Chapter Three
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Henri
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MY EARS RANG, COMPLETELY DROWNING out what the Master Jeweler was saying.
Blowjob?
Divorce?
Who the hell was this girl, and why did her voice pierce through all the other noise in this godforsaken club, somehow hijacking my rotten heart?
That same fucking heart tripped over its pathetic self the moment I caught her eyes.
I couldn’t tell what colour they were, but the disco ball above granted the illusion that they flickered with purples and blues.
I had a sudden urge to shove away all the people between me and the object of my dangerous fascination and demand to know who she was.
But that would be stupid.
Beyond fucking stupid.
And it wasn’t her that caused my chest to seize or my perfectly pressed pants to grow unnervingly tight.
It was this.
This assignment.
This task—given to me by my half-brother who’d had years learning how to tame his tendencies—only to throw me into those same tendencies without any boundaries.
Another droplet of sweat ran down my back.
If I couldn’t even handle standing here talking, how was I going to handle everything else?
“Ward?”
The Master Jeweler quirked a manicured dark blond eyebrow at me.
Roland pressed his elbow into my side, ripping me back to the suave, despicable man currently watching me with questions in his knowing eyes.
Ever so slowly, the Master Jeweler turned on the balls of his glossy shoes and peered at the girl who’d sent a bolt of sick electricity to my chest with a single glance.
Her hair hung heavy and straight, kissing her shoulders with an almost impossible shade of sapphire-black. It had to be fake. No one had hair like that.
I balled my hands as my gaze followed the Master Jeweler’s, both of us studying the sweep of her shoulder blades—visible beneath the flimsy strings of her navy top—following the strong line of her spine (with the hint of a tattoo) down to the swell of her ass, hidden beneath a gold-pink skirt.
My throat closed as my gaze drifted lower, drinking in the long expanse of tanned legs, snagging on silver ankle boots with savagely sharp heels.
With a low chuckle, the Master Jeweler turned to face me, nodding appreciatively. “This club attracts sparkling gems. It’s a great place to fill a jewelry box full of pretty things.” His flat blue gaze snapped to Roland. “Don’t you agree, Olivan?”
Roland gave him an oily smile. “Oh, definitely, bijoutier. I myself have been lucky enough to collect quite a few bijoux on my hunts here.”
My ears perked on the French words for jeweler and jewels.
I was fluent from birth—thanks to my mother being half-French.
“Pourquoi ne pouvons-nous pas parler franchement?” (Why can’t we speak plainly?) I crossed my arms, my voice bored and borderline disrespectful.
I did my best to hold the stare of the Master Jeweler, but the girl down the bar let out a squeak as the man she was with grabbed her roughly around her biceps.
I stilled.
Everything inside me quietened, heightened, and salivated.
Violence.
It always brought out the worst in me.
“Say it again. Go on. I dare you!” the man yelled in her face, shaking her. “You really want to do this? Here? Right now? When we’re on holiday in fucking Paris?”
“I know it’s not ideal, Sam, but...I’ve reached my limit. I just...I can’t do it anymore.” The girl’s profile came into view as she squirmed in the guy’s grip. “Just let me go, and we’ll leave. We’ll go somewhere quiet where we can talk and—”
“I don’t want to bloody talk, Ily! That’s the problem with you. That’s all you want to do these days. Talk. Or take a walk. Or watch another doco on yet another stupid rock. You’ve turned frigid—”
“Don’t you dare call me frigid. I am not—”
“Lately, you spend more time fondling your rocks than you do my cock, and frankly, I’ve had enough.”
“Good! I’ve had enough too!” Her blue-black hair swung as she fought to get out of his control. “I’d much rather touch those stupid rocks than your cock any day.”
“And I’d rather be with someone who has the drive to be rich and successful instead of throwing her life away wishing she was the goddamn queen so she can wear a goddamn tiara!”
“I am a queen, Sam. That’s why I’m dumping you. You don’t deserve me.”
Sam let out a cruel laugh. “A queen, huh? I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but before I came along, you were failing at all levels of life. Unwanted by the whore who birthed you, adopted by a family with more issues than most people put together, sickeningly close to your adoptive brother—which explains your lack of putting out with me: you’re probably fucking him—”
She moved as fast as a viper.
