The Carver (Fifth Republic #2)

4. Bastien

Chapter 4

Bastien

Luca sat with me in the back seat of the SUV, driving through the wet streets of Paris until we hit the outskirts where the warehouse was located. His window was cracked so he could enjoy his cigar. “So…how are things with Fleur?”

I rarely mentioned her to Luca and the other guys. Not to hide my relationship, but because I didn’t want to listen to any bullshit about it. “We worked it out.”

“You did?” He tapped his finger against the cigar so the ash flew away on the air.

“She came back on her hands and knees.”

He smirked. “That sounds like one hell of an apology.”

“Something like that,” I said. “Still thinks I’m mad at her.”

“Why are you mad at her?”

“I’m not—just want her to think I am.”

He turned away from the window to look at me. “I thought you didn’t play games.”

“She played games with me first,” I said. “It’s called payback.”

“So, you are still mad.”

“No,” I said with a smile. “Just enjoying watching her make it up to me.”

Luca gave a slight nod in understanding. “That does sound fun.”

“How are things with Diana?”

“There’s nothing going on with Diana.”

“You brought her to that gala.”

“Doesn’t mean shit, and you know it,” he said. “You think I’d see someone you fucked before me?”

I gave a shrug. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“Alright,” he said. “What if I had already fucked Fleur?”

I stilled at the question because it did bother me— a lot . It bothered me that Adrien had fucked her when his dick was unworthy of her royal paradise. The SUV pulled up to the warehouse on the commercial road, barbed wire fencing around the perimeter. There were no cars. “You sure he’s here?”

“They hide their cars on the other street.”

“Then they won’t be able to run.”

“What a brilliant plan.” He hopped out of the SUV first.

I came around the vehicle, our tactical team already out of their cars and ready to burn this place down on my command.

Luca put out his cigar and crushed it beneath his boot as he released the last cloud of smoke from his mouth. “Let’s do this shit.”

I headed to the sliding metal door to the warehouse, a smaller door placed inside it on the right, a dead giveaway to criminal activity. I pounded my fist against the door then looked at the camera in the corner. “Here to have a chat with Regis.” I stood back from the door, arms crossed over my chest, knowing they were trying to decide their course of action. Did they act completely innocent and lie through their teeth—or did they act guilty and show their hand?

When the door opened a second later, I had my answer.

Regis was there in a black hoodie, the warehouse full of tables that were already packed with the drugs that would be shipped to the port to the west. Paris was the biggest city in the country and the best place to flood the streets with product, but when it came to international shipments, the city was a difficult location because of how central it was. “Bastien, what brings you here?” He approached me with a smile and presented his hand so I could shake it.

I ignored the offer and stepped around him, doing a quick surveillance of the room, the number of guys, and the number of guns. I grabbed an empty chair and dragged it to the center of the room. “Take a seat, Regis.”

Luca placed two additional chairs in front of it.

Regis became timid when he breathed in the potent hostility.

“We need to have a chat.” I dropped into a chair and sat back before I gestured to the seat across from me.

Luca got comfortable in the other chair, arms folded over his chest.

Regis turned to the men who worked in the facility, the men at the tables halting their packing. He looked at the ones who were armed and shook his head slightly before he sat in the chair across from me.

I stared for a solid minute, letting him drown in my silent wrath. “As much as I hate to sound like a fucking cliché, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Let me tell you what the easy way is because you already know the outcome of the other option.” I reached into my jacket and pulled out the knife I used for all my punishments. “Your left hand.”

The warmth he’d exuded earlier had been swallowed by a cold frost. He swallowed, his eyes shifted to Luca before they came back to me, and then he started to sweat. “Bastien, I don’t understand?—”

“The hard way, then?” I cocked my head slightly.

“I—I just don’t understand the problem?—”

“Yep,” Luca said. “The hard way, it is.”

“We know you’re intentionally falsifying your profits,” I said. “You’re cheating the Fifth Republic, and if you’re going to cheat the system, then the system no longer needs you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bastien.” He raised his voice, sounding sincere as his forehead started to collect sweat. “I would never try to cheat you or the Fifth Republic out of their cut?—”

“I wonder how deep this deception goes if you can lie to my face like that,” I said calmly. “Regis, have you heard of Greenback Investments?”

He started to pale because he knew it was over.

“Of course you have,” I said. “And I’ve heard of it too since I own it. The amount of funds you’ve deposited into that account is far too high, based on your gross proceeds. You claim you have no other revenue stream, so the only logical explanation for the deposits is foul play. I’ve calculated the amount that should have been paid to the Fifth Republic and have removed that from your account, so no further action needs to be taken on your part.”

He didn’t have the strength to look calm anymore. The uneasiness was visible in the slight way he trembled, the way his eyes shifted back and forth like he didn’t know whether to look at me or Luca.

I gave a small nod. “Take him.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Regis was on his feet. “You said you took the funds from the account, so we’re square?—”

“I can’t do business with someone I don’t trust. The Fifth Republic has generously pardoned your crimes and allowed you to earn an honest living in a dishonest field—and you decided to cheat your employer. I can’t allow this.”

