Chapter Eleven
Quinn slowly awoke from a heavy slumber. Light moved above her closed eyelids, and she winced as the brightness shoved shards of glass into her brain. She moaned and tried to move, only to have pain lance her chest, arresting her breath for a moment.
Max sat slumped in a chair next to the bed.
He had on faded, ragged denim jeans, a plain white t-shirt and a long-sleeved white shirt over that.
His hair was a mess, like he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times.
A heavy tint of whiskers lined his face.
His eyes were closed and his head tilted back, looking completely exhausted.
She’d never seen him look like this. The most casual clothes she could remember were the pajamas she saw him in at the breakfast table.
“Max,” she whispered, and he immediately woke.
Relief blanketed his face as he leaned on the edge of the chair. When he gently took her hand, that’s when she noticed it had a needle in it, and a little device on her index finger to measure oxygen levels.
He kissed her hand. “Thank god.”
She licked her lips. “Water?”
He turned and filled a glass with some water and helped her to drink it. The few minutes helped clear away the grogginess. Scratches of information came to her like a broken, hazy projector.
“There was a man,” she gasped. Her chin quivered. “H-he hurt me, Max. He ... he cut me!”
“I know, baby.”
“You found me?”
“Yes. There was blood—” He abruptly bit off his words, his jaw working as if trying to get himself under control. “There was a lot of blood, mainly on the stairs.”
“He had a knife.” She touched her chest and discovered a bandage under some type of cotton nightgown. “He carved into my skin.”
“I know.” His eyes burned with fury. “When I found you, I thought you were dead. Some places were cut deeper than others so there are sutures in some places, Steri-Strips and glue in others.”
Max sat on the bed and carefully pulled her into his arms, rocking her comfortingly.
She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed.
When the storm eventually passed, she was left shaken and tired.
For a long minute, she rested in his arms and let her mind numbly wander.
One thing Savage got right, every time she looked in the mirror, she would picture his face.
“Could you hand me a tissue?” Max leaned over and grabbed the box off the nearby nightstand. “Thank you.” She blew her nose. “Am I in the hospital?”
“You’re in my apartment,” he replied. He sifted his fingers through her hair. “I know an ex-army medic, so I had him come over to take care of your wound.”
“My wound.” She gave a humorless bark of laughter. “My brand, you mean.”
Max tightened his arms. “I’ll make sure he pays for touching you.”
“He did this because of you.” She had been violated. Tormented. Scarred for life. “He said it was payback.”
“I’m so sorry.” His voice held a boatload of regret and sorrow. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
“And what would that be?” she demanded, wiping the tears off her face. “Was this a pissing contest where I got stuck in the middle?”
“Quinn—”
She raised a hand, stopping whatever explanation he tried to dream up.
“You don’t think I haven’t noticed you leaving all hours of the night?
I thought you were hooking up with women, but now I don’t know what to think.
What else aren’t you telling me?” He stared at her so long, she realized he wasn’t going to tell her shit.
“I see.” A bitter note hung on those two words.
“Quinn—”
“Am I in another bedroom?” she asked, quickly changing the subject.
For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to acknowledge her shift of topics. Then he sighed. “I should clarify. You’re in my apartment in Paris.”
Stunned, that took a moment to comprehend. “Paris? As in the one in France?”
“Yes.”
She frowned, trying to put the pieces together. Trying to read his expressionless stare. “You brought me to France? How the hell did you manage that? I don’t remember boarding an airplane. Not to mention that my passport was at my place.”
“I found your passport and brought you here on a private jet.”
So many questions. “Just how rich are you?”
He smirked. “Rich enough.”
“Are you going to answer all my questions with cryptic answers?”
“Maybe.”
She pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, trying to stave off the headache forming. “Okay, let’s pass on how this was achieved. Why did you bring me here?”
“Because you were attacked by my enemy.”
A memory surfaced. Something Savage had taunted. “What is the La Famille Lemaire?”
One eyebrow raised. “Where did you hear that?”
“From him.” She shuddered. “He taunted me.”
“God damn it,” he muttered under his breath. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Debate warred across his face, but then some type of resolve settled because the tension in his shoulders suddenly relaxed “There is something about me that you don’t know.”
