11. Fleur
Chapter 11
Fleur
The man in black put a gun to Bastien’s head and pulled the trigger.
“Ahhh!” I ducked down behind the table and shook like an earthquake struck me.
He yanked the table off then grabbed me by the arm. “This bitch is mine now.”
“No!” I jerked up in bed and saw my dark bedroom, the curtains over the windows to shut out the light from the city. I panted as I sat against the headboard, my heart about to burst out of my chest. “Just a dream…just a dream.” I felt my own heartbeat to make sure this reality was the true one. Tears streaked from my eyes and down my cheeks. “Wasn’t real…”
I reached for my phone on the nightstand, and without thinking any of it through, I called Bastien. My mind was still in a haze, still asleep in many ways even though I felt wide awake. I knew I shouldn’t call him, but I did anyway.
It’d barely rung one time before he picked up. “Sweetheart?”
His voice was calm and strong like always, so he was alive and well.
When I didn’t say anything, he spoke again. “Talk to me, sweetheart.” There was more urgency to his voice now. “Are you okay?” Men’s voices were audible in the background like he was working, but he picked up for me anyway.
It took me a second to talk, like I was still suffering from sleep paralysis. “I’m okay… I had this dream… I don’t know why I called you.”
“You called me because I’m your man and you’re scared. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“It’s okay. You don’t need to do that?—”
“I want to do that, sweetheart.” He hung up without saying goodbye.
I put the phone aside and continued to sit against the headboard, too terrified to go back to sleep, the images of the assault fresh in my mind. I could still smell the restaurant, could feel the cool tile against my hands as I kneeled on the floor behind the table. It’d been days since it happened, but it still felt like only a few hours ago.
I looked at the time on my phone. It was two thirty in the morning.
It took less than ten minutes for him to get there. I heard the front door open and close and then his heavy footsteps as he let himself into my apartment.
I turned on the lamp on my nightstand and saw him step into the bedroom. He pulled his long-sleeved shirt over his head and undressed, stepping out of his boots before removing his bottoms and crawling into bed with me.
He leaned against the headboard then enveloped me in his arms, blanketing me with the heat of a roaring fireplace. He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the back of my head, one arm over my chest with the other across my stomach. The sheets were to my waist, so I was sealed in his warmth.
I hugged his arm and rested against his chest, his familiar scent helping me feel calm. I could feel his heartbeat against the back of my neck. He had no control over my subconscious, but just having him there made me feel safe, made me feel untouchable.
“Want to talk about it?”
“I had a nightmare…about what happened. They shot you and then came for me next.”
There was a pause. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never had a dream like that.”
“Nothing happened. Remember that.”
“I know, but…” It was the most terrifying moment of my life. It had only lasted a minute or two, but the fear and violence had a profound effect. Bastien had been outnumbered and caught unaware, and he still handled it.
“You should stay with me until you feel better.”
“It was just a dream.” I didn’t want to burden him with my presence in his home, having me around day and night for however long I needed to feel better.
“You’re having these nightmares because you’re scared. Stay with me until you don’t feel scared anymore.”
“It’s okay?—”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want you there, sweetheart.” He squeezed me to him, giving me a burst of his warmth.
I never felt unsafe in this apartment. Didn’t see anybody in the building who didn’t belong there. But Bastien was the man who made me feel safe, who chased away all my cares and worries.
“Come on.” My oversized shirt had dropped over my shoulder, and he pressed a kiss to the exposed skin. He moved to my neck then the back of my ear. With every kiss, the tension left my muscles, the grip on my heart loosened, and I breathed easier. “Pack your things.”
It was almost four in the morning when we entered his bedroom.
He carried my bag and suitcase to the closet, a place I’d never seen before. It was a walk-in closet where his jeans and shirts were hung on hangers and his shoes were on the bottom rack. But most of the space was empty since he didn’t need it all because his wardrobe was so simple. Like I was in a hotel, he placed my suitcase on the table in the center and unzipped it, making it easy for me to access it. He hung up the clothes that I’d brought on hangers.
I stilled when I noticed all the guns mounted to the back wall. Handguns, rifles, shotguns…
Bastien followed my gaze but didn’t comment.
I set my makeup bag on the counter in his bathroom and then helped myself to his drawer to find a shirt for bed. I never asked his permission to do that, but he never objected to it. Didn’t seem to care if I went through his drawers, that I had access to his closet. The man appeared to have nothing to hide. “It’s okay if you need to get back to work.” He seemed to be up all hours of the day, sometimes awake during the daytime and sometimes up all night. Someone else would be devastated by the irregular sleeping schedule, but it didn’t seem to bother him at all.
“I’m all yours, sweetheart.” He tugged down the sheets to the bed and got inside.
I set my phone on the nightstand then joined him. “Ugh, I have to get up in three hours.”