My men started to move in to grab him.

“Wait.” He dropped to his knees. “Butcher, take my hand. Take it .” He yanked up his sleeve so I could cut him right at the wrist and remove his hand from his body, the punishment for thieves. “Please.”

“That punishment is reserved for those who come clean,” I said. “You did not.” I rose to my feet and looked at the men who stared, none of them coming to Regis’s aid because they wanted to keep their hands and their necks.

“I abide by your rules and don’t use trafficked labor,” he said. “So the cost of business is higher. Surely, you must understand that.”

“That sounds like an excuse to me,” Luca said. “Take him.”

My men grabbed him, zip-tied his wrists, and dragged him out of the warehouse and into one of the vehicles.

No one said a word.

I surveyed the men who stared. “Select a replacement by tomorrow, or I’ll select one for you.”

It was nine in the morning when I walked into BlackBird Coffee, one of my mother’s favorite places to have breakfast. I’d been up all night and was dead tired, but I never showed anyone how exhausted I was. Not when it was a sign of weakness.

My mother was already seated at the table with her coffee and raspberry croissant.

I ordered a black coffee at the counter then took the seat across from her. I was dressed down in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, whereas she was in a taupe cashmere sweater, dark pants, and boots. A gold bracelet was on her wrist, and a diamond necklace hung around her throat. My mother preserved her beauty with every intervention at her disposal, so while she was in her golden years, she looked like she could be in her forties.

I took a drink and let the tension steep like a hot tea.

She didn’t want to break the silence first, but she knew I was far more stubborn than she was. “Your brother won’t speak to me.”

“He’ll come around.”

“He’s not as level-headed as you.”

I scoffed. “Then you don’t know me that well, Mother.”

“But I know your brother better than you do.” She drank her café crème then ripped off a piece of her raspberry croissant before she placed it in her mouth. She was thin as a rail, so I knew this was all she would eat for the day, maybe a salad for dinner. She had her own gym at the house, and she’d told me she did nearly two hours of cardio every day. “As you’ve been estranged from him for many years…”

“I’ve been estranged from him because of the shit he does—the shit you should care about.”

“I support my children in whatever their endeavors may be.”

“I bet you’d feel much differently if you had daughters rather than sons.” I didn’t raise my voice with my mother, tried to be as respectful as possible, but it was hard not to lose my temper sometimes.

“Well, fortunately for me, I don’t.” She took another bite of her croissant.

“You’re a woman. Shouldn’t that be enough of a reason?”

She looked down at her coffee and stirred it with her spoon, even though she’d already done that when I sat down. “I would never allow myself to be in that position.”

“Not everyone is as privileged as you’ve been.”

Her eyes were elsewhere as she drank her coffee. “I asked you to breakfast because I want to see my son, spend time with you, appreciate the man you’ve become. But if you’re only interested in critiquing my parenting, then perhaps you should go.”

She excused all of Godric’s behavior, like the issues were merely a matter of opinion rather than right or wrong. It was fucking infuriating. She refused to pass any kind of judgment on his activities, refused to even give an opinion about it.

She interpreted my silence as cooperation. “What’s new with you?”

“Nothing but work. But what about you?”

“I’ve taken up embroidery.”

“That’s nice.” What the fuck was embroidery?

“And I’ve started yoga. There’s a new studio down the street from my house. Met a few girls there.”

“Good for you, Mom.”

She took another bite of her croissant, most of it gone at this point. She sat perfectly straight without the chair for support, behaving like a typical rich French woman, all elegance all the time. “Are you seeing anyone?” She tore another piece off the croissant, her eyes down like she expected me to give the same answer I always gave when she asked this question.

This time, I gave a different response. “I am.”

Her eyes flicked up from what she was doing, her fingers still gripping the croissant. “You are?”

“I am,” I repeated.

She left the croissant where it lay and wiped her fingers with a napkin, her eyes locked on mine with a hint of elated surprise she did her best to hide. “Is it serious?”

It seemed serious whenever Fleur let her guard down, when she let me fully into her heart and mind. She told me things that other women were too afraid or proud to say, put her cards on the table because she thought she was out of the game. I caught her stare, the depth deeper than the flesh. And when she came back to me and begged for my forgiveness, she finally showed what I meant to her—that I was the best thing that ever happened to her. “Not yet, but we’re headed in that direction.”

My mother brightened in a way I hadn’t seen in a very long time, like the mere possibility of grandkids was enough to light her up like a goddamn Christmas tree. “Tell me about her. What does she do? Do you have a picture of her?”

I chuckled. “Mom, chill. I just said it wasn’t serious?—”

“ Yet .” She held up her finger to me in typical mom fashion. “This is the first woman you’ve mentioned since you left the house. By that fact alone, I know she means a great deal to you. Do you have a picture? I want to see her.”

“I don’t have any.”

“None?” she asked incredulously.

I’d taken some photos of her, but she was asleep at the time, wearing my shirt or nothing at all, photos I took in private. “None that I’m at liberty to share.” My mother and I didn’t talk about my personal life often, but she knew I was a young man living a bachelor life, and she never pried, probably for her own sanity.

