not.
But he’s just offered me the most double-edged knife possible.
A promotion with more power. Terrific; that means I have access to more information, which can help me in my mission.
But my own crew also means he’s expecting me to take a more active role in things like collecting girls and transporting them to the warehouse.
Which means that we’ve reached the line where my undercover work crosses over into active complicity. I’ll be stealing girls off the street and bringing them into a life that they’ll kill themselves to escape.
And if I refuse to do it, I’ll be killed myself.
“That sounds promising,” I say smoothly.
Dom nods once. “Perfect. You’ll start tomorrow. Samantha will take you to a client meeting. They have orders they’d like to place. I’ll make sure you have access to the full database so you can fulfill them.”
I’m going to throw up.
I’m going to kill someone.
Maybe at the same time.
Instead, I nod once, then turn and leave as quickly as I can, nauseated at myself and this position, horrified that my path has brought me here.
There was a time when I thought I could handle anything this world threw at me, and that I’d seen the worst things I would ever be able to see.
Friends kidnapped. Other friends killed.
Lovers who betrayed me and wars on the streets of New York.
I didn’t have a fucking clue about the real world until I was dragged back to New Orleans and shown the darkest underbelly possible, though.
Even worse; I still don’t think I’ve seen the worst of it.
I make for the closest bathroom and lock myself in, then lean against the door and focus on breathing.
My heart is squeezing like it’s trying to implode, my lungs refusing air and my stomach roiling as if everything is rebelling against the simple act of breathing.
I can’t catch my breath, can’t hold any air in my lungs, and within moments my knees have collapsed, sending me to the cold stone floor in a heap.
God, what’s happening to me? Have I been poisoned? Did my father decided to kill me after all? I’m going to die on the floor in a fucking bathroom, without a weapon in my hand, and that’s so fucking ironic that I gasp out a laugh.
And then I take a breath.
The air is cool and welcome in my lungs, lifesaving and reassuring at the same time, and my body is so shocked that it breathes again.
And then again.
And again.
Moments later I’m breathing normally once more and my heart has resumed it’s standard rhythm. When I get to my feet, my knees act like normal knees and support me. I look up into the mirror, searching my own eyes for answers, and grasp the sink to make sure it’s real.
Not dead. I’m not dying.
I am, however, having panic attacks. And that doesn’t bode well for my ability to see this through to the end.
God, I wish Lucien was here. I’ve spent so long thinking I could do anything I wanted on my own, and now here I am realizing–possibly too late–that life is a whole lot easier with a partner. Someone to watch your back when you can’t watch it yourself.
And then hold you at night and tell you everything is going to be okay.
The thought sends a pang shooting through my heart and I put it to the side and refuse to think about it again. I need my wits about me right now, and if that means refusing to think about Lucien, that’s what I’ll do.
When I leave the bathroom, I find Simon leBanc on the other side of the door.
“Oh my God, what do you want, Simon?” I ask, before I think better of it.
Instead of answering, he grabs me and pulls me toward the stairs at the back of the house.
I fight him, positive that this is some sort of trick, but he yanks at me and keeps going, and though I’m strong, he’s significantly heavier than I am.
Shit, I’m in trouble.
I struggle harder, starting to panic now, and by the time he gets me to the door that leads into the servant’s staircase, I’m positive that I’m about to be killed. Why the fuck didn’t I put my knife in my pocket? Why don’t have I my gun?
Fucking hell, I’m going to die because I was lazy when I got dressed.
He shoves me through the door and slams it behind me, and finally starts talking. “I know you’re working with Lucien, and I know you’re trying to end the ring,” he says in a rush. “I also know where your brother is.”
I’d opened my mouth to give him some smartass question about why he didn’t say any of that two days ago, but his final statement stops me in my tracks.
Beau.
“Is he okay?” I gasp. “Is he alive?”
“He’s alive, but he’s not... available.”
Right, I’m finished with the riddles.
“What the fuck does that mean?”
He doesn’t answer–I never realized this guy was so stingy with words–but grabs my arm and starts dragging me down the stairs, and though my gut is screaming at me that this is not a man you want to go down a dark staircase with, my heart is screaming louder.
Because Simon says he knows where Beau is.
And I desperately need to know that my brother is okay.
We stumble down two flights of stairs onto the landing that leads to the basement, and Simon takes out a key and inserts it into the door.
“This door has a key?” I gasp, shocked.
Just when you think you know everything about a house.
“Of course it fucking does,” he snaps. “How else would we keep people locked in here?”
Okay, fair. I knew there was a lock. I just didn’t know there was a key for it. Though the moment he says it, I feel stupid for not assuming there would be.
He opens the door slowly, then creeps across the dark hall to the door directly across from where I’m standing.
The room where I thought I saw Beau and Corinne the night I was down here.
That door is closed now, though, and evidently locked, though Simon makes quick work of that little problem. When he opens the door there, I see why this door was locked.
Because I wasn’t hallucinating Corinne and Beau. She’s chained to a chair, her hair tangled around her face and her eyes enormous and bruised. She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days and hasn’t seen water in longer than that.
And my brother is standing over her, fierce and protective like he’s willing to kill anyone who gets close.
His eyes flare when he sees me and I immediately start toward him, my senses screaming for me to free him, but Simon puts out a hand and stops me.
“We can’t,” he hisses.
I throw him off and turn to him, furious. “What the fuck do you mean we can’t? My brother is right there and he’s the heir to this fucking family. Who the fuck is keeping him down here?”
“He’s keeping himself,” Simon mutters. “No one is keeping him prisoner.”
“What? Why? That doesn’t make sense. Why would Beau–”
“He’s protecting her,” Simon answers quickly. “Making sure they don’t hurt her any more than they already have.”
I turn my eyes to Corinne and try to focus on the fact that Lucien’s sister is also here. I don’t know why my father has her or how long she’s been here, but this is dangerous.
Gemini would tear this place down brick by brick to get to her. And Lucien...
Lucien would light the place on fire and laugh as everyone who hurt her burned, if he knew.
“What is she doing here?” I whisper. “Why does my father have her?”
Simon snorts. “She’s the prize your father is saving for a rainy day. Your brother is trying to keep her safe from whatever he has planned. And we can’t touch either of them, because your father has cameras in that room.”
Cameras in that room. He didn’t have cameras on the girls in here, or in the warehouse, but he has cameras on Corinne and my brother.
What the actual fuck.
My brother meets my eyes again and something like understanding passes between us. We can’t speak–he can’t even acknowledge me–but he sees me. And he sees that I see him.
He knows I know, and that I’m not going to leave him down here alone.
I’m not going to let Corinne or him go. Because this is what I’ve been searching for–Beau and Corinne. This is why I came back.
I just need to get with Lucien and pass him the information so we can come up with a plan.
Simon closes the door again, muttering something about us having been down here too long already, but I’m not listening. I’ve got my phone out and a brand new text thread pulled up. The one Lucien started with his own phone this morning, so I would have his number if I needed it.
“So you’ll text me for help next time, instead of Camille,” he’d said.
I laughed at the time, but now I’m goddamn relieved he thought of it. Because I need help, and Lucien is the only one I want.
I need you, I type quickly. I found your sister. My brother has her.