25. Disappear
Chapter 25
Disappear
Christophe
We park at the edge of Alain’s estate and steal in, slitting throats and taking out everyone in our way.
Teague gives silent direction to my guys, and they spread out, clearing the rest of the rooms, ascending the stairs like the well-coordinated team I pay them to be. And I silently cover the distance to Alain’s study—my father’s study. Anything of value is always dealt with in the study.
Winnie is fucking valuable.
The only reason we were able to breach the perimeter and take out Alain’s security is because I fucking grew up here as much as in my own home. I know this estate better than anyone—the safety measures my father had installed before his untimely death. The escape routes and the kill switches—I know them all. My father was adamant that family—all family—be cherished and protected.
I approach the double doors, my Glock drawn and ready. I, on the other hand, am not prepared for the sight that greets me.
Rivulets of black mascara stain Winnie’s face, painting her like a tragic Gothic clown. There are times when a hint of fear in her eyes makes me hard as fuck, but right now I’m irate.
Alain has her perched on his lap; hands cuffed in front of her and terrified. He’s doing his level best to appear relaxed, leaning back in his chair, legs wide as if he needs room for a massive set of balls.
He doesn’t.
The fucker has Winnie spread open; her legs hooked over his. A slimy smirk pulls at his lips, baring his tobacco-stained teeth like a feral animal.
I want to kill him, rip him from this world and leave him as nothing but a stain of a memory.
“Good of you to visit us,” he says as if this isn’t going to end with his head separated from his body.
“Let her go.”
“Shame on you, Christophe. Never brought sweet Winifred here when you were les enfants .”
My eyes dart around the room, taking in his sentry to my left, pistol pointed straight at my head. I mark the position of Alain’s hand and the gun he has pressed hard under Winnie’s chin.
The other hand…
“So sweet. So soft and wet.” He groans as that other goddamn hand snakes between her thighs to cup her sex, his middle finger sliding along the seam of her bare pussy. “You should feel this—how wet she is. Fucking dying for my cock.” He spreads his fingers and asks, “Can you see her cunt weeping for me?”
Winnie’s chest heaves as a silent sob rips through her and my vision goes red.
I push back the mindless fury, banking it for later. Right now, I need to be calm. Calculating.
One step toward them, toward her , and Alain slides his finger back into place, rubbing, probing, assaulting her. And on the other hand?—that finger leaves the guard, instead caressing the trigger in a heavy warning.
“Careful, nephew. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to this sweet little treat before we get a chance to taste her.” Alain scoffs and shakes his head. “Oh, but you’ve already had a taste, haven’t you? Presumptuous little shit, just like your father was. He thought he was better than me, too. Thought he was untouchable. Unreachable.”
Teague steps over the threshold, joining me in this nightmare, and draws the aim of the sentry’s second gun.
Alain nods in Teague’s direction. “Mind your tiger before he pounces and does something rash. Someone could get killed with his kind of carelessness.”
It’s the smug smile on Alain’s face that has me recalculating the risk involved with just fucking shooting him.
The arrogant prick stole into my house, took my woman. He bound her hands and has his all over her. Touching her where only I’ve touched her.
He made her cry.
He fucking made her bleed.
He’s got to die.
“It’s simply delicious watching you squirm. Your thoughts are written across your face, plain as day. That’s not such a good trait to have in this business…or this family. It’s one of the things that got your father killed.” Alain shifts and settles his legs farther out to the sides, spreading Winnie open even more. Her soft brown eyes plead with me, begging for me to help her.
“My father was murdered by the Irish mob. Don’t embellish the story, your aggrandizement is too much, even for you, Alain.”
His body goes rigid at my familiar use of his name.
Anything to throw him off his game, praying the distraction will give me the opening I need.
The whites of his eye are visible all around his black irises as a red flush creeps across his face. Spittle flies as he roars, “You will show me fucking respect, boy. I’m the head of this organization. The head of this family. I sit behind this desk. I’m the one who holds the power now. Alexandre was a soft-hearted fool…making accords with the Italians and then the Irish. What the hell was that? What was he thinking, working with de salauds ? Made him look weak…made le milieu look weak.”
There’s a moment, a split second where I think I’ll have a chance to make a move, but it passes in the blink of an eye and he becomes even more enraged, digging the barrel of his gun harder into Winnie’s neck. I want to rip him to shreds with my bare hands. Wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until I feel the life seep out of him. Instead, I’m listening to him rant, looking for my opportunity.
“I am your oncle, Parrain—Ca?d— of this family and I demand you give me the respect I’m due. Years of negotiations, promises of allegiance”—he turns his head and spits his disgust to the thick Persian rug—“I brought this family back from the brink of ruin. It took my brilliance, my cunning and my huge set of couilles to fix what your father did. The Italians? The fucking Irish? Who aligns with the fucking Irish?”
He sits up straight, shoving his body forward, folding in over Winnie and making her flinch at the ever increasing intrusion.
He needs to die.
“A few well-placed comments that the Italians were getting preferential treatment, more favorable terms, the hint that they were being lured in so they could be taken care of, removed from the equation, and the Irish were more than happy to help clear my way to the top. We didn’t even have to get our hands dirty.”
Every time he mentions the Irish, Teague stiffens beside me. The distinction, the dismissal, hits with the force Alain intends and the air in the room shifts even darker.
