Chapter 19 #3
But she did. Her whole family was splintered, and she was alone in this fucking room with no idea how long they would hold her or how she was going to get out. And she really needed to pee.
He would have been fine, if he hadn’t dreamed about her.
He never dreamed about women—he didn’t care enough.
He should probably be taking Luc’s goddamn pills—they would make the dreams go away, wipe out the vague sense that something was wrong.
He didn’t need to question things; he knew who and what he was. Didn’t he?
He woke with the scent of her, the feel of her, in his bed. Was that imagination or a hallucination? She was gone, back to her safe life in America, probably to her husband who looked like him. She would have what she’d been looking for. What had he been looking for?
It was in the drowsy minutes between sleep and waking when it was bad. He’d automatically reach for her, and she’d be gone. He’d wake up, furious at himself and her. How could one woman leave such a mark on him? He only knew that when he reached for her, it felt like home.
She was there now—soft and sweetly feminine, and he wanted her, needed her, needed to know she was safe, needed to know she was his. What the fuck was wrong with him? Did he really need those blue pills after all? It didn’t matter—he reached out, half-asleep, and started to pull her into his arms.
It was the smell of whiskey that woke him up, the excited little mewing noises, and his eyes shot open. It wasn’t Chloe—of course it wasn’t. She was long gone. It was a drunken Maddelena in his bed, her hands all over him, and he shoved her, hard.
She rolled out of bed and landed on her butt with a cry of pure frustration. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded in Spanish. “Don’t you want a woman who loves you? What did that little bitch do, cut off your dick?”
He wasn’t in the mood to deal with her. “Go away, Maddelena. I’ve told you, I don’t want you.”
“You want your little plaything!” she shot back. “Well, she’s dead, so you might as well get over it.”
He froze, and then he was out of bed so fast that Maddelena couldn’t move in time. He grabbed her, yanking her to her feet, and shook her.
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “She’s back in America—Luc saw to it.”
“Luc killed her!” she screamed at him. “You don’t think my father would let her get away, after all she’s seen? He left her body in Como!”
“You’re lying!” He shook her again, then let go of her, and she went sprawling on the tiled floor.
He yanked on his clothes, heading for the door.
She couldn’t be dead—he would know. He didn’t know how, but he would have felt it.
And he was being a sentimental fool. What was one woman, more or less?
He’d never cared that much for anyone, and there was no reason he should feel that way for Chloe.
But reasonable or not, he was numb with fury. He slammed the door open and stalked down the long hallways to Luc’s room.
Luc woke with the barrel of a gun pressed against his temple. His eyes shot open, and he looked up at Jean-Marc standing there, murder in his eyes. “Did you kill her?” Jean-Marc demanded.
Luc froze. The wrong move and he’d be very dead. Jean-Marc was looking insane with rage, and Luc knew his life hung in the balance.
He didn’t make the mistake of lying, though Le Faucon would chew his ass for it. “She’s not dead,” he said quietly.
Jean-Marc didn’t move the gun from his head. “Where is she?”
“It’s not my fault,” Luc said. “Le Faucon wanted me to get rid of her, but I was afraid you’d find out and go ballistic.
It was easy enough to talk him into imprisoning her instead, though now I wonder if I should have.
You’re way too caught up in that woman, and it’s dangerous. We don’t really know who she is.”
He pressed the gun harder against his head. “Where is she?” he demanded again.
“She’s here. She’s locked in the basement. Le Faucon wanted her dead, but I argued for her. It’s because of me that she’s still alive.” If he thought that would inspire Jean-Marc to move the gun, he was mistaken.
“Get up.”
Luc moved very carefully, sliding out of the bed. He was wearing his boxers and nothing else. “Let me get dressed and I’ll take you to her,” he said.
“Fuck that. You’ll take me to her now.” He grabbed his arm and shoved him.
“Don’t tell him.” Maddelena had arrived by now, swaying slightly. “He doesn’t really care about her—he’d just doing this to hurt me.”
Jean-Marc looked at her in disgust. “Go back to whatever bed you can find, Maddelena. This doesn’t concern you.”
“She’s stolen my husband!” she complained blearily.
“I was never yours to begin with.” He pushed her out of the doorway, then gestured with his gun to Luc. “Now.” His voice was soft, low and deadly, and Luc didn’t hesitate, heading out the door. Jean-Marc followed close, and Maddelena was left behind, weeping drunkenly.
“Better not bring her back,” she called after them. “My father won’t like it.”
“Fuck your father, and fuck you,” he said, and they were gone.