The Boss (Chateau 3)

The hunt continued past three days.

Moved into four.

I wanted to hang her body on the noose so the girls could see it.

Could see what happened if they ran, if they disobeyed, if they did anything other than process that coke.

But it never happened.

She couldn’t be found.

I sat in my cabin in front of the fire, drowning my anger in scotch. The executioner made an announcement to the girls, that she’d frozen to death and her body was stuck under a waterfall where we couldn’t reach.

That should be enough to scare them from making the same attempt.

The door opened, and Magnus stepped inside, pushing his hood back, his eyes less bloodshot now that the concussion had passed. He moved to the other chair beside me and stared at the fire.

I drank my scotch like he wasn’t there.

“I’ll leave in the morning.”

My eyes remained on the flames, thinking of Melanie at home in her bedroom, knowing that her sister was dead. Her sister’s death had been cleaner out in the wild rather than from the noose, but she was gone all the same. Good fucking riddance. “I’ll return to Paris in five days.”

Magnus gave a slight nod before he grabbed the bottle and poured himself a glass. One of us was usually at the camp at any given time, but sometimes there was a day or two where the overlap failed. The guards weren’t stupid enough to cross us.

He brought the glass to his lips and took a drink, his tired eyes focused on the fire, heavy with stress.

My chin was propped on my closed knuckles, letting the fire envelop my body with heat Melanie used to give me. When I returned home, I wasn’t sure what I would find. Even if I didn’t kill her sister, she might not want anything to do with me.

What would I do then?

Magnus turned his gaze to me, silently waiting for me to meet his look.

I was still pissed off even though he had nothing to do with it, so it took me a few minutes to reciprocate.

He held up his glass slightly. “It’s Mom’s birthday.”

I stared at his glass for a while, not realizing the date because so many other things had been on my mind. I lifted mine and gave a slight tap against his. “Happy Birthday, Mom…wherever you are.”

Twenty-One

Knife in the Stomach

Melanie

It was like a knife in the stomach.

Raven was dead.

I knew it.

Magnus wouldn’t be able to protect her, not this time.

I sat in the living room in front of the fire, tears coming and going as I looked out the window onto the estate and the landscape that extended for miles. “Why couldn’t you have just waited one more fucking day…” Tissues were balled in my fingers, damp against my skin. There were no smudges of makeup, not when I’d stopped bothering to make myself look nice.

I used to wait on pins and needles for Fender to come home.

Now I couldn’t care less.

Deep in my heart, I knew Fender had a gentle soul and an innate kindness, so there was hope that he wouldn’t go through with it. He might spare her—for me. He might lock her back in her cabin as her punishment.

He did love me…after all.

Gilbert knocked on the door and let himself inside even when there was no response. He moved into the living room and regarded me, with features soft with sympathy. “Melanie, Fender has returned to the palace. Thought you’d like to know…” He gave a slight bow then stepped away.

I stayed in my spot on the couch because I dreaded the answer Fender would give.

If he told me she’d been hung in the Red Snow, I’d throw myself out the window to make the pain stop.

I couldn’t face that reality, so I stayed curled up in the corner of the couch, a box of tissues beside me, a dull headache behind my eyes that had been there for almost a week. My fingers loosened on the tissue in my hand and brought it to my nose to wipe the snot that had dripped through my stressed sinuses.

An hour later, the bedroom door opened.

I knew it was him, and instinctively, I pulled my knees closer to my chest and took deeper breaths, preparing for the hardest moment of my life. The room instantly felt warmer when his presence approached, when his energy rivaled the heat of the fire.

I kept my gaze averted.

He stepped into the living room and stopped near the coffee table.

He stared…and stared.

I kept my eyes down, my breathing becoming a bout of hyperventilation, tears forming in my eyes once more.

“Chérie.”

“Don’t…fucking…call me that.” Tears poured down my cheeks, and I pulled my knees closer. My hair was oily because I hadn’t showered. My skin was dry because I stopped moisturizing. I’d descended into darkness and couldn’t get back up.