Her arm was a blur as she slapped the bastard viciously hard on his pompous cheek.
The crack of her strike ricocheted over the heavy music, decorating his white skin with a perfect red imprint of her palm.
He froze.
She froze.
The crowd blatantly watching them gasped, and the bartender who’d given them shots rapidly poured a few more, shoving the wooden board between them as if it would stop whatever war was about to ensue.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
I wanted to snatch the girl into my own arms and dare her to slap me the same way. I’d let her get one good hit in before I threw her on the bar, spread her legs, and feasted on the same pussy she’d denied her ex.
I’d find out for myself if she was frigid because a girl who could fight that bravely and slap that fiercely wasn’t meek or weak. She was courageous—probably too much for her own good. And definitely far too much for a man like me.
Her spirit was fucking kryptonite to a man like me.
It made all the monstrous, diabolical urges inside me come dangerously alive. They snarled and howled for a single taste. For the chance to dominate—
The Master Jeweler sidestepped, blocking my view.
A low growl echoed in my chest. The urge to shove him out of the way shot down my arms before I remembered who he was and why I was here.
Family.
Future.
A cure for the sickness inside me.
Gritting my teeth, I forced a smile.
He met it with one of his own, thin and arrogant, eyes narrowed with a glint I didn’t like.
“You asked why we can’t speak plainly? Fine.
” Smiling wider, he crossed his arms and kept his voice low enough not to be overheard.
“You came here seeking my approval to join my exclusive club. However, even with a personal recommendation from one of my members, you are not guaranteed access. Only proof of who you truly are will do that.”
“Who I truly am?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You can’t hide what you want, Henri Ward, but you also haven’t given me a reason to trust you.”
I stood as still and as cold as I could. “Trust isn’t something you’ll ever earn from me. Proof or no proof.”
He chuckled. “Bonne réponse. (Good reply.) And you are right, of course. Trust is not something a beast can give another as the very nature of a beast is to answer to no one. Forgive me, let me word it another way.” The glint in his eyes turned deadly as he swayed closer.
“You want access to my Jewelry Box? Then you must convince me you are worthy.”
Roland shifted beside me, throwing me a worried look. “He is worthy, Master Jeweler. I wouldn’t have vouched for him if I thought—”
“Quiet, Olivan,” the Jeweler snapped. “I’m only asking a trifle. After all, he wanted to speak plainly.”
I crossed my arms, keeping my nervousness hidden beneath carefully controlled boredom. “Go on, then. Speak plainly. All I’m hearing is a bunch of nonsense.”
The Master Jeweler laughed and slung his arm over my shoulders.
I stiffened.
My skin crawled.
But I didn’t move as he whispered in my ear.
“That woman. The one you can’t take your eyes off.
Her boyfriend just stupidly announced to anyone listening that she is far from home.
She is adopted and most likely won’t be missed for some time.
She will be alone and in a strange city the moment that man walks away from her.
She’s practically penniless and will most likely be desperate to find someone to help her get home.
The minute her adrenaline wears off, she’ll be afraid, gullible... ripe for the taking.”
He laughed blackly. “She even studies jewels as a hobby—if that’s what she means by rocks. It’s almost too parfait.”
My teeth ground to dust as I fought the violent urge to shove my fist into his parfait nose. “Votre point?”
“My point, Mr Ward, is she is a jewel waiting to be mined. I want her for my collection, and you’re the one who’s going to get her for me.”
Black, icy dread ripped through my bones. “Me?”
“Oui, you.”
Pulling away from me, he dropped his arm, snapped his fingers at a man sulking close by in a grey suit, and clipped off a reel of French. Immediately, the unknown man passed the Master Jeweler a thick envelope.
He gave it to me as smoothly as if it were a glass of champagne.
My fingers latched around it, feeling the weight, the size, knowing instantly what it was. “Money. You’re giving me money to kidnap her?”
His lips spread into a triumphant grin.
Roland laughed nervously, trying to play the same despicable game but failing.
“Oh no, mon ami. Nothing like that, I assure you.”
