Breaking the Beast (Seven Ways to Sin 5)

“Luis, please,” I sobbed. “Please don’t do this.” One look at his face told me he was deadly serious; he meant to track down Jacques and his men and kill them, or die trying.

“Shut the fuck up,” Luis growled. With the hand that held the gun, he backhanded me across the temple, and everything went black.

22

Isiah

I sighed and set my pen aside. I had spent most of the day attempting to work on my cookbook, but I had to finally admit to myself that it was a lost cause. I just couldn’t concentrate; there was too much going through my mind.

Isabel was gone. The fact was still sinking in. I kept looking up, half expecting her to come into my kitchen to try to sneak something sweet from the refrigerator. I smiled at the memory. The girl had such a sweet tooth.

Over and over, the events of the night before played through my mind. Isabel’s distress as she told us her father was ill; the pain in her face when Jacques forbade us from going with her.

I cursed under my breath and abruptly swept my notebook off the countertop, sending a pile of plates crashing to the tile floor along with it. I barely noticed the mess. This was wrong, and everyone knew it.

Even Jacques knew it; I could tell from the way he had been avoiding us all day, hiding out in his room with the door locked.

We should be with her, should be there to support her. Isabel was one of us now. What had begun as no strings attached fun had quickly blossomed into something deeper, more real. Isabel had become one of us the second she had succeeded in getting Jacques to open up to her. How could Jacques not see that?

Part of me knew the answer: Jacques did see it, but it scared him. He’d forced her away because he couldn’t admit to himself how much he had come to care for her. I had been there for the duration of his disastrous marriage to Agatha, and I saw how much it tore at him. Jacques would never be willing to open himself up to that kind of heartbreak again. He would see it as a weakness. Instead, he had brought on himself a different kind of heartbreak and forced the rest of us to suffer along with him.

And we were all suffering. I had seen it in the other men’s faces, in the way they went about their daily duties listlessly, as if sleepwalking. Gone were the days when we would chat in the halls as we passed each other. Instead, we nodded grimly at each other in silence. Alexandre had stopped whistling as he worked in the garden, and Vincent, always slow to smile anyway, was even more dour than usual. Isabel had brought new life to the castle, which had remained stagnant for five years, and now that she was gone, it was as if she had taken all joy and conviviality along with her.

My head pounded. I could really use a drink, anything to take the edge off the pain I felt, but of course, Jacques had forbidden that, as well. I leaned against the door of the fridge, resting my forehead against the cool surface and allowing it to soothe me. After a moment, I sighed and retrieved a dustpan and broom from the pantry. Distressed as I was, I couldn’t allow a mess to remain in my kitchen for very long.

“Can I help you with that?” a voice asked from the doorway, and I felt my spine stiffen.

I turned to regard Jacques coldly. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” I asked.

Jacques stooped to collect the larger pieces of broken china, as if he hadn’t heard me. “I heard the crash,” he said. “You should be more careful, old friend.”

“Casse toi,” I said quietly. Fuck you. Jacques sat back on his heels to regard me from his place on the floor. “I suppose we should talk about this,” he said.

“What is there to talk about?” I asked. “You’re a selfish bastard, and you sent her away with no regard for the rest of us.”

Jacques raised his eyebrow. “Selfish?”

My temper flared. “Of course you’re selfish, you ass. Do you have any concept of how much I’ve given up over the years to help you? How much we’ve all given up? And you’ve never so much as thanked us; you act like it’s just what you’re due. But this is too far, Jacques.”

Jacques’ face clouded over. “Is that really how you see me?” he asked, coming to his feet. Standing at full height, he towered over me, but I refused to be cowed.

I knew that I should moderate my words, that I should be careful not to say anything I would regret later, but I was too angry. For too long, I had allowed the man in front of me to control my life, to dictate what I was and wasn’t allowed to do. But I was a grown man, and it was time to take control of my own life.