Chapter 27
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SEVEN
IVY
PRESENT
I glare at him as if he grew sixteen heads and a new personality. Because he basically did. Okay, wait, that’s not fair, he didn’t but still… I prefer the sound of it.
“You’ve got that look again…” he teases, head tilting to the side.
He’s tripping if he thinks stating the obvious will change it. Instead, I stare back at him as if he said nothing at all.
“What look?” I ask, my tone a little too sweet for the pain burning at my side.
His eyes narrow. “The look where you wanna kill me or fuck me.”
Accurate.
I push from the edge of the bath, slowly making my way into the bedroom. He wrapped me up too tight to be able to move at any angle, much less ones that are going to make me sleep well tonight, but I shove the sheets back anyway, ignoring him.
“I don’t know what it is you’re talking about.”
Slipping into the cold sheets, I shuffle further under as the lights flick off and his footsteps pad over the carpet. A light breeze puffs beneath the sheet as he slips in, and not a second later, his arm is over me, pulling me deep.
He kisses the back of my head. “I’m sorry.” It’s a whisper, so low that even if Emeric was checked into this house right now, he’d miss it.
Asher’s arms squeeze around me.
“Fuck,” he growls, dragging his lips over my shoulder. “I’m fucking sorry, baby.”
My throat swells around words I want to say but can’t, so I slide further beneath his arm, feeling my heart level out the longer I’m with him.
“I didn’t— “
I shake my head, stopping his words, because no. Because what he wants to say right now won’t change the situation we’re in.
Because we’re still playing fucking house.
With his heart beating against my back, I feel myself slowly relax, tracing circles on his forearm and finding ridges of old scars I’ve never asked about. There’s too many. Too many stories written into his skin that I’ll never know.
“I can hear you thinking,” he murmurs against my hair.
“I’m not,” I lie, because the small ones don’t count.
“You are.” His hand flattens against my belly, pulling me closer. “It’s loud.”
I don’t answer, just listen to the clock on the wall tick forward.
His thumb moves against my ribs in a slow stroke.
“Stop,” I sob with a hiccup.
“Stop what?” he asks roughly.
“Being gentle,” I tell him, the words scraping out.
His hand stills. The silence stretches until I can’t stand it, and I turn in his arms to face him. Wish I hadn’t. Moonlight from the back window catches his eyes, making them brighter than they have any right to be.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I breathe, my chest tightening.
His lip twitches. “Everything.”
“That’s not an answer.” My fingers dig into his chest.
He shifts a little. “It’s the only one I have.”
I study his face, the defined curve of his jaw, the effortless way his hair is always styled. Beautiful yet brutal. Mine and not mine.
“Ask me again,” he says quietly.
“Ask you what?” Every second it gets harder to breathe.
Silence.
“Anything,” he answers, mouth moving over my lips. “Anything.”
I hesitate. It’s a question I want to ask, but at the same time terrified to ask it.
“Are you hiding anything else from me?”
It’s the only way I’d know if I can move forward with him.
“Because Emeric is going to know now. He’s going to see us right now, in this bed, stuck together. Do you have a plan?”
He holds my eyes for a moment, then leans forward and catches my bottom lip with his teeth. “The plan right now is sleep.”
His mouth brushes my forehead, and nineteen years of weight finally shifts off my shoulders. I want to say something, want to hold onto this moment a little longer, but my body has already decided for me.
I loved Désamour at this hour. It’s all empty streets and silence, with the exception of fruit workers who were just starting their day. Our final weekend was here, come Monday, and we’d be back in the States starting new lives. Or one thousand of the same... hard to tell which anymore.
Shuttered storefronts stay closed as I walk through the township, and for the first time ever, it feels like home. Cobblestone pathways, buildings that have weathered decades through time. I didn’t know anything about Désamour, yet it kept me safe for years.
My feet stop when I see the old chapel that sits on the corner of the main street. Spires jut skyward, and a cross hangs from the front. The structure is so old it might’ve stood here when Christ himself walked.
Should I…
I glance over my shoulder to see how far Jord is. He could take minutes, or hours. Before I can second-guess myself, I jog across the road and climb the steps.
The heavy doors groan open, and a cold breeze whisks through my body. Let me guess... even God himself doesn’t want me in his home.
Can’t say I blame him.
The doors click shut behind me, and I wince, hoping I didn’t disturb anyone... or anything.
Voices sound through the chapel from somewhere past the first row of pews.
