8. Bastien
8
BASTIEN
I drove us to one of the warehouses outside the city, a couple miles from the international airport. I rarely drove myself, so my collection of cars seemed wholly unnecessary. I’d picked out the Bugatti, custom-made with bulletproof windows and doors, and drove the two of us out of the city.
Our conversation in the bathtub last night had seemed to chase away her fear, so even though I’d confessed I was a coldhearted killer, at least some good had come out of it. Baths still weren’t my thing, even with a sexy and soapy lady across from me. It was too hot, and I felt like I was boiling. But I did it for her, wanting her to get back something an asshole had taken from her.
She’d told me her feelings for me hadn’t changed despite my secret, and despite the fact that she’d been quiet ever since, I believed her. She had no context for the situation because I didn’t explain it to her. I’d never told Luca either. He probably assumed I’d hunted down my father out of spite and revenge, but it was actually the other way around.
We pulled past the gates and into the warehouse compound, which looked quiet and abandoned since there were only two cars there. The guys hid their cars in the hangar on the property across the road, completely out of sight.
I pulled into a spot and killed the engine.
She looked around, stared at the steel fence and the barbed wire on top. “It looks like a prison.”
“It used to be a prison.” A prison where girls were kept like chickens in a coop. I got out of the car first, and then she followed, wearing a thick coat that was zipped up to her chin because it was a cold morning.
I pounded on the rusty door then looked up into the camera in the corner.
Fleur stayed behind me, arms crossed over her chest.
The bolts and locks turned, and then the door opened. The guy nodded at me, clearly knowing who I was even though I couldn’t remember his name.
“Come on, sweetheart.” I walked in first, seeing the guys working at the tables, measuring the product before placing it into their airtight containers to maintain the quality. None of them looked up from their work.
Fleur came to my side and surveyed the scene, wearing her best poker face.
I nodded to the opposite side of the room. “This way.” I crossed into the other area where a long table was set up, where I usually sat with Luca when we crunched numbers. Guns, ammunition, and magazines were mounted on the walls.
She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, and she swept her eyes across the display of weapons.
“That room used to be full of underage girls working fourteen-hour days.”
Her eyes came back to me. “Why are we here?”
I walked to the wall and grabbed a couple guns, a Glock, a pistol, a shotgun, and a rifle. I came back to the table and laid them out, along with the clips and the bullets. “Need to teach you a couple things.”
She stared at the guns for a long second before she looked at me, eyebrows raised. “I don’t understand.”
“If you’re going to be my girl, you need to know this stuff.”
“Why?” Her eyes hardened in fear.
I recognized the unease that traveled across her face, the way her entire body clenched before it tried to become as small as possible. She wasn’t the kind of woman to wear her trepidation on her sleeve—she had too much pride for that, but I could see it as clear as day. “I’ll always protect you, sweetheart. But you should know how to protect yourself if you ever need to.”
Her eyes flicked away, and she swallowed. “I’ve never touched a gun before.”
“Nothing you can’t handle.”
“I just hope I don’t shoot myself in the foot or something.”
“Give yourself more credit.” I lifted the Glock and displayed it to her before I showed her the chamber. Then I grabbed the bullets and loaded them into the clip. “Bullets go here. Here’s the safety.” I clicked it so it was on then I emptied the bullets and returned them to the table. “Now you try.”
She stared at me for a second before she grabbed the gun like it was a grenade then opened the clip. When she picked up the bullets off the table, she pointed the tip of the barrel at herself because she wasn’t paying attention.
I redirected it forward. “Never point the gun at yourself.”
“But there are no bullets.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
She kept the gun pointed forward before she dropped the bullets into the clip and closed the weapon. “Safety is still on?”
I clicked it and unclicked it, showing her the difference. “Alright, put it down.”
She put it down, facing away from us.
I walked her through the other guns, showing her how to load them and unload them and make sure the safety was on. “The shotgun can only hold two bullets—but they count. Shoot someone at close range, and they’re done.” I showed her the rifle. “Use this if you have many opponents. This is a little different because it uses a magazine rather than bullets.” I showed her how to add a magazine and take it away. “A Glock is good to have in your purse or in your nightstand, easy to carry if you’ve got one target. But if you’re ever under threat, always go for one of these two.”
“Do—do you think I’ll be under threat?”
