Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
When I don't respond, Philippe looks out a window. “There’s talk about us publicly today. Did you hear it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Did you hear Montague’s recent declaration? Party line? Fabien and Thayer said they’re not afraid of him, but…”
“We’re not afraid of anybody,” I correct, but it’s only so he doesn’t hear the real concern in my voice. “When did he speak?”
“Last night,” he explains. “It was on the news. I saw a clip online.”
“Pull it up.”
François Montague looms on the screen, larger than life.
Red-hot hatred pulses through my veins. I turn away, grip the steering wheel, and focus in front of me when something scratches at my memory.
I know that location…
“Where is he?”
“I’m not sure.”
It’s familiar….
“Louvre and Tuileries?”
The Louvre and Tuileries district of Paris brushes the Seine in the south, with the neighborhoods known as Bourse and Grands Boulevards to the north. Ah. He’s in front of the green trees that border the Tuileries Garden.
My home’s only a few blocks away.
Even in my peripheral vision I can see his jowls sag as he talks. I despise the pompous bastard. He’s arrogant and incompetent, but what I despise most of all is how he pretends to care about the citizens when all he cares about is his own pocket.
At least I don’t pretend to be anyone but who I am.
He continues in his despicable, oily voice. “As the citizens of Paris have shown great concern regarding the infiltration of organized crime into our historic and precious city, the focus of my campaign for reelection focuses primarily on bringing them down. My promise to you, the people of Paris, is to take them into custody and eradicate their influence and presence. We will bring safety and honesty back to our historic landmark of a city.”
“Oh for the love of God,” I say with disdain. “Of all the fucking platforms to run on. What a fucking asshole.”
Philippe snorts. “The irony of it is that the political parties are more corrupt than you are.”
“You’ve got that fucking right.”
The camera pans to the left as I cruise to a stop at a traffic light. The sun has begun its descent, the sky darkening.
I blink and stare at the man on the screen. He’s personally familiar to me. Have I met him before? Why can’t I place him? I know in my gut I haven’t just seen him on the screen but in person. Where? Why does my skin crawl? Something about him makes me check my gun to make sure it’s loaded.
Other people check to see if they shut off the stove or locked the door.
I check to make sure I have enough ammo.
Normally, I wouldn’t give two shits about a politician running his mouth about organized crime. The only ones they ever catch are the ones that are too dumb to hide their actions or too arrogant to try. The new ones. The more established groups like us don’t fear the police force because we’re smart enough to have half of their goddamn force on our payroll.
This time, though… this time, something doesn’t feel quite right.
The light turns green, and I drive toward the airport.
“They’re waiting, sir.”
I exit the car, thankful dusk has fallen so I can stand in the shadows and observe them. I stroke my gun lovingly and wish Princess was with me.
I like my toys and my pets.
The door to the plane opens.
And then I see her.
Cosette.
Tall and slender and as delicate as a porcelain doll.
I thought I loved her once.
I know now that I was dumb and foolish and there’s no such thing as romantic love, and definitely not with someone like Cosette.
Seems she has a similar memory, because when she sees me, she narrows her eyes and juts her chin out as if to defy me before I even command her.
Claude, on the other hand, does not see me.
I watch as he doesn’t just touch her but fucking manhandles her off the plane.
“Let go,” she seethes. “Don’t touch me like that.”
She fights and resists him, then for a few seconds I don’t see anything but a haze of red.
“Oh, fuck,” Philippe curses beside me as I step into the light.
Claude sees me.
I walk faster. I’m only paces away now.
In seconds, his eyes go wide in terror, and he does the only thing worse than touching my woman—he pushes her away from him.
With her wrists restrained, she can’t brace her fall. I lunge forward and catch her, just in time.
I don’t bother to ask if she’s alright. I don’t bother to check on her. I plunk her down on the tarmac and cock my gun because Claude just fucking ran.
When I shoot to kill, I don’t miss.
I’m not trying to kill him.
Yet.
I made my brother a promise.
I shoot and hit the back of his kneecap with the first shot. He falls, screaming, and grabs at his knee. Brilliant red blood stains the ground around him. I shoot his second knee just to fucking hurt him.