Chapter 9 #2
The Central Business District appears through the windshield. High-rises and business towers, my building among them. LaCroix Petroleum in tasteful letters across the entrance. Home territory that suddenly feels hostile.
Remy pulls into the executive parking garage. Two vehicles are already there—Andy's team, positioned near the elevator bank. Andy exits when he sees us, moves to Remy's window. His face is grim.
"Still no contact from Luc," Andy says without preamble. "But I need you to see something."
He pulls up his tablet, shows us security footage. Timestamped from minutes earlier. My office. Luc entering, his weapon drawn, moving like the operative he is.
Julien steps out from behind my desk. Two armed men flank him.
Luc doesn't hesitate. He fires, drops the first man. Pivots to the second. But Julien's already moving, something in his hand. When it hits Luc's chest, he goes down. Hard. The weapon falls from his hand.
Julien moves closer. Luc's still conscious, trying to move, but whatever hit him has done its job. Julien crouches beside him, blocking the camera's view.
Luc's struggles weaken. Stop.
Julien and the remaining operative drag Luc's body out of the office.
"Timestamp shows they left through the service corridor," Andy says, voice tight. "Building schematics show it leads to the loading dock. They had minutes ahead of us before I got here."
Long enough to be anywhere in the city.
"Your office shows signs of struggle," Andy continues. "No ID on the body. Broken glass. Overturned furniture. Blood on the desk—not much, but enough to confirm physical confrontation."
Blood. Luc's blood.
My email notification chimes. New message. Unknown sender.
I pull out my phone. The email loads with an attached photo—Luc unconscious, restrained, visible bruising on his face. The text overlay is simple.
Now you understand. He can't protect you. But I'll come for you anyway. You've always been mine, Simone.
Julien took Luc to prove a point. To show me that protection means nothing when he decides to act.
"We need to find him." I can barely force the words out. "Now."
"We're working on it." Andy takes my phone, forwards the email to his system. "Photo metadata might give us location data. And we're pulling everything we can on Julien—financials, property records, known associates."
Remy's already coordinating with his team. "APB out on any vehicles registered to Julien LaSalle or his known associates. NOPD expanding search radius from the loading dock. Margot's pulling Dominion's records for any properties Julien mentioned during membership vetting."
"What can I do?" My voice is steadier than I feel.
"Think," Andy says. "Anything Julien said. Any places he mentioned. Any detail that might tell us where he'd take someone."
Julien and I scened together months ago. Brief relationship that ended when his behavior crossed from intense to disturbing. He talked about control. About privacy. About wanting extended scenes without club protocols limiting him.
"He complained about Dominion's time restrictions," I say slowly. "Said real power exchange needed more time. More privacy. That club sessions were too performative, too rushed."
"Meaning he'd want a private location," Remy says. "Somewhere he controls completely."
Andy's already pulling up databases. "Running property searches. Julien LaSalle, registered properties in Louisiana."
The results load. An address in the French Quarter—his primary residence. A condo on the Westbank—rental property. And a third entry. Rural address. St. Tammany Parish.
"Significant acreage," Andy reads. "Purchased eighteen months ago. Registered under an LLC, but Julien's listed as primary on the deed."
Remy leans closer. "Satellite imagery?"
Andy pulls it up. The property shows a main house set back from the road, surrounded by wooded land. Private. Isolated. No neighboring structures visible.
"That's where he'd take him."
"How do you know?" Remy asks.
"Because it's what he wanted. Privacy. Control. Time. Everything he complained the club didn't give him." I point at the screen. "And if he's trying to prove Luc can't protect me, he needs somewhere he can work without interruption."
Andy's already coordinating. "Mobilizing tactical. NOPD SWAT and Medical standing by. ETA to property nearly an hour."
"Too long," I say. "If he injected Luc with something—"
"I know." Andy's jaw is tight. "But we can't go in blind. We need approach coordination, thermal imaging, tactical positioning. Rushing in gets people killed."