“No.” I put the rifle on the table. “But like my father always said—be prepared.” I cocked the shotgun and returned it to the table. “Let’s start with the Glock.”
“Start what with the Glock?”
“Target practice.”
“You want me to fire this?”
“Yes.”
“Uh…”
“Sweetheart, you’ve got this.”
She stared at the gun before she picked it off the table. She kept it pointed to the floor like I taught her, but she looked awkward holding it.
I pulled the strap of the rifle over my shoulder, tucked the pistol into the back of my jeans, and gripped the shotgun before I headed to the back door.
Fleur followed me, and we stepped out into the cold, under the overcast sky.
Targets were mounted to the steel fence, practice for the guys when they had nothing else to do. I set the shotgun on the old, rickety picnic table there, where the guys smoked their cigars and played a round of cards when it got too stuffy inside. I set the rifle beside it and turned back to her.
She looked at the target, her breath coming out as vapor. “Won’t someone hear us?”
“Probably.”
She stared at me but didn’t question me further.
“Aim.”
She grabbed the gun with two hands, one hand supporting the other, and stared at the target that was at least thirty feet away.
Her stance wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t training to be a soldier or combat operative. She just needed to shoot someone if the situation ever arose.
“Fire.” I checked to see if she remembered the safety.
She squeezed the trigger, and nothing happened.
“The safety is the most important part of the gun. Always know when it’s on and off.”
She looked at the gun and clicked the button before she aimed again. She went still with focus and then fired, the gun kicking back and knocking her off-balance for just a second. The bullet hit the target, at the very edge.
“Not bad, sweetheart.” I came up behind her and helped her get into position. “Use the nose of the gun to aim. Line it up with the center. Keep your strong foot back and tighten your core for the kickback.” I stepped back. “Try again.”
She aimed for the center, fired, and her body barely moved with the kickback.
I remembered when my father had taught me how to shoot. Not a memory I recalled fondly. Anytime I messed up, he didn’t hesitate to say how weak and stupid I was. Now, I felt like a father myself, protecting the person who mattered most to me.
Did I ever matter to him?
She nearly hit the center of the target, so she fired a couple more times, trying to best herself. Then the gun made a clicking sound because she ran out of bullets.
“Reload.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a handful of bullets.
She grabbed them then inserted each one into the empty clip before she slid it into place.
She already looked like a pro. “Good job, sweetheart.” I pulled out the pistol tucked into the back of my jeans and held out my palm to her, seeing if she’d put on the safety before handing the Glock back to me.
She did then placed it in my palm.
I grinned. “Attagirl.” I was far prouder of her than my father had ever been of me.
She took the pistol, turned off the safety, and got into position again. She fired, her bullets hitting the same places as before. The gun had slightly more firepower than the Glock, but she handled it.
When she ran out of bullets, she turned on the safety and handed it to me.
I put both guns on the table then grabbed the shotgun. “This is what I use when I wanna blow heads off.”
Her eyes widened noticeably at my honesty.
“Hold it like this.” I showed her how to handle it before I handed it over. “It’s heavy.”
She took it without complaint, but it was obvious it was heavier than she was used to holding.
“Hold the butt of the gun to your shoulder.” I placed my hand over my shoulder so she could see where it should sit. “When it kicks back, it’s gonna hurt.” I tapped the top of the gun. “This is where you line up the shot, but you shouldn’t have to aim if you’re that close.” I moved us toward the target, bringing her fifteen feet closer to the target. “Aim and fire.”
She put the gun into position, the butt of the gun against her shoulder like I taught her, and then she fired. She clearly didn’t expect the force of the kick because she took a couple steps back in surprise. But she’d hit the target.
“Again.”
She cocked the gun and fired, blowing off half the sign.
I beamed in pride. “Reload.”
She opened the barrel like I’d taught her, took the bullets from me, and reloaded the gun before she cocked it back into place.
“Alright, time for the rifle.”
She clicked the safety before she handed the shotgun to me.
“This is heavy too.” I handed it off, and she held it like she’d seen enough American action movies to know how it should be handled. Without waiting for me to fire, she directed her gun toward the targets and sprayed them with bullets, left to right, denting the steel fence with all the ammunition.
She fired until the magazine was empty. “Ooh, I like this one.”
