Chapter 10
LUC
LaCroix Petroleum's executive floor is empty this late. Julien's phone pinged here—Simone's office specifically. The signal's still active, which means either he's waiting or he wants to be found.
I'm betting on the second option.
I move down the corridor, weapon drawn, clearing corners. Executive suite doors, conference rooms, all dark. Simone's office is at the end. Door slightly ajar. Light spilling through.
This is where he wants me to go. Where he's set the trap.
I key my comm. "Remy, I'm at Simone's office. Signal active. Moving in."
Static.
Signal's jammed. He brought the gear to do it.
Smart play: pull back, wait for numbers. But if this goes sideways, if he's planning something for the upcoming board meeting—
Fuck that.
I approach from an angle, weapon tracking. Push the door open wider with my boot. Office comes into view—desk, windows overlooking the city, chairs arranged for meetings.
Julien steps out from behind the desk. Two armed men flank him.
I don't hesitate. Acquire target. Fire. The first man drops.
Pivot to the second—
Something hits my chest. Not a bullet. Barbed dart. Wires trailing back to Julien's hand.
Taser.
My nervous system detonates. Every muscle locks. The gun falls from my hand. My legs give out and I'm going down, nothing I can do to stop it.
I hit the floor hard. Shoulder. Hip. Head bouncing off expensive carpet that does nothing to cushion the impact. White flash behind my eyes.
Can't move. Can't breathe. Just feel my body refuse every command.
Julien's face appears above me. Too close. Pupils blown wide. Manic energy vibrating off him.
"Finally." His voice cracks. "Finally you feel it. What it's like when control is just a fucking lie you tell yourself."
I try to speak. My jaw won't respond. The taser aftershocks are still firing through every nerve.
He's dragging me through back corridors. My shoulders scrape against the concrete. Can't resist. Can't push back. Every muscle is useless.
He drops me. My skull cracks against the floor. The pain lances through, bright and brutal, but my body won't answer it.
"You think you're protecting her." Julien's pulling zip ties from his pocket. "You think putting her in your house, giving her commands, makes you any different than me. But you don't see it. She's still performing. Still choosing when to submit, when to pull back, when to stop the scene."
He secures my wrists. Plastic bites into my skin. I try to pull against it—test it, find weakness—but my hands are still numb, fingers refusing commands.
Ankles next. He's methodical. Efficient. Like he's done this before.
"I've watched her for months. Every scene.
Every negotiation where she topped from the bottom and convinced everyone it was real surrender.
" He's talking faster now, words tumbling.
"She doesn't know what it feels like when someone won't stop just because she wants them to.
When someone finally makes her feel what she's been chasing all along. "
He pulls out a syringe. Pre-loaded. Clear liquid that catches the fluorescent light.
Cold dread floods through me. Not the taser. Not the restraints. Something worse.
I try to turn my head. Try to pull away. But my neck refuses.
"This keeps you compliant. Conscious but paralyzed. I need you aware for what comes next. Need you to see what happens when someone finally refuses to play along with her performance."
The needle stabs into my neck. I feel the puncture, the burn spreading from the injection site.
Then it hits.
Not gradual. Not slow. It slams through my system like a freight train.
Heat races from my neck, down my spine, into my limbs. My muscles go liquid. Heavy. Every connection between brain and body severing one synapse at a time.
I try to fight it. Try to lock down, maintain control. But there's nothing to control. My body isn't mine anymore.
Julien's face blurs. Everything slides sideways. I'm aware of movement—being lifted, carried—but it's distant. Happening to someone else.
"Perfect dose." His voice warps, stretches. "You'll feel everything. Hear everything. Just can't do anything about it."
The world narrows. Sensations without context.
A vehicle engine. A vibration through my skull where it's pressed against something hard.
I'm being dragged again. My heels scraping over gravel, then onto concrete.
Julien's voice, still talking. I can't hold onto the words long enough to process them.
"...show her...finally understand...when you're helpless she'll see..."
My thoughts scatter. The drug pulls at consciousness, dragging me under in waves.
Then—a different voice. Unfamiliar. Julien responding.
"...paid in full...don't need you anymore...get out..."
Footsteps. A door closing. Engine starting. Tires on gravel, fading.
Silence. Just Julien's breathing. And mine.
How long? Can't tell. Time slides. The drug pulls harder.
Then—crack.