He's right. But nearly an hour feels like an eternity when I don't know if Luc's alive or dying.
Remy moves to the SUV. "Simone. You should stay here with part of Andy's team. Secured location until—"
"Not happening."
He looks at Andy, who shrugs. "She's not budging. I'll keep her secured in the vehicle."
"Fuck." Remy runs a hand through his hair. "Fine. But you stay in the vehicle until we clear the property. No exceptions."
"Understood."
The convoy assembles quickly. Multiple vehicles—Remy's team, Andy's operatives, NOPD tactical support, emergency medical. I climb into Andy's SUV, and we pull out, heading north.
I-10 across Lake Pontchartrain. The causeway stretches endlessly ahead, lights reflecting off dark water. North into St. Tammany Parish. Forty minutes that stretch like hours.
No emails. No updates. Just the crushing weight of knowing Luc walked into a trap meant for him. Because of me.
The convoy slows as we approach the target area. Rural road, trees pressing close. Remy's voice comes through the comm system.
"Convoy halt. Down the road from target property. Switching to tactical approach."
The vehicles stop. The tactical team exits, gearing up with night vision, communications equipment, weapons. The team is efficient, controlled.
Remy appears at our window. "Thermal imaging shows multiple heat signatures in the main structure. Two moving. One still."
Luc. One of those signatures has to be Luc.
"Standard tactical entry. Secure the targets, extract the asset, medical on standby." Remy's gaze locks on mine. "You stay here. Andy keeps you secured. When we have Luc, medical moves in. Clear?"
"Clear."
He disappears into the darkness. The tactical team moves through the trees with practiced precision. Night vision makes them visible for moments before they fade into shadows.
Andy monitors multiple comm channels. Fragments come through—team positions, approach vectors, countdown to breach.
"Breach in three... two... one... go."
Silence stretches. Nothing comes through.
Finally: "Targets secured. Primary asset located. Medical needed immediately."
Andy's already moving, starting the engine. The SUV lurches forward, closing the distance to the house. Emergency medical vehicles follow, lights still off.
We pull up as the tactical team carries Luc out on a stretcher. He's unconscious. Blood on his face. Wrists showing marks from restraints. But breathing.
The medical team swarms him immediately. They load him into the ambulance, start an IV, check vitals.
I'm out of the SUV before Andy can stop me. I run toward the ambulance where Luc lies too still.
"Simone—" Remy tries to intercept me.
I push past him. Drop to my knees beside the stretcher. Luc's face is battered. Bruised. Cut. His chest rises and falls.
"What did they give him?" I ask the paramedic working the IV.
"Unknown substance. Treating for potential overdose and head trauma. We need to get him to the hospital. Now."
"I'm coming with him."
"Ma'am—"
"I'm coming with him." I don't wait for permission. Just climb into the ambulance as they load the stretcher.
Remy appears at the door. Looks at me. Nods once. "I'll follow with Andy. Go."
The ambulance doors close. Sirens wail. We're moving fast through dark streets toward the nearest hospital.
I take Luc's hand. It's limp. Unresponsive. But warm.
"Don't you dare die on me," I whisper. "Not after everything. Not now."
His fingers twitch. Just slightly. Like he heard me.
The paramedic continues working. Monitoring vitals. Adjusting the IV. Calling ahead to the hospital with patient information and estimated arrival time.
I don't let go of Luc's hand. Even when the ambulance swerves. Even when we hit rough pavement. I hold on.
We reach the emergency entrance. A medical team is waiting.
They wheel Luc inside. I follow until a nurse stops me at the trauma bay doors.
"Family only beyond this point."
The lie forms automatically. "I'm his fiancée."
The nurse studies me for a moment. Sees something in my face that makes her nod. "Waiting room is down the hall. Doctor will update you when we know more."
The doors swing shut, and I'm left with fluorescent lights, Luc's blood still warm on my jeans, and the one thing I've never been good at—waiting.