I smirked then handed her another magazine.
She reloaded effortlessly then clicked the safety before she handed the gun to me.
“That’s my girl.” I pulled her in for a quick kiss then gave her a playful smack on the ass. “Alright, now I’m going to teach you a couple maneuvers.”
“Like, fighting?” she asked.
“More like self-defense.”
All the excitement she’d shown a second ago disappeared. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”
I stared her down and let my confidence comfort her. “No. You’ll probably never need any of this, but I would be an asshole if I didn’t teach my woman this stuff when I had the chance. There may come a time when I have to fight and you need to run, and I want to know you can get away if you need to.”
“Like I’d ever leave you…”
Whatever pride I would have felt was masked by anger. “You bet your ass you’ll leave me.”
She stilled at the venom in my voice, clearly stunned I could be so affectionate and then so ruthless in a split second. Her eyes flicked back and forth between mine, treating me like an opponent at that very moment.
My words had clearly made an impact, so I let the topic die. “Ready?” I set the guns on the table before I turned back to her, seeing her breath continue to come out as vapor even though she was bundled up in her coat.
“Yeah.”
“These are the three ways a guy will grab you. I’m gonna show you how to get out of all of them, alright?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll be easy now, but then we’ll practice for real.” I faced her head on then grabbed her by the upper arm so I could drag her away. “Always twist away and then hit.” I moved her arm to show her what I meant. “My hand will have to release. Otherwise, I’ll break my wrist. While this is happening, hit the nose with the heel of your palm. This all happens at once.” I guided her hand to my face, showing her the way the heel of her palm should strike. “Okay, let’s try this for real.”
“I’m not gonna hit you.”
“Pretend you are.” I grabbed her by the arm hard, as hard as I would if I were truly trying to capture her.
She panicked at first, clearly surprised by my grip.
“Twist.”
She turned her arm, hooking her forearm around and breaking my hold.
“You’re supposed to hit me at the same time.”
“Oh shit.”
“Again.” I grabbed her again and watched her twist. This time, she struck her palm up, tapping me on the shoulder rather than hitting me in the face. “Good.” I showed her a couple more moves, making sure she knew how to handle herself if she were attacked from the front or behind. I also showed her how to get a gun out of her face or take it from an opponent. Without regular use and practice, I feared she would forget the instructions. Maybe she wouldn’t need it for five or ten years, and by then, she’d forget.
But hopefully, she wouldn’t need it ever.
When we finished, she didn’t seem cold anymore. Even unzipped the front of her coat to let the heat leave her body. “Does your mother know this stuff?”
“I doubt she remembers it now, but she did at some point.”
“Where did you learn it?”
“My father.” Everything I was, everything I’d learned, had come from him. Sometimes it was hard to look at myself in the mirror and accept that I was his son, that every part of me was rooted in greed, blood, and evil.
She gave a slight nod with no judgment.
“Let’s go home.”
“Good. I’m starving.”
I smirked. “What do you want to eat?”
“I don’t care—as long as I have you for dessert.”
I walked into the church in my suit and tie while Fleur hung on my arm. She was in a little black dress with sky-high heels, still a valley in the shadow of my mountain. She wore a gold necklace and bracelet, gold hoops in her ears, looking like a model who’d stepped straight out of a catalogue.
The church was already packed with people, but since guests were anxious to get to their seats before the wedding started, there wasn’t a lot of small talk. Luca caught my attention to the left side. He had a girl with him, a girl I’d never seen before.
When we came close, Luca gave Fleur a kiss on each cheek.
She hesitated before she reciprocated the gesture.
I knew he liked her, but he wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t more than that, if she wasn’t family.
“This is Amelia,” he said. “Bastien and Fleur.”
I greeted her with a nod, and Fleur shook her hand.
I put no effort into Luca’s women because I would never see them again.
We took our seats in the row then waited for the ceremony to begin.
My hand went to Fleur’s thigh, and if we weren’t in public, let alone a church, I would have slid it under the material and inched much higher. The ceremony started, and it was a bore-fest because I didn’t know anyone but my business partner, who gave his daughter away before he took his seat at the front of the church.
The ceremony finally ended after what felt like an eternity, and then we headed to the Four Seasons, a few blocks from the church. The ballroom was drenched in luxurious décor, dimmed lighting, and flower centerpieces that flowed with elegance.
