Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Fabien
“You got any leads?” I ask Thayer. I’m pacing my office, my mind racing. Who would threaten us and why?
“No.”
I curse under my breath.
I need Nicolette, and I need her now.
“Tell me if you hear anything.”
“Of course.”
We disconnect the call.
I have no intention of following anyone’s orders to me, but I will find who’s behind this. I will rescue my brother. And I will kill those who threatened us.
Nicolette.
I will pay her amply for her… services… I will buy her.
Buxom and beautiful, and damn near almost raped under my very own roof.
If I hadn’t already killed the son of a bitch that tried to assault her, I’d do it now. I doubt I made him suffer enough. He cried and begged for mercy before I ended him, but I should have made him bleed more.
I should have made him look in my eyes when I snuffed out his life.
I should have made him feel the same fear she felt when he had her snatched in his grip and cowering beneath him.
If I didn’t think it’d terrify her, I’d have held him by the neck and made him apologize to her before I put a bullet through his head.
And I’ll do the same to whoever’s touched my brother.
How anyone could think I’d allow an asshole to get away with a thing like that baffles me.
Maybe I’ve grown too soft. Too lenient. Maybe I need it broadcast that I made an example of him.
I sit in my office and glance at the surveillance cameras. Though I give the women who work for me privacy, every other inch of this place is under close observation. We need a better system than the call button I’ve installed in their bedrooms.
What if she hadn’t reached it in time? What if he’d stopped her?
My mind races.
What will it do to my mother if we don’t recover Lyam?
I don’t realize I’m on my feet and clenching my fists until the palms of my hands hurt. I look down, unclench my fists and stare in surprise at the red half-moon marks on my palms from my fingernails.
Nicolette.
I’ve got cameras on her at all times. I’ve already decided she’s mine. I told Gwen not to allow her with any other clients because I wanted no one else to ever touch her again, and instead, I walked in on this.
I stab my fingers through my hair and breathe in through my nostrils, so I don’t break something.
Again.
I stalk to the surveillance footage of our community room and scan it, looking for any other man that might be suspicious. I pick up the phone.
“Yes, Monsieur?”
“Gwen, please clear Nicolette’s calendar for the next week.” We don’t book out further than a week, so that’s all we’ll need. “I want to give her some time to recover from what happened.”
“Yes, sir. And I’m so sorry I didn’t get your earlier message.”
I draw in a breath. “How did you miss it?”
“I didn’t have notifications on.” I can hear the wince in her voice.
“See it doesn’t happen again.” She’s goddamn lucky she isn’t mine.
“Yes, of course. It’s very kind of you to give Nicolette some time off.”
“I’m discussing increased surveillance with my management immediately, and we’d like to bring you into our discussion.”
“I’d like that.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
No one but me and Thayer know about Lyam, and we’ll keep it that way.
We disconnect the call, and I dial Louis. It’s possible that the attack here had something to do with Lyam’s abduction.
“Boss?”
“I want to run background checks on every man that walks in here.”
“We tried that once, but because so many of them are tourists—”
“Do it. If I have to fucking explain myself, I’ll find someone else who can do it without questioning me.”
A pause, and then Louis replies, “Yes, sir. On it. I can have it in place by—”
“Tomorrow.”
Another pause. “It’ll be done.”
“Thank you. I’d also like you to put me in touch with Jean-Pierre.”
The most skilled detective we have.
“Right away, sir.”
I scan more footage. I tell myself I’m looking for someone else who might threaten my women, but I know what I’m really looking for. Who I’m looking for.
Jean-Pierre calls me while I’m scrolling through footage that dates back a full week. Every time I see her, I pause and take notes.
Literally.
Her favorite color’s pink.
She has exactly one pair of designer shoes and one designer handbag that she rotates with other, less expensive, items.
She doesn’t know that as of tonight, I’ll have access to her bedroom.
She is drawn toward the wine-colored books in the community room library. Further investigation shows they’re compilations of the world’s greatest philosophers. Interesting.
I note that she always walks and does not own a car.
She uses all of the facilities that we have here—the swimming pool, the workout room, the community kitchen.
Whereas many of the women that work for me prefer to live off-site, Nicolette makes her home here.
Which tells me that she is saving every penny she can. She has a goal, then. A purpose.
I answer the call from Jean-Pierre. “Monsieur?”
“I’m going to tell you something confidential known by only me and my brother Thayer.”
“Sir?”
“Lyam’s been taken. Thayer will fill you in. Find out everything you can about The Underground. I want names, locations, financials.”
“Yessir, right away, sir.”