He spooned me from behind and squeezed me to him, his large size making the mattress dip underneath his weight and tilting me toward him. His face was pressed into the back of my neck, his gentle breaths moving my hair slightly. “You don’t have to do anything, sweetheart.”
“I can’t not go.”
“It’s called a sick day.”
“But my boss knows I’m not sick.”
“But you’re fucking him, so you can do whatever the hell you please.” He kissed my shoulder. “You aren’t going. We’ll sleep in and go out to breakfast.”
“God, that sounds nice.”
He kissed me again. “Then it’s settled.”
When I woke up, it was past eleven.
I’d slept so well, without any nightmares, and it seemed as if that horrible dream had never happened in the first place. When I stepped into the bathroom, Bastien was in the shower, like he’d just finished his morning workout.
It was the first time I’d had my things at his place, so after I used the toilet, I stood at the counter, brushed my teeth, and got ready for the day.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off with the towel before he walked to me, buck naked with plump muscles from his workout, and he grabbed my ass underneath my shirt and kissed me. “Morning.”
“Morning.”
He moved to the other sink and started to shave.
I watched him in the mirror, stared at the tight muscles of his body, the lines that segmented the different groups under his skin, the way he was so ripped he looked like a living sculpture.
He caught my stare and met my eyes.
I looked away.
He continued to shave.
When I looked at him again, he had a smirk on his face.
I was careful not to stare again as I put on my makeup and did my hair. I was blessed with dry hair, so I could go several days without washing it and it would look exactly the same. Another reason I didn’t work out, because why take a shower when I didn’t have to?
We left his place and went to Holybelly, his favorite breakfast spot.
Like last time, the waiter talked to him about the most recent football game, the two of them going back and forth about the specifics of the match and the players. We ordered coffees, and Bastien didn’t touch the menu, like he already knew what he would get because he always got the same thing.
“I’m glad I’m not falling asleep at my desk right now.”
He was in a dark-gray long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves squeezing his arms in the areas where he was the bulkiest. His chest was broad and thick like a brick wall, and his shoulders were wide enough to carry a car tire. He didn’t seem to hear or care about what I said because he didn’t say anything, but he stared at me hard like his entire focus was on me, nonetheless. Then he smiled—seemingly out of nowhere.
“What?”
He gave a slight shake of his head then took a drink of his coffee. “Nothing, sweetheart.”
“Nobody smiles like that for no reason.”
It was a big smile, the kind that reached his eyes, like I’d said something particularly funny, when I hadn’t said anything at all. “How’d you sleep?”
I didn’t want him to change the subject, but I let it go. “Hard.”
“Yeah, you were snoring.”
“What?”
He smirked. “It was cute.”
“I do not snore.”
“Well, you did.”
“I’ve never snored in my life.”
He shrugged. “You must have been really tired.”
“God…was I loud?”
He considered the question, the smirk still there. “A little.”
“Oh no.” I cupped my face because I was mortified, mortified that I’d sounded like a pig in a sty while this hot piece of man had to listen to it.
“It was cute, really.”
“You’re so full of it.”
He chuckled. “I’m not. It really didn’t bother me.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He took another drink of his coffee, still looking at me with that playfulness in his eyes.
The waiter came over and took our orders before he walked off again.
“Do you have dinner plans tomorrow?”
“No.” I didn’t have any plans ever, not after my life fell apart.
“Good. We’re having dinner with my mother.”
My ears heard exactly what he said, but my mind didn’t accept it. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Dinner—with my mom.”
“Uh…why?”
Instead of being offended by my poor response, he retained his smile. “I told her about you.”
“Oh…”
He took another drink from his coffee, which he drank black.
“I—I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.”
“Why?”
“What if she doesn’t like me?”
“Why wouldn’t she like you?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“If it makes you feel better, I don’t care whether she likes you or not.”
“Then why do you want me to meet her?”
His smile widened. “Because she’s my mom—and you’re my woman.”
My heart continued to race in anticipation. I had been nervous when I’d met Adrien’s mom, but that dread was unnecessary because we became close so easily. But Bastien’s mother was different.
He smirked like my uneasiness was comical. “What are you afraid of, sweetheart?”
“Well, you said drugs were part of the family business…”
“And you think my mother is some kind of mob kingpin?” he asked with a laugh.
“No,” I snapped. “But she might be really tough and rough around the edges.”
He chuckled again like the suggestion was preposterous. “She’s nothing like that. She’s an elegant woman who wears pearls and scarves and plays bridge with her girlfriends. She’s soft-spoken and wouldn’t raise her voice unless absolutely necessary because it’s impolite for a woman to yell. She’s like a miniature poodle—harmless.”
“Hard to believe a woman so meek raised a son like you.”
“She wasn’t the one who made me tough. My father deserves all the credit for that one.” His smile disappeared at the mention of his father, his expression turning hard and cold once again.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to meet his mother. I just hadn’t expected him to ask. “What did you say about me?”
