Chapter 3 #2
Someone called her. For crying out loud.
I grumble under my breath and open the door to the guest room.
“You’re going to stay here. I need to see why she’s here and then I’ll be back.” I flick on the lights.
Cosette gasps.
Before she arrived, I had my men do some work. The final call was only to make sure they were putting the final touches into place.
The room, previously well-furnished for guests, has been transformed into little more than a cell.
A bed sits in the middle of the floor, with clean linens and pillows. There’s a small wooden desk and chair.
And nothing else.
The heavy door’s bolted from the hallway side, the locked windows fitted with reinforced steel bars.
Motion detectors and an alarm system with a spotlight are installed outside the room, a search light outside as well in clear sight.
The windows of the bathroom are locked and too small for anyone, even someone as slender as Cosette, to escape.
On the desk chair sits my black bag with tools.
“Wow,” Cosette says, almost amused. “I’m honored you think I’m that dangerous.”
I don’t respond but push her over to the bed.
“Stay there.”
“Glad you cleared that up. I was contemplating bending those metal bars with my hands, squeezing myself through a window the size of my nose, and maybe going for a little stroll.”
I spin her around and smack her ass, hard. She gasps and clamps her mouth shut, her cheeks flaming. I wrap my hand around her neck and hold her gaze.
“If you were anyone else, we’d have killed you already.”
She stares at me unblinking, her lips pressed together, and doesn’t respond.
I sit her on the bed, her fragile neck still in my grip.
“I’m going to get to the bottom of this if you have to spend all night long over my knee.
And this time, Cosette, there won’t be any climax.
” I stare into her eyes, those green, vibrant eyes of hers framed with long, fetching lashes.
I hate that she dashed away the hope of anything romantic between us.
“You can’t do that, Lyam,” she whispers, shaking her head. And for one minute, one little flash in time, the real Cosette’s talking to me. “I can’t tell you. Please, don’t make me. I promise, it was the right thing to do.”
“Right thing to do?”
She flinches at the sound of my tone.
I stand and take a pace back before I do something I’ll regret.
“There is no excuse for betrayal in my family. It’s never the right thing to do.
Any one of us, from our guards to our assistants and even my mother, would rather die than betray us.
It’s the ultimate sin against us, and you know it.
” My hand shakes when I point a finger at her.
“So you keep your ass right there. You think about how you want this conversation to go. And when I come back, we’ll talk. ”
I turn and leave before she can respond.
The door shuts behind me with a loud bang, right before the security system I put into place clicks ominously.
I take my phone out of my pocket and tap the screen.
The camera I had installed pans straight to her, as clear as if I were standing right in front of her.
I watch as she narrows her eyes at the camera and flashes her middle finger.
Fine, then. We can play that game. I’ll remember that when I punish her.
My hand’s shaking with rage as I slide my phone into my pocket and take a deep breath.
I have to steady my nerves before I talk to my mother.
No one gets under my skin better than Cosette, dammit.
I pull my phone back out and look at the screen.
This time her back’s to me, but the camera on the other side of the room can still capture her.
I pan out and zoom in with the second camera.
Cosette sits, her shoulders bowed. She stares at her hands in her lap.
Then she does something strange. She places her hand on her belly, closes her eyes, and whispers. Her lips move, but I can’t hear her.
Is she hungry?
I make a call.
“Bring her dinner.”
“Yes, sir.”
I can almost hear Thayer chiding me for giving in so quickly. I wouldn’t rush to feed another prisoner. Why is she any different?
Jesus. I’ve never had a fucking prisoner. They call me to pull the trigger, not to babysit.
I walk to the sitting room. In this part of Paris, even the largest residences are on the smaller side, so I know exactly where my mother will be waiting.
I draw in a deep breath and look back at the screen.
Cosette’s shoes are off, and she’s lying, almost in a fetal position, on the bed. She looks almost childlike.
I have to stop looking.
“Lyam.” My mother’s warm voice captures my attention.
I shut the door behind me. She sits on the leather couch, her hands folded in her lap.
Maman was a young bride and had Fabien, the eldest of my siblings, when she was only twenty.
People sometimes think she’s our sister, because we share the same bright eyes, strong chin, and olive skin, though her features are softened and feminine.
I give her a smile. Even when I’m angry, my mother’s soothing voice and demeanor calm me. I gentle my voice. “Maman. You never come here unannounced.”
“I… oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
She’s as bad at lying as Cosette. I don’t buy it.
“Right. Something bothering you?”
“Well, yes, I… I thought it best to talk to you in person.”
That’s strange. She never does this.
“Do you want a drink?
She shakes her head. “No, thank you. I don’t want to take up much of your time.
Listen, Lyam, I was… I didn’t know…” She draws in a breath and lets it out sharply.
“Nicolette called me to talk about Savannah’s baby.
Apparently, it’s customary in America to have a party of some sort.
Something about a shower and presents, and she hoped we could do something like that here. But that isn’t the point of my visit.”
Nicolette, my brother Fabien’s wife, is Savannah’s sister.
Maman opens her mouth, then closes it before she opens it again. “You know I don’t interfere, Lyam, but I—well. I need to… talk to you.”
“So you do want to interfere.”
I’m losing my patience.
“Lyam, Nicolette told me what Cosette did to Savannah. And I… know you’re bringing her here if you haven’t already.”
I don’t respond at first. She doesn’t need to know she’s here.
When I don’t respond, she goes on. “Listen, Lyam. I just want to remind you. Your father may have done some things that others would have criticized him for, but you know he never raised a hand to me. Not once, Lyam.”
“You were his wife,” I say shortly. “Not someone who betrayed your family.” And my father was the exception to the rule.
She winces. “I’m just saying that you’re better than that. You’re not the type to raise a hand to a woman, Lyam.”
There’s a world of difference between striking a woman and taking her across my knee, but I’d rather not get into details with my mother.
She pleads with me. “Lyam. If you hurt Cosette, you’ll never be the same.”