The blackness pouring from the cavern within me—the abyss where I chained all manner of dastardly things—billowed darker. My cock thickened with anticipation. The ache in my blood frustrated me, irritated me, and made my rage unfurl. “What then? Dis moi ce que tu veux?” (What do you want from me?)
With a quirk of his eyebrow, he gave a silent command to the man in grey. The guard tipped his chin and, without any hesitation, moved to where the couple continued to argue.
He subtly broke up the watching crowd, then muttered into his wrist. The music in the club grew suspiciously louder, the lights dimmed, and darkness slithered from every corner. The garish disco balls stopped bouncing rainbows over everyone as the club sank into my personal version of hell.
The girl and her ex didn’t notice, too wrapped up in their fight.
The Master Jeweler’s eyes gleamed as he looked at me.
“What I want, Henri, is for you to prove you’re one of us.
Let go of all those restraints. Stop fighting your true nature.
Step into the monster within you and embrace who you truly are.
” Slapping me on the back, he added, “Inside that envelope is ten thousand euros. Give it to the ex, and when he asks why, say it’s payment to fuck his girlfriend. ”
“What?”
“He’ll accept it. I guarantee it. I’ve been watching him while you’ve been watching her.
He’s an asshole with a poisonous ego. He wants revenge.
He wants to hurt her for the embarrassment she’s just caused him.
Perhaps, on any other day or any other fight, he would tell you to fuck off, but not tonight.
Tonight, his vanity is bruised, and he’ll take the money.
Not to hurt her but to prove to himself that she’s nothing without him.
She is because of him. And he’s merely collecting what she owes. ”
“No man would willingly sell their girlfriend. Breakup or no breakup.”
“He will. You have my personal guarantee.”
Shit.
My pulse pounded in my veins, whooshing in my ears.
How the fuck would I survive this?
How could I control myself when this bastard was giving me the very permission I’d denied myself all my life?
Fuck, Q.
Help.
I glanced at my birdcage cufflinks, wishing they had a microphone. I wished the stranger who was my half-brother would appear and slaughter this guy now, instead of making me infiltrate a club that operated far out of the sanctity of law.
No one knew where The Jewelry Box kept their slaves.
No one ever found the men and women trafficked through it.
Once a girl or boy was targeted, they were swallowed up and never seen again.
I looked over my shoulder at the girl who’d captured my awful attention. She’d been marked. All because I’d made eye contact with her and sucked in a breath that tasted like sweetest sin.
Her life had been cut short because of me.
The pain she was about to endure—
I groaned.
Beneath my shame, I grew shockingly hard. Images of her submitting filled my mind while my ears throbbed with the sounds of all the screams I could wring from her.
I trembled, not because her blood would stain my hands but because I wanted it to.
I wanted it so fucking badly.
I was as black as this bastard beside me, and my self-control kept slipping.
Slipping...
My hands fisted around the envelope-wrapped money.
Make the choice.
Right now.
Save countless women—just like Q demanded of you—or walk away and save just one.
That one.
You don’t have to do this. There isn’t a gun to your head.
But at least be honest with yourself that if you refuse—the minute you say no—she’s his anyway.
Breathing hard, I turned back to face the Jeweler.
Out of the two of us, I’d rather be the one to drag her into the worst nightmare of her life. With me...I would try to save her. With him...he’d make her wish for death.
He licked his lower lip, keeping a careful eye on me.
“If you’re worried he’ll make a scene, don’t be.
The crowd has been dispersed. The bartender is otherwise engaged.
The girl’s fight has reached its end, and the boy is fuming.
He knows he can’t strike her. Not here at least. Yet he’s plotting how to make her pay.
” He chuckled. “You’re merely giving him revenge with a neat and tidy bow...
along with a nice little payday. He’ll take the money, Henri.
And when he does, you will take the girl.
” He pointed into the blackness. “Take her to the back of the club. There’s a door.
Knock four times and you’ll be let inside. ”
Not giving me time to refuse, he stepped away. “Roland, come along. Let our new acquaintance prove he’s worthy of our friendship.”
Saluting me mockingly, he muttered, “Have fun, Henri. Remember. Buy the girl, bring her to me, and I promise you, your life will never be the same again.”