“I’m getting the feeling there is a lot about you I don’t know.”
“All right. Let’s start with the basics. My name really is Maxence Chevalier, but I’m not an art dealer. Or, I guess I should say, I am, but only on paper.”
Confusion furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“What I’m about to tell you remains between you and me. If you go to the police, I will have no option except to eliminate you.”
Fear crept along the edges of her nerves. This Max wasn’t her Max. The man before her had morphed into a stranger.
“Maybe you shouldn’t tell me.”
“You’re right, maybe I shouldn’t, but here we are. The gallery is a front. It’s a way to launder money from overseas partners. I hired you as an extra layer of legitimacy for the business. Everything you do, all the sales you make, are legit. It’s just not the only thing that goes on there.”
“Laundering money.” She blinked. What rabbit hole had she fallen through? None of this made any sense. “I take it that’s not a euphemism.”
“No, it’s not. I am what is called a specialist in my world, and I work for my Ca?d. My boss.”
She was even more confused. Nothing was making sense.
“Lemaire is the family I work for, and the head of that family lives here in Paris.”
“Head of the family? That sounds like something you hear in a mafia movie.”
Max didn’t confirm or deny anything. He simply stared at her, and waited.
Quinn blinked. It couldn’t be. Could it? “You’re in the mafia?”
“A somewhat broad description, but essentially yes.”
It was like she was swimming in quicksand. “Who are you?”
“I was born and raised here on the streets of Paris,” he stated flatly.
“I had no parents, but I knew how to survive even at a young age by picking the pockets of tourists. That’s how I bought food.
That or I’d just steal it. My boss found me when I was about thirteen, and even at that age I had a large, muscular frame.
His two sons had just been killed in a freak skiing accident, and I guess he saw something in me that reminded him of them.
Once I proved I was worth taking a chance on, he took me in as his own and personally trained me. ”
“To launder money?”
“Among other things.”
“Right.” Where did she go next? “Are you a bad guy?”
He didn’t answer right away, instead, studied her face. What he searched for, she didn’t know. “I can be. I can be ruthless if the person I care about is harmed, or if my boss orders me to do something you might consider bad.”
The way he stared at her, she knew who he meant. Mafia killed people all the time. A chill settled in her soul.
“Who is Savage?” she whispered to him.
“He is part of the Voclain Family.”
“Are they like you?”
“They’re worse. They’re monsters. They have no respect for anyone who’s not a member of the Voclain clan.”
Was I a pawn? “Did he hurt me because of the animosity between the two families?”
“No, he hurt you to get back at me.” He ran a hand over his face.
“The Lemaire family works exclusively with a very powerful LA kingpin. I recently seized a shipment where Savage tried to smuggle drugs in through cargo containers and turned it over to him. Savage’s retaliation on you was because of my actions. ”
She didn’t know what to say to that, but it changed everything. “I got hurt because of you. I’m scarred for life because of you? Fuck you. I quit. Now I won’t be a target.”
“Oh, baby, it’s not that easy. You’re part of this world now. Part of my world.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not. I’m not part of any of this. I think you should leave. I need to go home.”
“I’m so sorry you were dragged into my world, Quinn. Unfortunately, there’s no turning back.”
“I promise I won’t say anything.” Desperation colored her voice.
He reached up and put a piece of her hair behind her ear, then cradled her face. “I know you won’t, but Savage marked you, and in our world, marks are targets. That’s why I brought you here, to my home in Paris, to recuperate safely.”
“Are you saying I’m going to have to leave LA?”
“No,” he replied. “We will go back together. But it will be together.”
He leaned into the words, as if making sure she understood. Only, she had no clue what he was implying. She waited for him to elaborate.
“As in, we will be husband and wife,” he clarified.
“Are you kidding me?” He said nothing. Just stared at her expectantly. “You’re serious.”
“Savage knew what he was doing when he came after you,” he said. “He ensured you would know too much. And before you argue, yes, I trust you, but my boss doesn’t know you. The only way to enforce your silence, is to bring you into the family.”
“But ... but ... do you even want a wife?”