She sidestepped my answer. “Is she beautiful?”

I smiled before I scoffed. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Blond or brunette? Redhead?”

“She’s a brunette. Long brown hair. Green eyes. She’s on the shorter side, a little over five feet tall. But what she lacks in height, she makes up in sass.”

“Ooh, I love her already,” she said. “Does she work? Is she a model?”

“I gave her a job as an assistant at the investment firm.”

“What did she do before that?”

“Well…” I knew my mother wouldn’t like this part. “She was married, so she didn’t work.”

“She was married.” She said it with abject disapproval. “How old is she?”

“I’ve never asked. Almost thirty, if I had to guess.”

“So, she’s already been divorced, and she’s not even thirty?”

“Mom, I love you, but you better park that judgment bus.”

“I just don’t understand how a woman so young?—”

“Her husband cheated. So, she left his ass, even when she had nothing, because she’s got a spine— and I like that .”

“But a man doesn’t cheat without a reason.”

“Mom.” My mother was brainwashed by her generation. Still living in a time when everything was the woman’s fault, never the man’s. A woman’s place was in the house, making a home and raising children, not working as a bartender or an assistant at an investment company. I could lie to make my mother like Fleur more, but I didn’t give a damn whether my mother liked her or not. I was proud of my woman, that she left her cheating husband because she deserved more, that she would rather do the hard thing than the easy thing. She wouldn’t look the other way because she wanted to remain a rich woman. When she said she didn’t care about money, she fucking meant it. “He was the problem, not her. And I’m glad he threw her away because I got her.”

My mother silenced her other questions and drank her coffee, her previous excitement crushed by the fact that Fleur had already been married.

She was still married, but I didn’t tell her that.

“If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” It was a diplomatic, insincere statement, but she tried her best to make amends.

“Thank you.”

“I’ve actually been seeing someone myself,” she said. “I was introduced to him by a friend.”

“Yeah?” I asked. “Tell me about him.”

“He’s a widower, like me. He’s rich, handsome, elegant, interesting. We’ve gone out to dinner a couple times.”

“What’s his name?”

“Pierre.”

“Is he a good guy?”

“Seems so,” she said. “He has a spectacular art collection. And he’s quite the chess player.”

“Is it serious?”

“Not yet.” She smiled. “But it’s headed in that direction.”

“Then I should meet him. Just in case he thinks he can take advantage of you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m too old to be taken advantage of, dear.”

“You’re a very wealthy woman, Mom.”

“As is he.”

“Even so, just want him to know there’s a pit bull in your corner. All you have to do is take off the leash.”

She gave a slight shake of her head like the suggestion was ridiculous, but she had a warmth to her eyes like it meant a lot to her that I cared. That I cared enough to bloody my knuckles if it came to it.

I disagreed with her on a lot of things, but she was still my mother, the first woman in my life and, up until recently, the only woman in my life. “Let me know when we can get together.”

“Will you bring your special lady?”

I hadn’t planned on introducing her to my mother, especially when things were still fairly new, but I wasn’t opposed to the idea. “Her name is Fleur, and I’ll think about it.”

When I woke up, it was six in the evening, and there was a text from Fleur.

I miss you.

It was nice to read first thing, to know your girl was finally wrapped around your finger right where you wanted her. Yeah? How much? I was still half asleep, so I fired off my replies without thinking.

A lot.

Not good enough, sweetheart.

I miss feeling you inside me.

I smirked. That’s better. A lot better.

I want to see you, but I’m afraid you’re going to make me beg for it.

It was Friday, so she didn’t have to be at her office job first thing in the morning. I was glad to help her, even respected her for wanting honest work, but I would have preferred paying her to fuck me. She’d be on my time all the time. At my beck and call, following orders like everyone else on my payroll. Just the thought made me hard. I’ll always make you beg for it, sweetheart.

She sent an eye-roll emoji.

Gonna spank your ass for that.

I really backed myself into a corner, didn’t I?

Pack a bag for the weekend. My driver will pick you up in thirty mins.

But not you?

I have a dinner. I’d bring her with me, but she’d seemed uncomfortable at the last one. She didn’t have to be the woman on my arm for my public outings if she didn’t want to be. She would still be my woman at home, and that was what mattered. But I want you here when I get home.

Her dots didn’t appear for a while.

I wondered if she was thinking about asking to come with me, considered giving it another try. Her dots appeared a moment later. I’ll see you then.

I felt the sting of disappointment, but I dismissed it the second I felt it because it was unfair to feel any resentment. I’d laid out my terms, and she’d abided by them all so far. You better be face down, ass up when I walk in.

I walked into the crowded restaurant, the gold chandeliers hanging from the coffered ceiling, mirrors on the walls reflecting the pendant lights, the vases of purple lilies and white roses underneath the abstract pieces of art.

It was a nice place, but I didn’t care how nicely decorated it was. I cared about the food—and the company.

