The Palace (Chateau 4)

“I’m fine.” I heaved and heaved, breaking down in mental agony. “Gilbert…help him… He’s been shot.”

When he realized I was fine, he moved to the floor where Gilbert lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, giving labored breaths as he clung to his last few minutes of life. When Fender bent down over him, Gilbert shifted his eyes to Fender’s face.

I crawled over, tears pouring down my face. “He saved me. Everyone went to the bunker, but he came to get me.”

Fender’s face turned stoic, and he planted his hand against his bloody chest. He inhaled a deep breath as he stared at his blood-soaked hand. Blood pooled underneath him, staining the rug with so much blood, it was incredible Gilbert was still alive.

I choked on my sobs. “He…he wouldn’t let them take me.”

Fender kept his hand on Gilbert’s chest and looked into his eyes. He didn’t tell him he would be okay. He didn’t try to move him so an ambulance could take him away. “Thank you.”

Gilbert moved his arm weakly so his hand could reach Fender’s. He held it against his chest.

Fender reciprocated and squeezed his hand.

Gilbert breathed deep and hard, his breaths becoming more labored as the blood supply to his lungs grew less and less. “I…I…did it…for you…sir.”

My hand cupped my face, the amount of my tears rivaling the amount of blood everywhere.

Fender inhaled a deep breath as he looked down, his eyes growing soft. “Not ‘sir.’ Fender.” He held Gilbert’s hand on his chest and stared into the eyes of the man who had served him so faithfully, so loyally. There wasn’t deep emotion on his face, just a quiet sympathy, and he watched Gilbert struggle to breathe as their hands remained clasped. “Your family will be taken care of.”

His breathing grew deeper and deeper, gasping for air that he couldn’t get. His eyes started to glaze over, and his hand immediately went slack in Fender’s. His body went rigid, all the muscles tightening, and then his head turned slightly because he went limp.

When he was gone, Fender closed his eyes and bowed his head, sucking in a deep breath that showed the pain he’d been restraining until Gilbert was no longer with us.

My tears stopped for a few seconds before they resumed once again, louder and harder.

Fender released Gilbert’s hand and placed his hand over his heart. “I’m sorry.”

Everything that happened after that was a blur.

Fender carried Gilbert outside and placed him on the grass in the backyard, so he could look at the stars with his closed eyes, ascend to heaven easier. More men were dispatched to the palace, cleaning up the dead men in the hallway and disposing of them. The rest of the staff came from the safe room, unharmed, and the news of Gilbert devastated them all.

It devastated me more—because he’d died for me.

Once Fender knew I was unhurt, he ordered his men to work and left me alone in my bedroom. He didn’t comfort me. He didn’t speak to me. He had a lot more on his mind at the moment.

I was covered in blood, so the first thing I did was take a shower. My nightgown was ruined, so I sealed it inside a bag and threw it in the trash. I didn’t bother to dry my hair or do my makeup. I just sat on the bed with my arms crossed over my chest, replaying the events over and over in my mind. Gunshots echoed. Their voices sounded like they were still in the hallway. Gilbert’s bravery. His dead face. The bloody rug. It cycled over and over—endlessly. Night deepened, but I was too flustered to lie down and try to go to sleep.

Not without Fender.

My bedroom door opened, and I immediately looked up to see him walk inside.

He was in fresh clothes. The blood had been washed off his hands. But he wasn’t in his sweatpants—like he intended to leave. His eyes were soft as they looked into mine, coming to the bed with his heavy footsteps. He lowered himself on the mattress beside me, stared at the floor for a few moments, and then turned his chin to regard me.

I had stopped crying, but looking at him now made me want to cry again.

“I’m leaving.”

“Can I come with you?”

He shook his head. “I won’t be gone long.”

“Are you…getting the people who did this?”

He nodded.

“Please be careful.”

His dark eyes had no reaction.

“But yes…make them pay for what they did.”

His response was immediate. “I will.”

My hand went to his, holding on tight.

He squeezed my fingers in return. “While I’m gone, I want you to move all your things to my bedroom.”

His eyes remained steady as they looked into mine, but mine turned confused.

“I never want to be apart from you again, chérie.”

Eighteen

Machete

Fender

I piled into the SUV with my men, and we left the palace.