My need to own Nicolette will not be cast away in my efforts to find my brother.
“I’d also like everything you have on a woman who works for me by the name of Nicolette.”
I’m scanning through video footage as I’m talking to him.
She eats eggs for breakfast. How very American of her. I rarely see her stop for lunch, so I’m not sure what she eats then, if anything. She has a nervous habit of twitching her hair, and always makes a phone call between lunch and her evening client.
“Anything else?”
“I want to know how much money she has saved. Where she spends it. Her cell phone number and contacts. I want to know how long she’s been here, who referred her, and anything else at all you can think of that may have significance.”
“Yessir.”
Jean-Pierre is not only fastidious, he also flouts the law, which is exactly why I hired him.
“Much of this is low-hanging fruit I’ll be able to obtain in minutes. Email, Monsieur?”
“Send it to my phone.”
“Yessir.”
I hang up the phone. A notification pops up on my messages.
Jean-Pierre.
I click the links he sent me and read voraciously, hungry for anything and everything I can find out about Nicolette.
Nicolette.
From what I’ve already gathered from footage, she’s friendly and outgoing. I’d bet she’s clever as hell to boot. I scroll through the summary he’s sent, likely information he’s obtained that’s on file here as well as what’s public knowledge.
Several months ago, she was orphaned when her parents were killed in a house fire. She and her younger sister were their only children. She was referred here as a place of employment by one of her friends from university.
It doesn’t surprise me. Though rumor has it that the women who work for me are drug addicts or struggle with mental health, the reality is that most of them are trying to survive after hardship—an ex-husband left them destitute, parents died leaving them penniless, they grew up in a life of poverty and seek a quick means to improve their circumstances.
We intentionally hire women just like her, because they show loyalty and gratitude for the safety and comfort of having a home of their own. We pay better than any other brothel in Europe, and we treat them well.
Only it seems our screening processes for clients leave a lot to be desired. I’ll change that.
Another notification pops up, then another. I scroll through.
Nothing on Lyam. We may not get anything at all until we go to The Underground. We have more on Nicolette, though.
She sends texts to someone named Savannah. Her sister, I’d guess. Other than that, the only other contacts are women who work here. Her world is small, then, essentially limited to the confines of these walls.
That’s a good thing, for my purposes.
I scroll through her bank account and feel my eyebrows rise. She has twenty thousand euro saved.I wonder what her endgame is. What’s her goal?
Why is she here?
I want to know everything about her. I want to know what she likes and what she doesn’t.
What brings her joy and what drives her crazy?
Does she have a favorite holiday, and what brought her here from America?
Does she have a hobby, or a career that attracts her? Is she a morning person or a night owl?
But more than any of that, I want to know where she is now. Right this very minute. I can’t press a button and find my brother, but I can find her.
I’m pacing again, my steps soundless on the plush carpet in my office. Is she safe? Is she scared? Is she replaying the memory of what happened to her over and over in her mind? I want to know. I need to see her.
I swipe through security footage again. My heartbeat spikes when I see a lush sweep of brown hair by the hallway that leads to the workout room, but when the woman turns, it isn’t her.
I curse under my breath, moving from frame to frame more and more quickly.
Where is she? Where did she go? I gave her the goddamn night and the following week off, but I already know—that won’t be enough.
The thought of any other man touching her…
I freeze when I catch her on camera leaving. She took a left and went north, ten minutes ago. Where did she go? I want eyes on her, for fuck’s sake, preferably mine.
I stand to leave and call Louis again. “You still with my brother?”
“No, he left a minute ago. What do you need?”
“Nicolette left and went north of here. Where could she have gone?”
He pauses for a moment. “I’m not sure. There aren’t many things open this late at night, are there?”
“No, not nearby.”
“Give me a second.” He’s silent, likely looking up things on his phone. “Looks like the only places open are a bar and a bookstore.”
“Names. Text me.”
I’d bet my eye teeth she wouldn’t go to a bar after what happened today, and from what I know about her already, I can easily predict the bookstore is where she’ll end up.
I disconnect the call. Walk to the bathroom adjacent to my office and change into something more casual. Grab my wallet and phone and leave.
She needs to think this was an accident, a coincidence. I can’t let her think I’m stalking her. And yet…
I call Louis one more time. “Boss?”
“Have two dozen pink roses sent to Nicolette’s room with a card. I’ll text you the sentiment.”
“Yessir.”
I take out my phone and think about it before I press “send.”
A little something to brighten up your room with an apology for what happened earlier. ~Fabien
Something innocuous and simple. Something that won’t make her suspect that I’m about to make her mine.