Oscar sat alone at a table for four. His hands were together under his chin as he stared at me from across the room, ornate rings of gold and silver on every single one of his fingers. The table next to him contained his men, sitting there drinking their café crèmes and trying and failing to blend in with everyone else.

I crossed the room full of tables covered in white tablecloths with little vases of white roses and dropped into the chair across from him. He looked indistinguishable from everyone else, in a blazer with a dress shirt underneath, an Omega watch on his wrist, probably one he’d taken from one of his enemies as a souvenir—and a reminder.

I needed a drink before we got into it. I called the waitress over by simply raising my hand. “Two old-fashioneds.”

Oscar gave no objection to the selection. “Heard about Regis.”

“Good. Hope everyone has.”

“There’s always a traitor in your midst. And he’ll be replaced by someone else…and then he’ll be replaced by someone else. Men are incapable of honor, it seems.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Oscar was a member of the Aristocrats, an organization of men who belonged to bloodlines of people of great historical significance. As a result, they felt entitled to relics, buildings, artwork, things that now belonged to the Republic of France. It was their intention to reclaim them all. They were fairly harmless—unless you had something they believed belonged to them.

Smart men proactively donated their keepsakes to earn their allegiance, which came in handy when they found themselves in a dire situation. But others refused to give away what they bought or inherited, and if the Aristocrats learned you possessed something they wanted for themselves, you were next on their list. All the rich people of France were well-connected. There were lots of parties and events, and if someone mentioned you had a famous painting or sculpture and they got wind of it—game over.

“What will become of him?” Oscar asked.

“I gave him the opportunity to confess and lose a hand like a thief, but he chose to lie. So my men took him to London and sealed him into the foundation of one of my new buildings.” One of the buildings he’d invested in, ironically. They entombed him in concrete, to be a part of my empire forever as a pillar. He wasn’t given the chance to say goodbye to his family. His wife would hear about his death from the others.

Oscar didn’t react to the horror of what I’d said. “Honesty is always the best policy.”

“Not being a thief is the best policy.”

He nodded slightly, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

The waitress came over to take our orders.

I didn’t look at the menu. “Steak. Rare.” Didn’t know if they even offered steak, but I was sure they did.

“Same.”

The waitress seemed to have dealt with enough sketchy characters to know that she needed to do her job as quietly as possible. She didn’t ask any follow-up questions about our sides or additional items. She left at the first opportunity.

“What can I do for you, Oscar?” All the world-renowned artwork and historical pieces that had come into my possession had been handed over to Oscar years ago. My late father had had one of the most powerful paintings in French history, Liberty Leading the People , a famous work inspired by the French Revolution, and I’d gifted it to the Aristocrats as a gesture of friendship. We’d been working together ever since, sharing information, killing each other’s enemies, and pardoning our allies.

“You’re aware that someone has been stealing French artwork for years. Stealing it from museums, from our private residences, even the Louvre. They’re putting these pieces on the black market, and despite our best efforts to catch him in the act, we’ve been unsuccessful.”

I kept a poker face of slight indifference, but I saw the problem march over the horizon like a militia.

“As First Emperor of the Fifth Republic, you know exactly who it is because of the taxes and tariffs he pays to you.”

I didn’t deny it. Kept a straight face and looked him in the eye.

“I want you to tell me who it is.”

I continued my stare without a blink, my mind working quickly behind my eyes. I wanted to hand over Adrien on a silver platter as retribution for what he’d done to my woman, for the fact that he was delusional enough to think he actually had another chance with the woman he threw away, because he’d forced her to remain in a marriage she vehemently opposed. But if I gave him up, I knew each of his limbs would be tied to a different car and they would take off in different directions at full speed—ripping him to pieces.

Fleur wouldn’t want that. And if she knew I was responsible for it, I would lose her. “We’ve discussed this before, Oscar. If I give this person up, then none of my associates will trust me to protect their identities. They’ll see me as a rat—and rightfully so.”

“That son of a bitch has spat in my face.” He’d been calm up until that point, but he started to lose his grip.

“I get it.”

“I’ve done a lot of shit for you?—”

“As I’ve done for you. You find him on your own and exact your revenge. I won’t stop you. I won’t come to his aid, even though I should as his business partner—I’ll look the other way.”

He stilled just the way a wild cat did before it pounced. “His business is a slap in the face to our people, to our culture. It’s a treasonous act against France itself. And you do nothing about it.”

“He hasn’t violated the rules I’ve set forth.”

“Then you need to change the rules because his actions aren’t only criminal—but disrespectful.”

I had to admit Adrien’s business operations were different from the others, which were focused on drugs, weapons, prostitution, or human organs on the black market. It was far more personal to a lot of people, especially the nobility. It was a problem I hadn’t foreseen when I’d started my regime. “What if I were to get him to stop?”

His anger receded, but only subtly.

“Convince him to cease his operations permanently. Would that be agreeable to you?”

He fell into heavy silence, his face contorted into deep consternation. “I also want a list of his buyers.”

“That’s not going to happen.” That would put a target on Adrien’s back. He would be hunted for the rest of his short life. “The most I can do is get him to stop.”