He paused before he answered, like he needed a second to move past the thought about his father. “She asked if I was seeing anyone, a question she’d asked me a million times, and for the first time, I gave the answer she wanted to hear. She’s excited.”
“That sounds like no pressure at all…”
The smile started to come back. “She could hate you and it wouldn’t change anything, sweetheart. I’d prefer her to like you, but it’s not a requirement. She just needs to accept that you’re my woman.”
He removed a lot of the stress of the situation, but it was still unnerving.
“Be yourself.”
“Well, I can’t be myself too much.” I couldn’t show her all the sass and attitude. I couldn’t tell her that her son was the hottest piece of man meat I’d ever seen in my life.
His smile remained. “I think she can handle it.”
We returned to his place after breakfast, and the second we were in his bedroom, he came up behind me and tugged my shirt over my head before he gave my shoulder a hard kiss. He squeezed me to him as he slid his hand into the front of my jeans and played with my nub in my panties, kissing my shoulder and my neck as he rubbed his fingers hard into my clit, suffocating me in passion and pleasure instantaneously.
He tugged off my bra and unbuttoned my jeans before he yanked everything down then lifted me out of them, my socks still on. He set me at the foot of the bed and stood between my knees before he pulled down his bottoms and thrust inside me.
I cried out because it was a lot of dick in a little amount of time. It hurt because he had so much of it, but once the pain faded, just the pleasure remained, and it was so damn good.
He grabbed on to the back of my hair and tugged as he thrust into me, fucking me hard from the start, smacking my ass until it turned red, making me his and making sure I didn’t forget that.
We had dinner at the dining table near the terrace, the view of the Eiffel Tower so special that someone would pay a lot of money to sit where we sat now. Gerard had the chef make us two different things, protein and vegetables for him and something full of carbs for me.
It was a quiet dinner, the two of us enjoying our food and wine in comfortable silence. I looked forward to this every weekend when I didn’t have to worry about work, and it was nice to have it on a weekday. To see him for more than just a quick dinner or a hookup. I should stay far away from a magnet for violence and find a nice guy who wasn’t a cheater or a criminal, but I was trapped in Bastien’s force field.
There was no getting out now.
“Going to work tomorrow?” he asked.
“Unfortunately.”
“You don’t have to.”
I wasn’t a billionaire like him. Or even a millionaire. I had a couple thousand euros in my bank account at that very moment, and it was the most I’d had in a while. “I’ve got bills to pay.”
“You still get paid whether you go or not.”
I gave a quick roll of my eyes. “I’m not going to do that.”
“I told you I’d pay you to be my woman. Best job you’ll ever find.”
“And I told you I want you for you—not your money.”
That smirk came over his mouth. “But it would be fun to role-play, wouldn’t it? You pretend to be my little whore, to do whatever I say when I say it.”
“We’re pretty much already doing that.”
His smirk widened. “Touché, sweetheart.”
“What about you?” I asked. “I hope I haven’t kept you from your obligations.”
“You’re always my priority.”
“But I’m okay.”
“You’re okay now. But you weren’t okay yesterday.”
“I just don’t want to burden you?—”
“My job is my problem, not yours. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
I spun my fork in my pasta, getting a big helping before I placed it in my mouth. I normally ate very little, but all this good food that Bastien was giving me was making me eat nonstop and making my jeans a little tight. That first month I lived on my own, I hardly ate anything and lost at least ten pounds. Now, I was gaining it back far quicker than I’d lost it.
“So…did you get the guy?”
He was quiet for a while, just staring at me across the table. “I told you not to worry your pretty head about it.”
“I know. But it would make me feel better to know he was dead.” That he wouldn’t come back for Bastien.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t say what I wanted to hear to make me feel better. Let the silence speak for itself.
I was disappointed I didn’t get the answer I wanted, but I appreciated his honesty. “Do you ever get scared?”
“No.” He didn’t have to consider the question for more than a second to know how he felt about it. “Death is just another part of life. It comes for us all in the end.”
“But most people aren’t shot dead in a restaurant…or stuffed in an oil drum.”
“Whether you’re stuffed in an oil drum or buried in the cemetery, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re dead. And the manner in which you died doesn’t make a difference either. At least not to me.”
I was shocked he could feel so indifferent to his own death, but I shouldn’t be surprised by it. To live in his world, he had to be made of something different from the rest of us. He must not feel anxiety or fear…or anything.
“Or perhaps I’m not afraid of death because I know it’s not coming for me—because I won’t let it.” His stare burned hard into my face, locked on me like I was the target of his aim. “Not when I have something to live for.”
My instinct was to break the contact, to sever the intensity with which he gripped me, but I held on tightly. My heart beat a little faster. A little harder. My fingertips felt numb, my knees suddenly weak. “Promise me you’ll find him.”