All I cared about was the bar.
I went to the bar with Luca and stood in line to order our drinks.
I felt bad leaving Fleur to make small talk with Amelia, but when I glanced at them, they seemed to be doing alright. “Who’s the girl?”
“Met her last week during a night out.”
“Met her at a bar or a brothel?”
“You think I’d bring a prostitute for a date?” he asked incredulously.
I shrugged. “I’ve done it.”
He gave a shake of his head like I was ridiculous. “Does Fleur know that?”
“I told her.” Not that I’d taken a whore to a party, but that some of the women in my bed had been paid to be there.
“She was cool with it?”
“Why wouldn’t she be?”
“Remember Cynthia?” He stepped forward when we moved farther up the line. “She lost her shit when I told her.”
“Sounds judgmental.”
He shrugged. “She was just one of those jealous psychos.”
“Good thing it didn’t work out.”
He smirked then took another step forward. “The guys told me you took Fleur to the warehouse.”
“Taught her how to shoot.”
“Why?”
“Because she needs to know this stuff if she’s gonna be around.”
“Fleur doesn’t seem like the shooting type.”
“Well, she is, and she’s pretty good at it,” I said with pride. “She said the rifle is her favorite.”
He looked like he was about to chuckle. “I can picture that. Sounds like it’s gotten more serious…” He didn’t outright ask me if anything had progressed, but he definitely dropped a line to see if I would take a bite.
“It has.” I smiled.
He studied my expression before his smile mirrored it. “Happy for you, man.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.” I wasn’t the kind of man to have a best friend because that was pussy shit, but if I did, it would be Luca.
“She’s a good woman.”
“She is.”
Luca made it to the front and ordered drinks for him and Amelia.
I did the same, getting myself a stiff drink and Fleur a glass of wine.
Luca walked with me back to the table. “And she really is a good woman if she’s willing to learn all that, especially after what happened.”
“She’s braver than most men I’ve met.”
“Damn right, she is,” he said. “Too bad she doesn’t have a sister.”
I chuckled then let the conversation die because we’d returned to the table. I took my seat beside Fleur then dropped my arm over the back of her chair, making it clear to the room that she was mine.
She drank from her wineglass, smearing her lipstick on the rim just the way she did when her lips were around my dick.
I stared at her harder than I should in public, and then some of the guys came over and disturbed the moment. I knew a lot of people at the wedding so I was sure it would turn into an unofficial meeting when we should be relaxing for once.
Rudy sat directly beside me. “First Regis and then Oscar…it’s been a rough couple months for you.”
“Just doing my job.” I’d known this would be a boring night for Fleur, just sitting there with her hand on my thigh, drinking her wine, while she was pretty much ignored. But she was my girl, and she was the one I wanted beside me. I wanted her to be a part of my world, for the guys to know who I shared my life with.
“The Aristocrats have always been a bunch of cult freaks,” he said. “But dangerous cult freaks.”
“I’m not worried about it.”
“Word on the street is you should be worried.”
I smiled like it was nothing to be concerned about. “I’ll handle it.” I was aware there would be some kind of retaliation for Oscar’s death. Even though their organization was sizable, they still didn’t have enough power to challenge me.
“I’m sure you will, Butcher.” He raised his glass to me then took a drink.
I talked with the other guys, and it was more of the same, talk about Oscar and business. I never told anyone how Oscar had crossed me. Didn’t want to mention what had happened to Fleur because it was still too raw to talk about—and it was too raw for her to hear.
Music blared over the speakers, appetizers were passed around along with flutes of champagne, and the ballroom had nearly four hundred guests at round tables. I’d never been to a wedding that wasn’t big and grand, that didn’t include nearly the same guest list as the last one.
But there was one guest that I didn’t expect.
I felt his stare long before I saw him.
He was far across the room, a beautiful woman at his side whispering in his ear.
He gave a nod like he was listening, but his stare was focused on me. He grabbed his glass of champagne and took a drink, eyes still connected to mine.
This was the first time we’d crossed paths in public because he avoided my presence as much as possible. But now, he didn’t seem to care so much.
That could be bad—or good.
“I’ll be back, sweetheart.” I kissed her before I finished off my scotch and left the table. She was surrounded by people she didn’t know, and everyone would be too afraid to talk to her, but she had Luca there if she needed a friendly face.