“Then I want him to help me buy back every piece.”

“I’ll ask if that’s possible.” But I doubted it would be. “I’m willing to do this because of our long-standing friendship. I wouldn’t do it for someone else, so please remember that.” I had motivations of my own—keeping Adrien alive for Fleur’s sake.

Oscar finally gave a nod. “You’re a good man, Bastien. A better man than your father was.”

I wanted to go home to the woman waiting for me, but now I had other matters that required my attention. When I left the restaurant, I headed to Adrien’s home, a place with a gate as flimsy as a curtain, with laughable security.

Instead of breaking down the door, I knocked—like a real person.

One of his staff opened the door, an old man who looked like a butler.

“I need to speak to Adrien. Tell him it’s Bastien—and it’s important.”

He nodded in understanding before he opened the door wider to let me into the foyer. “Wait here for a moment, sir.” He walked off and disappeared around the corner. His footsteps faded as he headed to the stairs.

I looked at the pictures on the wall and saw one I didn’t like.

A picture of Adrien and Fleur on their wedding day.

She looked happy and beautiful, and it made me fucking sick. I’d never been a jealous man, but I’d never had a woman I wanted all to myself, so perhaps I didn’t recognize the emotion because I’d never met it in the flesh.

I continued to stare at the picture and debated whether I should destroy it. Smash it into pieces right there in the foyer and let the old man clean up the broken pieces.

Adrien joined me a moment later in sweats and a t-shirt. He was wide awake, so he hadn’t been asleep like last time when I’d barged in. He looked at me with a guarded expression, showing a hint of fear, like he didn’t know what was about to go down.

He was a handsome guy, but he wasn’t built like me. He didn’t have my spine or my integrity. He didn’t deserve the woman who was now mine, didn’t deserve to watch her walk down the aisle to him in that white dress.

“I never know if you’re here to kill me or talk,” he said.

“Neither do I,” I barked. “This is the second time Oscar has given me heat about your operation. I withheld your identity because I’m not a fucking snitch, but I’ve grown tired of covering for you. This man will not stop until he’s got all your vertebrae in a shoebox under his bed. It’s only a matter of time before he hits one of your crew and they roll on you. So, this ends now. The business is done.”

“Do you stop doing business just because someone threatens you?” he asked incredulously.

“Anyone who’s ever threatened me is dead, asshole,” I snapped. “You haven’t done shit to Oscar, and you know he’s been on to you for months. Don’t act like we’re the same, because we’re not the fucking same.”

“I can’t stop dealing. My livelihood depends on it, and so do the guys in my crew.”

“He’s coming for you, Adrien. This is the only scenario where you keep your life and your money. Let it go. Get into another business. Retire. You’ve got better options than waiting for him to cut you into pieces. And understand this—I will not stand in his way. Not even for Fleur, not when I warned you what would happen.”

“You’re doing this for her?”

“You think I’m doing this because I give a damn?” I scoffed.

“If you’re doing this for her, then that means she still cares.”

“She cares because she’s a bigger man than you’ll ever be. But make no mistake—she’s all in with me. You tried to scare her off, but she’s in my bed right now, waiting for me to come home. If you care about her at all, then you’ll walk away with your head still on your shoulders. Because if she knew about this, and like hell would I ever tell her, she would want you to walk away.”

Adrien stared at me and said nothing more. Didn’t agree to the terms. Stood there and thought it all through like there was something to think about.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“You’re the Butcher. You’re the one who’s supposed to monitor this.”

“I don’t get involved with the bullshit between dealers. You want to kill each other, then go for it. If he walks in here right now, I will not retaliate. I respect his business a hell of a lot more than I respect yours. He wants to preserve the Republic, while you seek to undermine it with your black-market deals. He’s not the only one who frowns upon it. If he really wanted to destroy you, he could put a bounty on your head, and people would start to talk. I suspect that’s what he’ll do next. I told him I would get you to end the business, and the second I tell him that I failed, you’re fucked.”

He continued to stare at me, his thoughts his own.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“It’s all I have,” he said simply. “Fleur’s gone?—”

“You had Fleur and the business, and you still fucked around. You’re one of those assholes who’s never happy with what he has. Everything could be fucking perfect, and you’d still find something to bitch about. You’ll cheat on your next girl and then the next one?—”

“Fuck you, you don’t know me.”

“I see you, Adrien. I fucking see you.” I stepped closer and got in his face, forcing him to take a step back like the pussy he was. “Cut the shit and keep your head. And if you aren’t willing to do it for yourself, then do it for her.” I stepped away and grabbed the wedding picture off the wall, an eleven-by-fourteen frame, threw it against the wall, and made it shatter into pieces. “Pick that shit up—not your butler.”

I was angry for the first ten minutes of the drive, fuming in the back seat, infuriated that such a small man had had such a big woman. That someone so pathetic and idiotic had hurt her…made me want to hurt him.

But I didn’t want to walk in the door with a chip on my shoulder, so I texted her. Face down with your ass up, sweetheart. I’ll be there in five minutes.

You’re serious?