“I will, sweetheart.”
“And when you said this doesn’t happen a lot…you meant that?”
“Yes. The Fifth Republic has rules that must be followed. But of course, there are always those who believe those rules shouldn’t apply to them. These assholes emerge every few years, and after I stomp them to dust, it’s quiet again…until someone else pops up. It’s a never-ending cycle because these idiots never learn.”
I nodded like I understood, even though I didn’t understand a thing.
He looked out the window for a while, his beautiful eyes reflecting the lights of the Eiffel Tower on the Seine. He stayed that way, utterly still. “All my father ever cared about was the family business. It was the only reason he had sons, because blood was all he trusted. He took girls off the streets, from their homes, everywhere. He put them to work in our facilities, turning them into prisoners whose sentences would only end upon death. When I was fifteen, he said I was a man and ready to fulfill my role in the family business. He took me to the warehouse outside Paris. One of my classmates had gone missing months prior to that—and I saw her there.”
I realized he was answering the question I’d asked a few weeks ago—why he cared so much about the rules. Why he protected women he didn’t even know. Why it mattered to him when he had no daughters or sisters—that I knew of.
“When I tried to free her…my father made me shoot her.”
My hand instinctively slid over my mouth to hide the quiet gasp that wanted to break free.
His eyes were still on the Eiffel Tower.
“He said he would shoot me if I didn’t do it—so my brother did it instead.” He spoke with melancholy, his eyes glazed over in old memories. “Shot her right in the fucking head…and we never spoke about it.”
My hand finally left my mouth when the shock had passed. It was hard to picture Bastien as a boy when he was a six-foot-three man who could pick up a truck. Hard to picture a time when he was innocent and scared. But when I did, it hurt me. It hurt me so much. “I’m sorry, Bastien.”
The sound of his name brought him back to me, his eyes connecting with mine again, still dead.
“Thank you for telling me that… I know that was hard.”
He stared at me for a while. “It wasn’t hard to tell you, not when I can tell you anything.”
I didn’t expect him to say that, and I didn’t expect it to hit me so hard. His words slipped under my skin and hit all my buttons. He controlled my heart like a puppeteer and made me dance and sing.
He looked at the Eiffel Tower again. “I’m not a saint. I know how much money these guys are pulling in, and there’s no reason they can’t pay for the labor they need. It’s a reasonable compromise, but assholes always get greedy.”
“Did her family ever know?” Did they hope she was still alive?
“I told them she was gone and gave them some money.”
“That was nice of you.”
“Nice?” he asked quietly. “Shooting my father instead would have been the nice thing to do…and getting her the fuck out of there.”
“You tried, Bastien.”
He gave a slight shake of his head but didn’t argue.
“I didn’t know you had a brother.” His family life was shrouded in secrecy. He was open with me about every other aspect of his life except this one.
“Because I don’t. Not in the traditional sense anyway.”
“What happened between you…if you don’t mind me asking?”
He looked at the Eiffel Tower for a while before he answered. “We have different ideologies. He believes in everything my father stood for—and I believe in the opposite. There were a few years when we came to a compromise and found a way to be brothers, but that went to shit. Now we’re enemies, for all intents and purposes.”
“Is he still in the business?”
“Yes.”
“And I’m guessing he’s operating his business against your rules?”
“Yes.”
I nodded in understanding. “That’s complicated.”
“It is complicated. I have to stop him—but I can’t kill him—and he fucking knows it.”
“Do you think he’s the one who…who tried to kill you?”
“No.” He didn’t have to think twice about it. “But he knows who did.”
“And he won’t tell you?”
He shook his head.
I thought I knew Bastien before tonight, but now I saw him in a whole new light. “What’s his name?”
He looked at me again. “Godric. And I’ve spoken of him enough for one evening.”
I could tell how much the strained relationship bothered him. How much it got under his skin and bubbled to the surface like a painful welt. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” His beautiful eyes looked at me, open and vulnerable, completely transparent.
“How—how many people have you killed?”
He continued his stare.
“You don’t have to answer that question if you don’t want to.”
He considered the question in heavy silence, the seconds ticking by. “I can’t give you a hard number because if I kill someone, then they mean nothing to me, and I don’t remember people I never cared for. But it must be close to a hundred if I had to guess.”
I swallowed at his body count—his actual body count.
“They were all bad men, if that makes it better.”
I’d seen the way he’d taken out those guys in the restaurant with ease, even though he was outnumbered. He didn’t need a gun when he was a killing machine.
“Does my answer bother you?”
“No.”
“It seems like it does.”
“It doesn’t,” I said. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
“Thank you for not judging me.”
He was a criminal warlord who had danger inked in every one of his tattoos, but I found him to be the kindest, most wonderful man I’d ever met. “I could never judge you.”