I crossed the room, and Godric seemed to know he was my target because he preemptively left the table, hands in the pockets of his suit, and met me in the no-man’s-land between the tables.
The chandeliers that hung from the ceiling were dimly lit, and the music from the string quartet was in the background, not the party music everyone would dance to at some point. He stopped, and he shifted his weight to one leg, staring me down in public.
I stared back, eyes identical to mine, his height just an inch shorter. “Do you know the bride or groom?”
“I know everybody, Bastien.”
The same arrogant son of a bitch. I smiled slightly in amusement. “And I thought you came to see me.”
“I never want to see you.”
I gave a slight nod in mutual agreement. “Guessing you still don’t have any names for me?”
His stare seemed to last forever, even though he lacked any distinct expression. His indifference was potent, like I was a beggar off the street rather than his own flesh and blood. “No.”
I gave a slow nod, somehow disappointed even though I’d gotten the exact answer I expected. “I’m actually glad I ran into you. Something I’ve been meaning to tell you…for thirteen years.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You’ve never asked me why I did it. How I did it. Where I put the body…”
His gaze hardened in preparation for whatever I would say next. His indifference was washed away. “Because I know you would never tell me.”
I shook my head. “You were wrong, Godric. So, ask me.”
He continued to stand there with his hands in his pockets, staring me down like this was a silent room rather than a wedding with hundreds of guests. Anyone who gazed upon us must have been able to see the visible tension between us.
“Ask me.”
Godric wouldn’t take the bait, afraid he would step into a trap I’d laid out.
“All these years, you and everyone else believed some ruthless killer plotted the downfall of one of the biggest kingpins in Paris. That they planned that moment with great detail, either for revenge or greed. And when you realized it was me…you finally feared me the way you should.”
He didn’t blink, hung on every word, like he believed I would say what he’d wanted to know all these years.
“But the truth is, I’m not some mastermind who planned the death of my own father. He came to my apartment on a Tuesday afternoon alone. Didn’t tell anyone where he was going, probably to make sure it didn’t get back to you or Mom. But that was a mistake. Told me I was unwanted, that he wished I’d been a girl because I would have been more useful with a pussy between my legs. Then he tried to kill me—but I killed him first.”
He did his best not to react, but his eyes gave him away. They widened slightly like he couldn’t control his silent shock.
“I cut off his ring finger to send to you as proof of his death, dumped his body, and cleaned up the mess. No one came for me.”
His breathing picked up. Whether it was in anger or emotion, it was unclear.
“I waited for someone to accuse me, to realize I was the person who hated him the most, but not a single person even thought it could be me. Like I’m some spineless pussy just because I didn’t want to shoot an innocent girl. Dad said I was weak and worthless, but who’s in charge of this city now?” My eyes flicked back and forth between his. “It’s not him. It’s not you. It’s me .”
His eyes were impossible to read, but there was no doubt he was glued to my tale, probably wanting more details but was still too proud to ask for them.
“You know what’s most ironic about all of this?” I hadn’t expected to come to this wedding and run into my brother, of all people. And I certainly hadn’t expected to dump all my daddy issues on him either. “If he knew what I’d become, he’d be proud of me—and the fact that that makes me smile is the sickest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Godric finally did something, pulled his hand out of his pocket and rubbed his jawline like he needed a second to process everything he’d just learned. It was hard to hear little details over the music, but the breath he released was so loud I noticed it. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Thirteen years ago. Five years ago. But you decide to tell me now in a crowded room at a fucking wedding.”
I dug deep inside and tried to find the answer, but it was like trying to find something in a thick pool of mud. My mind usually protected me from what I failed to tolerate, but that mechanism seemed to have stopped. “Because I wasn’t ready—and now I am.”
He took another slow breath, his chest visibly rising as he felt those words all over his body. But his eyes dropped, like he didn’t know what to say, how to feel. “The Aristocrats are planning something big in three days. Make a deal or hit them first.”
For the first time in eighteen years, I didn’t look at my brother like an enemy.
He prepared to turn away, like this conversation had run its course. “And I didn’t know Fleur was your girl. I would have stopped Oscar if I’d known.”