You’re about to find out. Call my bluff and see what happens.

Her dots disappeared.

I pulled up the pictures of her that I’d taken when she wasn’t looking. A distraction from my anger, a cold breeze to my fire. I’d taken a picture of her against my chest when she was dead asleep. Another one of her when she’d rolled over to the other side of the bed and kicked away the sheets because she was warm. The top of her ass was visible above the sheet, the small muscles of her back hugging her spine. The curve in her lower back was prominent when she didn’t even try. I had another one of her tits because I’d gently pulled the sheet down to expose them, plump and hard, nipples sharp as knives. I flicked through them all, feeling the heat start to burn under my skin from desire rather than rage.

By the time I arrived home, I didn’t want to kill anyone.

I walked in, took the elevator to the top floor, and entered my suite. The double doors that led to the bedroom were open, and there she was. Ass in the air with the pride of a raised flag. Her face was in the sheets, her long hair everywhere. Her sex was proudly on display, her subtly pink folds begging for my fat dick.

I pulled my shirt over my head as I approached the bed. “Good girl.” I kicked off my boots and dropped my bottoms before my knees hit the bed. When I drew close to her, her back rose with the deep breath she took.

I grabbed the back of her hair like reins to a horse and yanked her up as I guided myself inside her, pushing through her slick folds to sink inside, to absorb her lubrication until my flesh was soaking wet. With a single thrust, I pushed deep inside and listened to her give something between a moan and a cry.

Then I smacked my palm against her ass—hard. “Don’t roll your eyes at me again.”

She gave another cry, her ass immediately red from where I’d struck her.

“Understand me?” I tugged on her hair, forcing her head so far back she could look up at me.

“Yes—yes.”

I relaxed my hold and thrust into her hard, one hand moving to her hip to tug her back into me after every thrust, giving her all my length to claim her as mine. Adrien was at home alone while I was ten inches deep in the woman he’d tossed, and she was fucking wet. “This pussy kills me—every fucking time.”

She snuggled into my side, the sheets to her shoulder like she was cold, and she was so still, it was as if she’d already fallen asleep. But then her fingers would move against my skin, she would trace a line that bisected the muscles in my arm or chest, and I knew she was still awake.

“How was dinner?” she asked quietly, her fingers right on the line that separated my biceps from my triceps.

“Bullshit like everything else.”

“What did you order?”

“An old-fashioned.”

She chuckled. “I meant to eat. A steak?”

“You know me so well, sweetheart.”

She shifted back so she could look at me, leaving the protection of my arms as she lay on the pillow.

I turned to face her, the two of us sharing the same pillow. I flattened my hand against her stomach before I slid it up between the swell of her tits. Her body was perfect, and I loved to explore lands that I’d already claimed in my name. “Hungry, sweetheart?”

“A little.”

I felt the smirk creep on to my mouth. “I’ll give you Gerard’s number. That way, you can order food when I’m not here.”

“I’m not going to ask your butler to do that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know… It’s presumptuous.”

“How is it presumptuous if I’m telling you to do it?”

“It just seems a bit entitled.”

“It’s not entitled. I want you to be comfortable and have what you need when I’m not around.” I reached for my phone on the nightstand and shared his contact information before I texted him myself and let him know I wanted him to serve her if she ever needed anything. “You have something in mind for dinner or chef’s choice?”

“I’m fine with McDonald’s.”

“Chef’s choice, it is.” I texted him again.

She gave a slight chuckle. “Have you ever had McDonald’s?”

“No.”

“Never?” she asked incredulously. “So, you were just born a snob?”

I chuckled. “Pretty much.”

“We’re going there one of these days.”

“Not a chance.”

“You can’t criticize something you’ve never had.”

“Yes, I can. American garbage.”

She smirked like she found all of this amusing. “You’ll change your mind once you’ve tried it. Mark my words.”

My mind had already left the subject as my fingers explored her body, loving the curve of her waist, the meat on her hip and ass, the muscles in her thigh. She was all woman, from head to toe, voluptuous tits and dark hair.

Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine. “You’ve already tuned me out, haven’t you?” A smile was on her lips like she wasn’t the least bit offended that I was more interested in her body than McDonald’s.

Her eye makeup was smeared from the sweat and the sheets pressed to her face earlier, but that somehow made her hotter, sexed-up from the way I’d taken her. Her hair was soft in most places but still knotted in others from being fisted by me. I wrapped my arm around the small of her back and dragged her to me as my mouth caught her lips. I kissed her hard because I hadn’t kissed her that evening, and I felt a fire so hot it burned me. I rolled on top of her, and her thighs immediately opened to me so I could have her again. I knew her body like my own, and I hooked her knee over my wrist and let my dick head toward her entrance like he knew exactly where it was. Without a break in our kiss, I sank inside her, felt the same warmth and slickness from before, and I filled her until she moaned into my mouth.

I rocked into her, the sheets at my waist, rocking into her slow and steady as I continued to kiss her, loving the way she would bend in every direction I folded her. I loved pussy as much as a man as I had as a teenager, but hers was something else. I’d defeated my addictions years ago, but now I’d picked up a new one.

