Chapter 3 #3
I shake my head. “She betrayed us. She set Savannah up to be killed. If we hadn’t rescued Savannah, she’d be dead, Maman. Savannah’s my sister-in-law. Thayer’s wife. Now I don’t know why Cosette did what she did, but I do know this. If she were a man, she’d already be dead.”
I swear, the older Maman gets the less she can handle. But I’m not making excuses for who we are or what we do.
Her face pales when she whispers, “Oh, Lyam.”
I’ve had enough.
“Don’t ‘Oh, Lyam,’ me. You came here because you want to interfere.
You don’t like to know details, because you don’t want to know.
And yet here you are. So I’ll give it to you straight.
She’s my prisoner. She made a huge mistake.
I’m not sure why yet, but I’ll do whatever it takes to find that out, because I have to know what motivated her. ”
And saying it aloud makes me realize… why she betrayed us matters more than anything. There’s nothing more telling or insightful than her why.
I can’t move forward until I know the truth.
Maman looks at me sadly. “If you hurt a woman, you hurt who you are. You don’t come back from that because you’ll never be the same, Lyam. Did you ever bother to ask how your father and I came to be married?”
I’m getting impatient to see my prisoner. “You met in London. It was instant attraction. I know this story.”
But the reproach in her gaze tells me I only know part of it.
I don’t have time for this. I’ve had a long fucking day and it isn’t anywhere near over yet. I tap my foot impatiently.
“My father owed him money. A large, significant sum of money. My father was not a good man, so he promised my youngest sister instead.”
I feel my eyes widen. I had no idea. Her father’s long since dead. How did I not know this?
“I offered myself in her stead. I couldn’t let her go to a man she didn’t know, Lyam. I didn’t know what he was capable of. He could have assaulted me. He could’ve beaten me. I went into marriage to him knowing this.”
I stare at her. My father lived by a moral code all his own, and he taught us to do the same.
“But he didn’t, Lyam. And you all remember him as a good man because of that.” She shakes her head. “Only the weak need to hurt the vulnerable.” She rises and steps over to me. Reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze.
When I embrace her, I feel how small she is, how delicate and dainty. Dwarfed in my embrace, she has to stand on the tips of her toes.
“I remember when I could hold you with one hand,” she says, laughing. “And now look at you. I’d bet you eat bricks for breakfast.” She pulls away, smiling sadly. “I’ll leave you now and I’m sorry to come unannounced.”
“Take a guard with you home.” I beckon for one of my men to come. “Drive her home.”
I’d drive her myself if I didn’t have Cosette in the other room.
On her way out, she looks over her shoulder at me, her gaze thoughtful. “Lyam, did you see what Montague said on the news?”
I grumble and shove my hands in my pockets. “I did.”
She stands in the doorway, tugging on her gloves one at a time. “Should I be concerned?”
I shake my head. “Of course not.” I repeat what Philippe said earlier. “We all know the politicians are more corrupt than we are.”
“Still, I worry,” she says thoughtfully.
“Don’t. You have nothing to worry about. Go, buy some clothes for the new baby. I’m sure Savannah’s already started the nursery.”
Maman rolls her eyes at me. “As if I haven’t started shopping yet. Good night, Lyam.”
I wait until my mother’s gone.
She has a tender heart. That means in front of her, I’m cognizant of who she is and how she feels. But when she’s gone, all bets are off.
She doesn’t know what I do, and she doesn’t have to.
I’m here for a reason. I have a code to follow. And Maman goes home safe tonight because of that.
Jacques looks at me. Waiting for me to dismiss him for the night.
“You can go,” I tell him. “Philippe won’t be back tonight.”
“Is there anything else you’ll need this evening, sir?”
I shake my head. “Nothing I can’t get myself, thanks.”
When he leaves, I remember the nip Philippe gave me. I pull it out of my pocket and twist the top off. I polish it off in two gulps, welcoming the warmth and burn of the whiskey. It’s smoother than I expect. I look at the label. Bastille. Good stuff.
I sit until the whole house is quiet.
I remember Montague’s promise to rid the city of the scum and shake my head. The irony is rich.
I pull out my phone and look at the screen. I half expect Cosette to be asleep, but when I see her, she’s standing at the window, peering out. She looks so small, so innocent and frail.
Her tray of food sits on the desk. Untouched.
I wonder why she hasn’t eaten.
Only the weak need to hurt those who are vulnerable.
The reason the vulnerable are safe to begin with is because someone is willing to hurt those that threaten their safety.
I stand and whip the mini bottle into the waste bin. It hits the side and shatters.
I shake my head.
Pacifism is the privilege of the protected.
Countries go to war because they have military.
Citizens are safe because we have the police.
And my family is safe because of me.