“I don’t know… You seem trigger-happy lately.”
“Because if I’m going to kill someone, I kill them. Don’t waste their time or ours.”
“Fair enough.” He looked out the front windshield as we drove through the empty streets of Paris. “But this is a little different…” His eyes flicked to mine again.
I stared, silently demanding more than that.
“We’re meeting Forneus.”
The reaction was instant. Like a bear ripped open my rib cage and emerged from inside me with a roar, I felt my vision turn red. “You want to do business with that freak, fine. But I want no part of it.” My hand would carve that smile off his face with a fucking butter knife. “If you think I’m trigger-happy now, wait until I get a look at that motherfucker.”
He gave a slight nod, almost bored. “So much for keeping your shit together.”
“This is personal. I don’t do personal.”
“You’re the one he wants to talk to—not me.”
My nostrils flared like a bull, and I was ready to charge. “I’ll kill him.”
“Then I’ll relieve you of your weapons—”
“You think that’ll make a difference?” I snarled like a bear. “The only reason he still breathes is because Claire is okay, because I don’t think about him. But that shit will change if I have to look at his freak-ass face.”
“Benton, he’s a partner—”
“Your partner. Not mine.”
“Benton, you’re doing this.”
“Fuck off.” I tried to open the door, but it was locked. “Unless you want me to break your window, unlock the fucking door.”
He kept his same stoicism. “Benton. You owe me.”
“I don’t owe you shit, asshole. I’ve come back to the Chasseurs—”
“And this is what Chasseurs do. He wants to speak to you. I’ve arranged it—because he’s our partner.”
I turned away, severing the conversation with my angry silence.
The SUV pulled up to the Louvre.
Bartholomew sat there and stared at me.
“Claire is fine. You need to let it go—”
“Don’t fucking—” I couldn’t finish the words. Too angry.
The guys left the front of the vehicle, giving us our privacy.
Bartholomew looked out the side window, his arm on the sill. “I don’t know what he wants. I don’t care what he wants. He asked for a meeting, and I granted it. That’s the extent of my obligation. What you say, what you do, that’s all you.” He opened the door and stepped out.
My hands tightened into fists before I left the vehicle and joined him on the sidewalk. I stared him down. “You asked me to return to the Chasseurs, but that’s not what you wanted. You wanted me back on the throne. You wanted me as your equal. I’m not running the streets doing petty-ass shit. I’m at your side day and night, side by side, on two thrones.”
He held my gaze and didn’t refute the claim.
“You need me.”
Silence.
“So, don’t ask me this shit again. This is the one and only time I’m doing it. But after this, I’m done.”
Bartholomew held my gaze without a hint of a thought. His eyes reflected the lamppost behind me, and the space behind him was full of a thick fog. After a final long stare, he gave a subtle nod.
I turned to the stairs. “Then let’s get this shit over with.”
The Louvre was lit up in all its glory.
But the fog was so thick that the lights looked like distant ships on a cold sea.
Forneus was there—his freaks behind him. With the skulls on their heads, the antlers protruding, still as statues even though they were living men so high on acid they had no grasp on reality.
Forneus’s eyes were immediately locked on mine when I appeared.
There was no smile this time.
I halted several feet back, because if I got any closer, his throat would be cut.
It felt like a summer night—because the blood boiled in my veins. I could take on all these motherfuckers at once because my hands were strong enough to crush bone right now. One day, I would get revenge for Claire and Beatrice. Just had to bide my time until the moment was right.
Bartholomew and the rest of the men stayed behind me.
It was just the two of us, faced off in a chilling stare.
Forneus spoke first, eyes furious, the veins in his neck popping. “My an-gel.”
My jaw immediately tightened at the ridiculous way he spoke, the obnoxious way he pronounced each syllable.
“Gi-ve her ba-ck to me.”
“No.”
His face immediately stretched because of the grimace he made with his mouth. A vein popped in his forehead. His shoulders squared like he might rush me. “She was not part of the deal—”
“Pretending my daughter was dead wasn’t part of the deal either, freak.”
His lips smashed together in suppressed rage. “Give her to me!”
“No.”
“Name your price.”
“She’s not livestock, asshole. Not for sale.” I stepped away. “We’re done here.”
His voice turned quiet, but it captured my attention. “I ha-ve no i-ll w-ill to-ward yo-u an-d yo-ur dau-gh-ter.”