She cupped my face and then dug her hand into my hair as she breathed into my mouth between kisses. She hooked her arms under my shoulder and clawed at my back with her sharp nails, panting and scratching, her sex gripping me and coating me in the desire she felt for me. “Bastien…I’m falling for you.”

Her words didn’t halt my movements, didn’t interrupt the moment. Only when we were locked together in passion so hot it burned us like a pyre and sent our souls to the heavens did she show who she really was, show how she really felt about me. It was like a safe I had to crack over and over again, a code she changed every few hours. But when that door unlocked, it was worth all the effort—to take another piece of her treasure. “I already fell for you, sweetheart.”

We sat at the table together, the fire burning in the hearth because Gerard had started it before he left. She had her dinner, a homemade margherita pizza with a salad and a side of bread from Chez Georges—my favorite bread.

I didn’t have an appetite after that steak, so I drank the wine Gerard had brought.

She was in my t-shirt and her panties, eating her dinner like nothing had happened during our lovemaking. That was her playbook, a step forward and then five back, but I let it go because as much as she wanted to pretend it didn’t happen, it did happen .

But I let her have her way, played along with her game, didn’t give that arrogant smirk I was so desperate to show. There’d never been a woman I couldn’t have, and I usually had the opposite problem, where they wanted me and I wanted them to leave. This was new territory, and I treated it like a chess game, moving my pawns across the board as I protected my queen—and tried to take her king.

I sat there in my sweatpants and answered a few texts that had come through. My messages went off all hours of the day. The only time it was quiet was between seven and nine in the morning. “Luca wants to meet up for breakfast tomorrow.”

“At Holybelly?” she asked.

“Yeah. You in?”

“It’s fine if it’s just a guys’ thing.”

“You’re my girl, so you’re one of the guys.”

“Well, I know Luca doesn’t care for me.”

“I don’t care whether he likes you or not.”

She looked down at her food and took another bite of her salad, hopping back and forth between the pizza and the salad, clearly enjoying the food because she ate more than I’d ever seen her eat before.

“He’ll come around. Give him a chance, and he’ll give you a chance.”

She continued to eat, her eyes down. “They do have really good pancakes, and I’m not gonna pass that up.”

I felt the smile lift the corners of my mouth. “Attagirl.”

She put down her fork. “God, I gotta stop eating.”

“A lot better than McDonald’s, isn’t it?”

She rolled her eyes.

“What did I tell you about rolling your eyes?” My tone was still playful, but it didn’t take much to turn it around.

“Can I ask you something personal?”

“You can ask me anything, sweetheart.”

“Be careful what you wish for…”

I was a closed book to most people I knew. Even with Luca, I didn’t share every detail of my life. Some things were kept close to my chest underneath a bulletproof vest. But I was invested in this relationship, and I wanted to prove how trustworthy I was. That meant I would tell her anything about me—good or bad. “I have nothing to hide from you.”

She stared at me for several seconds, like she didn’t know how to react to a man so honest. “A while ago, you said something about…” Her eyes flicked away like she was embarrassed to get the words out. “That the sex was better than coke, stuff like that.”

“It is better than coke.”

Her eyes came back to mine. “And you say that based on personal experience…?”

I hadn’t expected her to ask me this, and I couldn’t read her expression or her tone on the matter. But even if I could, I wouldn’t lie to give her the answer she wanted. No matter how much I wanted her, I didn’t want a woman who couldn’t accept me, the man I was at every stage of my life. “Yes.”

She gave no reaction to that, like she needed more time to absorb my answer.

“Heroin. Acid. Everything in between, I’ve done it all.”

She took a breath and then gave a slow nod. “You don’t strike me as someone who does drugs.”

“I don’t do drugs. I’ve been clean for thirteen years.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Booze, cigars, and pussy are my vices now. But yours is something else.” I remained confident in the conversation, accepting whatever the outcome would be. When she left me, I’d given her another chance, but I wouldn’t be giving another one.

“That must have been hard for you.”

“I have an addictive personality, but I also have the discipline of a motherfucker, so…”

“How long were you on drugs?—”

“Is this a problem for you?”

She stilled at the question.

“Because if it is, I’m not going to get deeper into it.” It was a dark time in my life. I wasn’t in the mood to skip down memory lane unless she would be with me at the end of it.

“Of course I don’t have a problem with it.” Her voice was slightly emotional as she spoke, like the question actually hurt her. “Thirteen years is a long time. You should be proud.”

I continued to study her, to make sure she wasn’t feeding me bullshit on a spoon. “I got into it when I was eighteen. Started off small, and before I knew it, I wasn’t myself unless I was on a bunch of shit. It was part of my world, so I didn’t think much of it. But then I made some mistakes, did a lot of stupid shit, and I realized I couldn’t be a man if I was going to act like a boy. The epiphany was enough to make me stop. Truth be told, you can’t run drugs if they’re running you. You can’t be a dealer if you’re a buyer. You can’t be a boss if you’re at the mercy of anyone—or anything.”

