The Camp (Chateau 2)

She gave a pause. “It matters to me…”

I looked at the road ahead, knowing we had another hour to go before we reached the hidden clearing where the vehicles were stored. “He never addresses her as Melanie. He always calls her ‘beautiful.’ When I was at his estate and she walked into the room, instead of getting his butler to fetch her drink, he did it himself. When they came to the camp, he made sure she got off the horse safely and onto the ground before he dismounted. He’s gentle when he touches her. I’ve never seen him be that way with a woman in my entire life.”

Raven was quiet as she processed that. “He loves her.”

“I don’t know.”

“Every time I asked about him, she changed the subject. I don’t know why she wouldn’t just tell me that.”

“Because she feels the same way.”

She turned back to me, incredulous. “Not possible.”

I didn’t argue because I really didn’t care anyway.

Her eyebrows furrowed in anger. “She would never feel anything for someone like that. Maybe there’s Stockholm syndrome going on, but no, Melanie would never care about the man who owns this place.”

I kept my eyes on the road.

“She wouldn’t…right?”

I didn’t care either way.

“Magnus?”

“What?”

“Do you think that’s true?”

“I’ve only seen them together a few times, so I’m no expert. Believe it or not, but dissecting people’s emotional feelings isn’t my hobby. I can read Fender well because I know him, but I don’t know your sister. Maybe she’s pretending… I have no idea.”

She faced forward again.

“I know you live a virtuous life and see the world in black and white, but other people see shades of gray. Most women would want to be the one who earns Fender’s affection, regardless of his criminal enterprise.”

She turned back to me. “Why?” There was a hint of disgust in her voice.

“He’s rich—”

“Money means nothing. Having a soul is the only currency that matters.”

I turned to her. “Can I finish?”

She faced forward again.

I turned back to the road. “He’s rich. He’s powerful. And he’s handsome. Melanie was in this camp for almost two months, and now she’s underneath the man that has everyone in his pocket. Nothing could hurt her ever again. That’s the dream, right?”

She shook her head. “I disagree.”

The wagons rolled across the hard ground and little pebbles in the road, and the horses started to turn as we came around a bend to avoid a large tree. “You slept with me, didn’t you?” I was the man who kept her alive. I was the only man powerful enough to keep the others away.

She slowly turned her head back to me, her features immediately etched into an expression of pain. “That’s totally different…”

“Is it?” I kept my face forward.

“Yes. We’re different. You’re nothing like him.”

I shook my head. “You give me more credit than I deserve.”

“Really?” she snapped. “Because I don’t think you give yourself enough.”

After the wagons were parked, the truck pulled up and the back was quickly thrown open. The guy didn’t get out of the driver’s seat because his job was to pull away the instant we were finished.

We hustled to get the drugs out of the wagons and into the back of the truck.

Raven just stood there.

I turned around and stood at the edge of the truck, seeing her petting one of the horses. “Get your ass moving. Now.”

She stilled at my command, her hand still on the horse’s nose, but she didn’t argue. She moved to one of the wagons and started to help us load the back. It was a lot of product, but we could get it loaded within three minutes. I pulled down the door, pounded my fist into the metal so the driver could hear, and then hopped off.

He drove away.

The horses were given food and water and a break before they would turn around and head back to the camp. My car was covered in a brown tarp, hidden in an enclave we’d made in the trees, so it was impossible to spot from the road. I pulled the tarp off and tossed it aside. “Let’s go.”

She eyed the car for a moment, recognizing it from the last time I drove her to Paris. There was a brief hesitation before she got inside.

I started the engine, and we pulled onto the road. I drove far past the speed limit because I would never be pulled over, even if another driver called and reported my license plate. That number would be entered into the database along with instructions to disregard it.

It’d already been a long day, and now we had a long drive to Paris.

She looked out the window and watched the scenery as we passed. “Where do you live?”

“Paris.”

She rested her head against the leather headrest, her eyes heavy like she might sleep on the drive. “You know what I mean.”