8. Bastien
Chapter 8
Bastien
Two Years Later
Paris was alive at all hours of the night, but she was the quietest at four in the morning, when even the night owls couldn’t keep their eyes open any longer. The line of SUVs pulled up outside the Louvre, close to the pyramid in the open square. Lights from the lampposts and the buildings were one of the reasons the city had been given its name, City of Light, and it was a name well earned.
The SUV stopped at the curb, and I left the back seat. Snow had fallen the last few days, blanketing Paris in heavy powder. It dusted the statues and sculptures, piled up in the corners of the buildings, away from passersby.
My men formed their perimeter around the perimeter that Godric had already made. Snipers on roofs, men with rifles stationed twenty, fifty, and a hundred feet out. If anyone saw the scene at the iconic establishment, they would assume they had set foot into a war zone.
My boots crunched against the snow as I crossed the empty space to where Godric stood in the light of the pyramid, in his heavy trench coat, a cigar between his lips like he’d made himself comfortable while he waited for me to show up. His hands were in his pockets as he watched me approach.
I wore a long-sleeved black shirt and dark jeans, skipping the jacket because I didn’t need that shit. It’d been years since I’d seen him in the flesh. His appearance hadn’t changed at all, but mine was nothing like it used to be.
I was always lean, but I’d bulked up over the last few years and covered the track marks with black ink. It turned into a new addiction, and I got one tattoo after the next, turning my body into a tale of death, loss, sorrow—and revenge. I was bigger than my brother, and I knew he wouldn’t like that one bit.
I stopped in front of him and looked into the blue eyes that were identical to mine but unfamiliar, like he was a stranger. “Nice coat.”
He grabbed his cigar and blew the smoke in my direction, but the wind carried it elsewhere and he missed his mark.
“Did you borrow that from Mom?—”
“You think I won’t shoot you in the fucking head?” He threw the cigar on the ground and stomped on it.
“I’ve been shot in the head before.” My hand moved to the back of my head, just a couple inches behind my ear, where the hair didn’t grow anymore. “Wasn’t that bad, honestly.”
His eyes shifted back and forth between mine, irritated as hell. “When did you become a smartass?”
“The night I fucked your girlfriend?—”
He came at me and swung.
I ducked then blocked his next hit before I kicked him back, and he nearly stumbled ass-first into the snow. It all happened in a matter of seconds.
He gathered himself and did his best to appear unbothered, but it was obvious he wanted to rip my throat out. “Say what you came to say, Bastien.”
I did my best to keep the smirk off my face. “I’m sure you’ve heard the news.” Godric had little birds everywhere, people who reported back to him like my birds reported back to me. That was obviously the reason he’d agreed to see me.
His hands returned to his pockets.
“President Martin has appointed me as the First Emperor of the Fifth Republic. That means I run this city. There are no deals that happen without my knowledge. Only through me can distribution take place, can deals be made, can profits soar. I’ve informed all our previous partners, and they’ve agreed to work with me directly and cut you out of the deal.”
Godric wore his best poker face, but it wasn’t good enough.
“If you want to make money, then you work for me too—and you do it by my rules.”
“No wonder Dad didn’t like you…fucking prick.”
I smirked because the insult didn’t bother me at all. “He really didn’t like me when I killed him either.”
His confidence wavered, a flicker in his eyes like a candle about to go out in the breeze.
“The old way is gone, Godric. Do business my way—or don’t do it at all.”
He grounded himself in silence, his viciousness restrained because retaliation would get him nowhere right now. “I thought you were too weak for this life.”
“Empathy doesn’t make you weak. It makes you honorable, something you would never understand.”
He smirked slightly, a forced smile that he clearly didn’t feel in his core.
“Anyone who breaks the rules of Fifth Republic will be personally dealt with by me. Violate my rules, and I will treat you no differently than a stranger. Do you understand me?”
He redirected his stare, like he would punch me if he had to look at me for another second. “Fuck off.”
“ Do you understand me ?” I grabbed him by the front of the coat and shoved him back. “Because I’m not fucking around. I will turn you into a concrete pillar in one of my skyscrapers. I will chop off your hand and feed it to a stray. I’ll make you eat my bullets so you can scream when you shit ’em out.” I continued to advance toward him and force him to move back, his men and mine both having their guns trained on one another but unsure whether to fire. “So, I will ask again—do you fucking understand me?”
His eyes were wet, not from emotion, but from angry tears. In that moment more than any other, he wanted me dead. Blood in the snow. Buried in an unmarked grave so no one would remember my name. Piss on the empty gravestone. “Yes, you fucking asshole.”
“You only get one chance, Godric.” I raised my finger to him. “ One .” Before he could release another insult that would bounce off me like a rubber ball, I turned and walked away. “You better get inside. Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.”