Gunshot. Close. The sound cuts through the chemical haze.
Julien's voice stops.
Silence.
Footsteps. Multiple. Heavy boots. Movement I recognize even through the fog.
"Clear." Different voice. A military cadence.
Hands are on me. Checking my pulse. Cutting the zip ties.
Radio chatter. I can't process the words. Just noise.
"Target down. Hostage secure. Requesting medical evac."
The drug drags harder, pulling me down where I can't fight it anymore.
I'm falling.
Then nothing.
I wake to fluorescent lights and the sting of antiseptic. Hospital. My head pounds like someone used it for target practice, and my mouth tastes like chemicals and blood. The IV in my arm pulls when I try to move.
Simone's asleep in the chair beside my bed. She's wearing the jeans that look like they’re from last night, dark stains visible on the denim. My blood, probably. Her hair's come loose from whatever style she had it in, and exhaustion shows in the lines around her eyes even in sleep.
The monitors beside my bed show steady vitals. Heart rate elevated but stable. Blood pressure within normal range. Whatever Julien injected me with hasn't killed me yet.
I pull the IV out with practiced efficiency. The machine starts beeping. Simone jerks awake, eyes going wide when she sees me sitting up.
"Luc." She's on her feet, hands hovering like she wants to touch me but isn't sure she should. "You're awake. The doctor said you need to rest, that the drug in your system—"
"How long was I out?"
"Not long. They said the substance Julien used was some kind of sedative mixed with—"
"Where's Remy?" I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The room tilts slightly, but I lock my muscles and wait for equilibrium to return.
"At the operations center. Luc, you shouldn't be moving. The doctor—"
"The doctor can bill me for leaving AMA." I stand, test my balance. Steady enough. "I need my phone. My clothes. Where are they?"
She points to the small closet. "But you were unconscious. You have head trauma. They want to keep you for observation—"
"I don't have time for observation." I pull open the closet, find my jeans and shirt. Both are stained with blood and dirt from whatever happened at that property. "Julien?"
Something shifts in her expression. "Remy called me while you were unconscious. Told me what the team found during the extraction." She wraps her arms around herself. "Julien's dead. They found him dead at the property. Shot. Execution-style."
I go still. Julien dead changes everything. This isn't a stalker who got caught. This is someone cleaning up loose ends.
"When?"
"The tactical team found his body during the breach. The coroner estimates he died shortly after they took you." She wraps her arms around herself. "Luc, I'm so sorry. If I hadn't—"
"Stop." I pull on my shirt, ignore the way dried blood makes the fabric stick to my skin. "Julien's dead because someone executed him. Not your fault."
"But—"
"No." I move closer, tilt her chin up. Force her to look at me. "Julien made his choices. Stalked you. Someone used that obsession as a weapon. When he became a liability, they eliminated him. That's on them. You don't get to carry their shit."
Her eyes are red-rimmed. Exhausted. She's been crying, blaming herself for everything.
The urge to pull her against me hits hard. But not here. Not now. Not when someone just executed my primary suspect and we still don't know who's running this.
"I need to get to the crime scene," I tell her. "Remy's coordinating with NOPD?"
"Yes. Detective Broussard is lead on the investigation." She pulls out her phone, shows me a text from Remy. "He said to call when you woke up."
I dial. Remy answers on the second ring.
"You're awake."
"I'm leaving the hospital. What's the status?"
"Crime scene's active. NOPD's processing the property. Andy's coordinating evidence collection." His tone shifts. "Luc, Julien was executed. Professional hit. Single shot to the back of the head. No signs of struggle, no defensive wounds. Whoever did this wanted him dead fast and clean."
"Timeline?"
"Coroner estimates time of death within an hour of when they grabbed you. Which means the shooter was either already at the property or arrived shortly after."
I process that. Julien drugs me, restrains me, then gets executed by someone who knew exactly where to find him. Not random. Not panic. Calculated.
"I'm heading to the property now," I say. "Andy still running the shell corp trace?"
"Yeah. Cyber team's been on it all night. We should have confirmation soon. The company is registered as a Delaware LLC. Delaware’s laws regarding registration are far more favorable than Louisiana’s. And they are a pain in the ass to pierce through, but they're close."
"Good. I want to see the scene before they move the body."
"Andy's holding it for you. Coroner owes him one." Remy pauses.
"How did you find me? Julien jammed my comm."