I freeze. I don’t know if I should stay here like a child being caught doing something they shouldn’t or leave and pretend I was never here.
Someone clears their throat, and I slowly make my way to a spot that’s hidden enough to not make me look like I’m lurking.
“There’s been talk that he has begun moving through The Houses. No one knows who he is, so they don’t know who to look out for.”
A chair leg scrapes, then paper rustles.
The old priest answers, his voice softer than the other. “Well, if that is true, many should be very afraid. He is no threat to us. He’s hunting leaders. Powerful ones. Organizations that thought themselves untouchable.”
“It’s only a matter of time before he comes to Désamour,” the other man interrupts. “They say he has eyes that would chill the Devil.”
I’m starting to feel a little shady sitting here like this.
The priest lets out a breath through his nose. “I’m sure he would love that.”
Silence.
“What I mean is that we should start warning people.”
Maybe I should pray. That’s one thing I’ve never tried, along with anything from Karma Sutra, though I’m not sure Leon would be up for it.
Footsteps scrape closer, and by the time I look up, it’s too late. The priest is already moving down the aisle in a flow of his black robe.
He stops at my pew as if he’d expected me all along, and for one second, I think he might know me, really know me.
Instead, he offers me a folded sheet of paper. “For your safety.”
I take it with a gentle smile, flipping it open to see the faceless outline of a shadow and the words
LE BOUCHER SANS LOI.
Below it, a warning in blunt print.
Report any suspicious activity and avoid leaving your home after dark.
I glance up at the priest.
They just said he targets people in power, the ones who hide behind their money and think they can commit crimes and get away with it.
I tuck it into my pocket.
If fear is what they’re handing out, I’m not in the mood to collect.
Twenty minutes later, I’m shrugging out of my coat and digging the note from the pocket.
“Nonna,” I call as I head into the dining room, unfolding the paper between my fingers.
I stop when I see she isn’t alone.
Emeric sits beside her, burn scars pulling his skin tight, the flesh around one eye folded in on itself.
“Didn’t realize you were coming by.” I glance between him and Nonna.
His eyes drop to the paper in my hand, and he lifts a hand for it. “What’s that?”
“Oh.” I hand it over with a shrug and pull out a chair. “I went into the chapel and the priest gave it to me. Looks like there’s a killer out there.”
Nonna’s eyes cut to Emeric, his slide back to her. Everyone files in behind me, and Emeric gives each of them a moment of his attention.
“I feared this was coming, which is why I hoped you’d all be gone before it did.”
What? What does he mean? I go to ask him just that when Leon’s hand lands on my shoulder and I relax into his touch. Our bodies know each other better than either of us would ever admit.
Leon leans in, his fingers squeezing. “What is it?”
Emeric pushes the page across the table. “This.”
I look down at the outline again, as if it’s going to show anything different. Kind of lazy to draw a damn outline and then tell people to fear him. We don’t even know who we’re looking out for.
“I am Le Boucher Sans Loi.” Emeric lays his hand flat on the table. “My persona has been discovered, so I will be going under for the foreseeable future.”
“You?” My shoulders go still. “But...”
He gives a small shake of his head, and Leon’s grip tightens.
“No questions.” Emeric’s voice booms “This should come as no surprise to any of you. You know who I am, how I trained you, and what I’m capable of. You know what happens if I am exposed. Stay vigilant.”
How? I mean, I know he’s dangerous, but—my world drops out from beneath me because of fucking course it’s him. You don’t save broken kids from the dark without being brave enough to enter it. How is this any different…
My eyes snap open and for a second I’m still in the chapel, walking through the door to my home with Emeric’s hand flat on the table as he gestures for the poster.
Sweat slicks my neck and chest, pooling in the dip of my collarbone.
My heart slams against my ribs, making the wound at my side scream at me to move or fight. The damp sheets tangle around my legs, trapping me in the heat of the nightmare, and suddenly I can’t breathe.
In. Out.
Asher’s arm lies heavy across my waist, solid and warm, his fingers curled loosely against my skin while he sleeps. I press my palm over his knuckles and hold it there, counting the seconds between each thud until the gap stretches wide enough for air.
That was the first time we all truly knew to fear Emeric, and being able to fly under the radar for so long further gained our respect.
Every time I blink, that outline sears itself into my brain all over again, fresh as the moment I saw it. The angle of his jaw looked almost exactly how I’d always pictured Emeric’s before the burns.