“In my world, marriages are for business and alliances. Our marriage would be for business. You already know the ins and outs of the gallery. I admire you as an employee and as a person. I think we’d have a very successful marriage based on respect.”
“I don’t know if I want a husband,” she whispered. “Let me think for a moment.”
It seemed so passionless, the way he announced it, but then she thought about what he said.
She also remembered their conversation about love and paused.
Maybe he had a point, that only successful marriages were made with logic rather than emotions.
They were more than sexually compatible.
The sheets were scorched, as they say, from the fire between them.
Plus, she’d been drawn to him from the very first day.
Was she a doormat to think what’s done was done?
The genie couldn’t go back into his lamp. Nothing could be erased.
“Would this be a real marriage? With children and a white picket fence?”
“If you want children and a white picket fence, then yes,” he answered again, giving her a ghost of a smile. “It is the family business after all.”
“So, let me just go over the facts.” She counted on her fingers.
“One, you’re in the mafia business, which I didn’t know was a modern thing.
Two, if I don’t marry you, I assume I’m sleeping with the fishes.
Three, because I know too much, I have to marry you.
Four, we’ll have kids. Five, you’re sometimes a bad man. Is that about right?”
“Pretty much.” He reached out and took hold of her hand, entwining their fingers. “I care for you, Quinn, and I know you’re alone in the world. We can have a good life together.”
She admitted to herself that it sounded nice. “There are a few stipulations.”
He tilted his head, waiting.
“If you ever come to the point where you don’t want me, you can’t kill me.”
“I would only kill you if you talk to law enforcement.”
“I would never do that. Not to you.”
“Good. Then that one is easily granted.”
“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “No mistresses. Or hook-ups. Or coffee dates with women. Respect me, and I’ll respect you.”
“Another easy one to grant. I will be faithful, but you must be faithful as well. Anything else?”
“Don’t hide anything else from me. I was blindsided by Savage. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone off by myself to inspect the gallery.”
“I will not be able to tell you all of what is going on, but what I can share I will.”
“Am I gonna have to kiss a ring or something?”
He chuckled. “No, we’re not Italian.”
“Good point. What are you going to do about Savage?”
“When I find him, I’m going to kill him, and I hope you’re okay with that.”
Casually admitting he was going to commit murder should’ve given her pause.
However, the memory of Savage pressing the knife into her flesh, and the agony it had caused her, still resided in the forefront of her mind.
The bandage across her torso pulled the skin when she moved, and she didn’t need anyone to tell her that she would forever have a scar transversing her chest. Savage admitted how he earned his name.
How many women had he terrorized. Had he done that to children as well?
“The law doesn’t do anything to men like him, do they?”
“No. We’re playing on a level where many cops have been bought off.”
“Before I agree to anything, I’ve got to know. Do you traffic women and children? Because that’s my hard limit.”
“No,” he replied, staring her in the eye.
“The Lemaire family mostly deals with money laundering, and it’s a very lucrative trade.
Like I said earlier, my gallery is a front.
Art can be a cash only business where price is set by interpretation of the work, so large amounts of money flowing in and out of the gallery usually doesn’t raise any red flags. ”
“That’s actually pretty clever.”
“Thank you, I thought of it. Another thing I used to do as a kid was get lost in museums. My appreciation of art isn’t a lie and I do paint on occasion, so that art of mine I display is real. It was just a catalyst to clean dirty money for our Asian partners.”
“That’s all you do is launder?”
“That’s all you need to know. We are moving into more legit businesses like nightclubs, bars, property, industrial buildings. I actually own a plant in LA, manufacturing pipes for various occupations like plumbing and HVAC.”
“I’m strangely impressed,” she said, surprised. This helped put her mind at ease. Just went to show that she considered some things morally ambiguous. “I don’t care if you kill Savage. You might be a somewhat bad man, but he’s evil.”
“The entire Voclain family are evil.” He took a deep breath. “My boss’s wife was raped and killed by that scum. I treasured her because she became the mother I never had, and I helped her move past grief by becoming the child she had lost. For that, I will never forgive the Voclain.”
Her heart bled for the little boy who had found a home, only to lose his adopted mother in the most horrific way. She laid her other hand on top of their entwined ones.
“Then I will stand with you and cheer every time you kill a monster.”