Chapter Fifteen
That evening, they left Max’s apartment to eat at the restaurant La Paysage.
Since it wasn’t too far away, they chose to stroll.
Holding hands as they walked along the Seine River.
The water reflected the moon and stars upon its shallow ripples.
It was a beautiful night, with romance heavy in the warm air.
Quinn was struck with a sense of surrealism.
An almost dreamlike haze that wrapped around them in a magical moment, the two of them all alone in their own private world.
When they arrived, Max talked to the host who led them toward the back into a private room. Quinn ordered lobster. Max ordered a steak. They talked, drank wine, and she was more than a little mellow as they finished and started their journey back home.
“I have a joke for you,” she said.
He took hold of her hand, threading it through the crook of his arm. “All right. Let me hear it.”
“What is one hundred fifty minus one?” She didn’t let him respond. “Fifty! Get it?”
He rolled his eyes but smiled. “Clever.”
Her foot hit an uneven shift in the pavement and she tripped, almost falling as she grabbed hold of Max. At the same moment, the bark of the tree behind them suddenly exploded.
“Get down!” he told her, shoving her and falling on top in a protective cocoon.
The two guards that had maintained their distance ran up to them, guns out as they monitored the perimeter.
Since it was nighttime, there were very few people in the park and they simply ran away.
Quinn peeked through Max’s arms. In the darkness, it was hard to tell where the shooter was located.
She couldn’t see a thing. The whoosh of a silencer went off and one guard fell with a bullet in his forehead.
The other guard swung around to face the trajectory, only to have the back of his head explode as another bullet ripped through him.
“Fuck,” Max swore. “We have to run.”
He rose and grabbed her hand to help her to her feet, and then they were running, too.
She knew he was carrying, but without a pinpoint location, they were sitting ducks.
They ran behind some monument in the park they were walking through just as another shot was fired, flaking off a piece of the stone.
“Is this Voclain?” she asked, breathing heavy, her heart racing.
“No doubt about it,” he muttered. He pulled out his phone and a moment later was speaking French to someone on the other end. When the call ended, he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Help is on the way.”
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!”
She knew that voice all too well. “It’s him,” she whispered. Anxiety tore through her.
“Yeah.” He peeked around the corner of the statue. “I don’t see him.”
“Maybe he left.”
Max shook his head. “No. Not this time. He’s followed me back to Paris. Stay here, I have to flush them out.”
Quinn grabbed his arm. “Are you kidding me? The police will be here soon—”
“They aren’t going to do a damn thing,” he said. “They’ve already been notified what’s going on and were told to stand down.”
“What? Why?”
“Because this is a family matter.”
And I’m part of the family. She grabbed his collar and brought him closer. “Promise me you aren’t going to die.”
“I can’t make a guara—”
“Promise me!”
He slid his hand around the nape of her neck and leaned his forehead against hers. “I promise.”
She relaxed a fraction. “Good, because if you die on me, I will never forgive you.”
“I will always come back to you,” he told her.
She leaned forward and kissed him. For a moment, he returned the kiss with fervor. Then he was gone to hunt their enemy.
****
Max darted from tree to tree, trying to find Savage.
This would be the battle that annihilated the other, and he was determined it wasn’t going to be him.
This would be for Lilyane, the woman who took him in and raised him like one of her own.
This would be for Quinn, for the mark she’d wear for the rest of her life.
The world would be a much better place without Savage in it.
Lights from the riverwalk illuminated the park, but shadows still lurked.
He hid in the murky ink, gun ready and his senses on full alert.
A noise came from the right and he waited, his instincts telling him that was a fake distraction.
Then another noise came from his left. Still, he waited.
Crouching down, he aimed at a tree further down, pointing the barrel up and shot at it.
Immediately, the bark where he should’ve been exploded.
Max rolled and brought his gun up, spotting Savage in his gun site.
The asshole also took aim at him, but Max knew he was faster.
He dove to the side, at the same time firing his own weapon.
Savage’s shot missed.
Max’s did not.
The bastard wobbled on his feet and then fell back, hitting the dirt hard with a loud thud. Max slowly rose, still ready to defend himself if needed, but when he stood over Savage, he knew the man was dead.
“Rot in Hell,” he muttered.
He turned to find Quinn, but she was already there, throwing herself into his arms. He wrapped them around her and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Her scent calmed him.
“Is it over?” she asked, a slight quiver in her voice.
He pulled back to look at her. “He’s dead.”
“Good,” she whispered.
That one word settled into his soul and made his heart soar. “I love you.”
She blinked and her mouth dropped open. “I love you, too. I thought you didn’t believe in love.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in love.”
She smiled. “Is it morbid of us to be confessing our love for each other, when there’s a dead man over there?”
“Eh,” he said with a shrug.
At that moment, about a dozen men swarmed, all dressed in black. They came over to Max, and he directed how to clean up the scene, all while holding her hand. No matter what he was doing, he would keep her at his side. Love her. Cherish her. Protect her.