So, he’d known about the hit and didn’t lie about it. He had more honor than most men who looked me in the eye. “I believe you.”
He stepped away and headed back to his table, his girl watching him as she waited for him to return to her, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation when he’d gotten up and walked over to me.
I left the ballroom and entered the hallway to find the bathroom, needing a break from the music and the people and the laughter and the bullshit. I’d been in a good mood before I spotted my brother across the room. Talked shop with the guys with my hand on my woman’s thigh. But that all went to shit, and I confessed to Godric like he was my goddamn priest.
“Bastien.”
My eyes had drifted to the carpet below my feet because I was so deep in thought. It was something I never did. I lifted my gaze and looked at a woman in a dark blue dress, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette.
I knew her face but not her name. Maybe if she’d caught me on a better day, I would have recalled it.
“Didn’t expect to see you here.” She let the smoke escape her nostrils before she extended her cigarette for me to share.
I gave a slight shake of my head.
“Trying to cut back?”
I didn’t share cigarettes or drinks with anyone but Fleur—and occasionally Luca. “Bride or groom?”
“Neither. My boyfriend invited me.”
At least she’d moved on.
“I saw you with that brunette.” She held the cigarette between her fingertips, all attitude. “She’s pretty.”
I knew a backhanded compliment when I saw one. “Why do you think I’m fucking her.” I wasn’t sure why I continued to stand there and talk to her. Guess it was a nice distraction from what had just happened. I could pretend that conversation had never taken place.
She sidestepped the comment. “Remember that time in the Louvre? When you took me there after it closed, and we did it right up against the sculpture?” She took another drag from her cigarette. “That was fun.”
I’d taken a couple girls there. Something about art history made them kinky. “I wish I remembered. Excuse me.” I walked around her and headed to the bathroom. When I stepped inside, I moved to the counter and stared at my snow-white face. My eyes were angry—even when I looked at myself.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood there, but I appeared to be the only one in the room, everyone else at the bar or mingling at their tables. I’d always been a sucker for weddings, not for the romance, but for the energy and excitement for what lay ahead. But every time I tried to look at my future, I somehow looked at my past instead.
I washed my hands just so my trip wasn’t completely pointless then returned to the hallway. The girl in the blue dress was gone, but the smell of her cigarette smoke lingered. I walked through it and then noticed Fleur in her little black dress and sky-high heels. She must have used the restroom herself and assumed that’s where I was.
She turned to look at me, and when the smile didn’t bloom on her face like it always did at the sight of me, I knew she’d witnessed my exchange with Godric.
I stopped before her, chin dropped so I could look into her face.
She studied mine before she spoke. “That was your brother, wasn’t it?”
She’d figured it out across a low-lit room. Figured it out even though our conversation was muted. “Yes.”
“You look so much alike.”
We were practically carbon copies of each other. All our soft features from our mother and the rigid masculinity from our father.
“Just wanted to see if you were okay.” Her eyes shifted back and forth between mine. “Because it seemed like you weren’t.”
She’d gauged all that from just the back of my head? “My relationship with Godric has been complicated for a long time. Seeded with hatred and resentment and distrust…but the soil will always be watered with the blood we share.”
She didn’t ask for details or specifics. She never pried, never overstepped boundaries. Her love and affection were subtle when they needed to be and then overwhelming when I asked for them to choke me. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, sweetheart.” She was a relatively new addition to my life, but it felt like she’d always been there, the person I trusted most. The person I loved most.
Her eyes dropped down for a second before she looked at me again. “I saw you speaking to that woman…” Her eyes flicked away again, like she was uncomfortable pursuing this conversation. “Seemed like you knew each other well.”
Not well enough, because I didn’t remember her name. “What’s your question?”
“Just wanted to know if she was a friend or an acquaintance?”
It was an odd question, and it seemed like she was testing me. She’d probably overheard our conversation when she’d come after me and wanted to know if I would admit I fucked what’s-her-name before. Fleur was the last person who should feel jealous or insecure, especially sexy as hell in that little black dress. If only she saw what I saw, she would never feel intimidated by another woman that I’d been with. “Neither. I slept with her a while back.” I passed the test, but I would have passed it even if I hadn’t known it was a test.
She gave no distinct reaction, like that was exactly what she’d gathered herself.
“Let’s head back. Probably going to serve dinner soon.”