“I thought I could keep you under my thumb, Christo, and I did for a very long time. Gave you the territories no one else wanted, the impossible accounts that no one could get to fall in line—the fucking L’Oursons for Christ’s sake. Instead, you took care of their daughter. Gave her money, made sure she had what she needed. You bought her little gifts, leaving them on her doorstep when she needed them—food, clothing—and now, what, you fall for her? I dumped them on you in order to watch you fail. Become further indebted to me.
“But you’ve very kindly shown me that’s no longer a viable option, there’s no place in this famille for you any more than there was for Alexandre. I rid this world of your father and I will happily dispose of you in similar fashion. All I ask is for one move, a flinch, something to assuage my complicity in your expungement.”
I’m shocked.
I’m stuck.
My father’s only brother—his only living relative—orchestrated his death. Manipulated organizations, tore down bridges being built in order for all the families in the area to work together.
He killed my father. Ripped him away and deprived me of growing up, maturing, under my father’s guidance, leaving me at the mercy of his murderer.
“And Maman ?” I ask. Even though I know, I need him to confirm that he had my mother slaughtered as well. My sweet innocent mother.
A derisive scoff is my only answer.
Rage electrifies everything within me, making my blood run thick like hot sludge through my veins. Bringing every move, every expression into laser sharp focus. I’m completely powerless yet coming unglued at the same time.
There is no way out of this.
If either Teague or I shoot, Alain’s reaction will take Winnie out with him.
I scan the room, looking for any, any hint that one of my men is just out of sight, perfectly positioned to end this.
But even then, without a diversion, any shot will result in disaster.
I can’t lose Winnie.
I can’t live without her. There’s nothing left for me to do but give in—to drop my weapon and pray to a god who hasn’t been there for me since the day my uncle had my parents killed that I can somehow find a way through this.
“It was simple, really. And it’ll be even simpler to do it again and get you out of the way for?—”
Two shots ring out in rapid succession, and I swear I almost shit my pants. The idea of losing Winnie when I’ve finally gotten her is too much for me to bear. But the series of events do not add up. The window has shattered inward, throwing shards of glass at the desk, spraying the occupants in shimmering, razor sharp slivers.
Red blooms in bright splashes against Winnie’s bare skin, little pinpricks of hell.
The lone sentry in the corner is leaking heavily as he slumps motionless against the wall.
And Alain… Staring at his still form has me wishing it had been me who took him out.
Chaos rises from momentary silence.
Utter stillness morphs into pandemonium.
Teague dives through the window, dropping from the balcony as he goes after the shooter, allowing me to focus on Winnie.
Her cheeks shine with trails of tears as she trembles uncontrollably, my uncle’s blood splattered across her otherwise flawless skin like a Jackson Pollock.
I holster my weapon and reach down to pull her into my arms. I crush her naked form to me, and relief floods my body as I press her close.
She shivers, her whole being juddering.
I turn to grab a throw blanket from the sofa by the bookshelves to cover her but am pulled up short.
Winnie gasps, a scream of terror bursting from her as her eyes go wide and she’s ripped away from my hold.
Alain wraps his bloody hand around Winnie’s waist and the air wheezes from him, his lips skewed in a lurid grin as he sneers up at me from his perch. “This belongs to me,” he rasps, struggling to get to his feet. He uses Winnie to pull himself upright.
Bastard.
The fucking bastard using her to help himself in anyway is offensive.
Metal glints as they shift, Alain standing unsteadily. The blade of his knife—the one he stole from my father—depresses the creamy unmarked skin at Winnie’s ribs.
That knife is sharp. At least it used to be.
My father kept the blade honed and oiled, gleaming and deadly. The scar on my left palm from childhood curiosity serves as proof.
But maybe Alain let that go to shit like he has everything else. Everything he’s stolen from me. Everything that is rightfully mine.
Just like Winnie.
“Enough, old man. Time for you to let go.” I keep my tone calm but make sure there is absolutely no room for misinterpretation.
Alain presses the knife harder against Winnie. A flick of his wrist and a well-placed jab would have her covered once again in crimson. This time blood instead of silk.
The only way I’ll allow that to happen is over my dead body.
My uncle chuckles low and sinister. “ Non . This one is mine. Hands up and step back,” he orders, face red and breathing labored.
He was hit, I know he was. The force of the blow knocked him out of his fucking chair, had him sprawled on the floor, motionless.
I raise my hands, palms out, and take a step away, laterally as opposed to actually retreating from them. And when Alain shifts, I see it. A scarlet pool slowly expanding, staining the pearlescent white of his dress shirt to rival the black stain on his soul.
“You will let us pass; don’t move a muscle. The girl and I are walking out of here and you’re going to let it happen, comprends ?” He pushes Winnie toward the door, struggling when he has to step over the body of one of his men.
How he thinks he’s going anywhere with her is beyond me. He’s barely ambulatory.
The restraint it takes not to pounce is immeasurable, but he has the edge of a blade pressed to my girl. A rivulet of blood trails from where the tip digs into her skin as he drags her over the prone body of his man.
Her face is a mask of fear.
I meet her gaze, pupils blown wide, and dip my chin hoping she picks up that I’ve got her. I let her go once, I’m not letting that happen again. No fucking way.
Reality crashes over Alain when they reach the top of the stairs. There’s no feasible way he can maintain his tenuous grasp on control of the situation, and that blink of realization is all I need.
I wrap a hand around Winnie’s upper arm and push her away, wedging myself between her and my uncle and launching him down the staircase.