She held my gaze like she was enraptured in it.

“But that experience has been essential to my profession now. I know how my dealers think. I know how my buyers think. I can tell the difference between real shit and fake shit just by smelling it. You can’t fool me—and everyone knows it.”

She gave a slight nod. “I can see that.”

I wanted to reach for a cigar at that moment because I’d suddenly become tense, but it was rude to light up when she was eating her dinner.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

I’d thought the truth would chase her off, but she was still there, still looking at me exactly the same.

“And thank you for being honest. It means a lot to me.”

“Honesty is what you’ll get from me—for better or worse.”

“And that’s more refreshing than you’ll ever know.” She said it with a sigh, like Adrien’s lies and infidelity still pissed her off, even when she was in a safe and committed relationship with me. “Can I ask you something else?”

“I said you can ask me anything, sweetheart. Pick a chapter, and I’ll flip to the page.”

“Why are you willing to be so open with me?” It was obvious that wasn’t her original question.

“Because you said the only way you would consider being in a relationship again was if it was with someone who was honest. Well, I’m as honest as it fucking gets. Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you. Ask me how I feel about you, and I’ll give you the truth—but make sure you’re ready to hear it.”

Her stare continued, poignant and emotional but also timid and guarded, like she read between the lines and was afraid of what she saw. She swallowed, and her eyes flicked away for a second.

“Pick a chapter.”

She was quiet for a while, the remains of her feast left on the plates, just one slice left and a few leaves of greens from her salad. She stared out the window for nearly a minute before she looked at me again. “You told me there are rules that everyone must follow, that no women can be trafficked or hurt in this line of work. You seem to be passionate about it…and I just wonder why.”

That was not the question I’d expected. I’d anticipated something more personal, like if I’d ever been unfaithful to a woman, how many people I’d killed, something along those lines. It was a heavy question with an even heavier answer, something I’d never told anyone—not even my own mother.

She watched me for a while and seemed to realize she’d struck a nerve. “You don’t have to answer the question.”

“I’ll answer it. Just not tonight.”

Her eyes softened with emotion, like she instinctively knew I didn’t want to deceive her or hide a horrible truth. However, the story was unspeakable, and to put it into words again was to relive it—and that was something I’d thought I wouldn’t have to relive. “Of course.”

Memories hung in my mind’s eye like wisps of smoke, but eventually, the tendrils floated away and rose to the ceiling until they dissipated. My eyes were out the window for nearly a minute before I looked at her again, grateful she’d given me the grace to sidestep the question. “Any other questions?”

She moved her plate away, not having the room to finish the last slice. Her elbows moved to the table, and her hands came together as she considered the next question she wanted to load into the barrel. “Were you with anyone else during that week apart?”

My initial reaction was a smirk because the question was ludicrous—and sad. My eyes stayed on hers as I felt the smile slowly leave my mouth. “I’m sorry that you even have to ask that.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t. I know I’m not the reason you asked it.” She asked it because some boy pretended to be a man and did her dirty. Because someone had shaken her faith in men. “The answer to your question is no. I’ve been all in with you from the very beginning. A fight doesn’t change that.”

“But I said I didn’t want to see you anymore.”

“Still doesn’t change anything, sweetheart.” Maybe if a month or two had passed and we didn’t speak, things would have been different. But during that week, I was so pissed off, I didn’t recall even looking at another woman. “I’m not going to ask you the same because I already know the answer.” Not because I’d had my men tail her, but because I knew she’d wanted me even when she pushed me away.

Her eyes dropped momentarily, like she was ashamed that she didn’t reciprocate the unwavering faith I placed in her. “I’m still sorry about all of that.”

“Good.” I liked it when she was apologetic, when she was afraid that one wrong move could make me walk away. She was more affectionate, and whatever her fears or objections were, they were silenced. She’d had all the power in the relationship when we met, but now I had it.

“How long are you going to be mad at me?”

“As long as I want.”

She played with her hands, nervous, like she actually believed the threat of my words.

“Any other questions?”

After a stretch of silence, she shook her head. “No.”

“Then let’s go to bed.” I’d woken up just six hours ago, so I wasn’t ready for bed, but I would lie with her until she fell asleep before I did some work on my laptop and had a couple of drinks in front of the fireplace.

She finished off the rest of her wine before she joined me in the bedroom, still wearing my shirt as a blanket. It was the first time she’d brought a bag with her, so she washed her face and did her nighttime routine in the bathroom, brushing her teeth and using her skin care products. When she came to bed with no clothes, a clean face, and brushed hair, she was irresistible. When she did her makeup in a smoky look and wore a black dress, she was sexy as hell. And when she looked like this, she was sexy as hell too. It was like an outfit change, neither one better than the other.

Once she was in bed, she was all over me, clinging to me like I was the flames in the hearth. My shoulder became her favorite pillow, and she hugged me under the sheets, fingers resting where my ribs sat beneath the skin and muscle.

I lay there for a while and stared at the ceiling, the question she’d asked coming back to me. It was easy to forget most things, to move forward in life and never look back. But some events stuck with you forever—like a scar.