Diamonds in the Rough (Diamonds are Forever Trilogy 2)

Making my way to the stairs, I grip the balustrade. My back is straight for the sake of the guard who’s still watching. He can’t see my shaky knees as I make my way to Maxime’s bedroom. I stop in front of the mirror. The beautiful dress is torn. My arms are scraped and dirty. My hair is a mess. My face doesn’t look much better.

I function on autopilot. I strip, shower, disinfect the scrapes, and put ointment on the bruise on my hip where I hit the concrete. I dress in a T-shirt and soft cotton shorts, and go down to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. I carry it to the bedroom and install myself there, waiting for Maxime to return, telling myself it’s my future I’m worried about and not his life.

Chapter 6

Maxime

Benoit followed the motherfuckers to a house near the hill. I park a distance away and gather my men around me. The backup arrived a few minutes before me.

“Whoever pulled the trigger,” I say, “is mine.”

They nod.

“How many?” I ask Benoit.

“Three guys got out of the car and entered the house. The curtains are pulled, but the light came on downstairs. The only other movement is on the first floor, second window to the left.”

I cock my gun. “Let’s go.”

We creep along the shadows, staying low behind the bushes. The front door opens on the street. I motion for Benoit to go around the back. He returns promptly, giving me the all clear.

Gun pointed in front of me, I stand back for one of the men to kick down the door. I’m inside before the three motherfuckers on the couch can blink. Four of my men rush up the stairs.

“Put your hands on the table,” I say, circling the three idiots.

The one on the left is the last to comply. He holds my eyes with defiance, his lip curled up in a mocking smile. It’s him I choose. I’ve always loved a challenge.

“Tie these two up,” I say to Benoit, motioning at the other two.

“With pleasure, sir,” he replies with cold hatred just as my guards drag a man, dressed in black combat gear with his arms tied behind his back, down the stairs.

“Anyone else?” I ask.

“No, sir,” one of my men says. “We’ve searched upstairs.”

The other guards return from the kitchen. “No one else downstairs, sir.”

Benoit binds the arms of the men on the couch. Except for the cocky one. Him, I push into a chair.

“Secure his feet and hands,” I say.

My men work fast. They tie him to the chair and use more rope to bind his wrists to the armrests and his ankles to the legs of the chair.

“Who pulled the trigger?” I ask.

One of the fuckers glances at his friend tied up in the chair.

“I did.” The guy in the chair spits at my feet.

I nod at Benoit. “Take the others to the warehouse. They’re yours.”

He gives me a look of appreciation. It’s only fair that he gets to torture and kill them. Gautier was the closest thing he had to a brother.

Half of my men go with Benoit. The other half stay with me.

“You know how this works,” I say, standing in front of the man who looks at me like I’m the one doing him the injustice. “Are you going to talk, or must I do my magic first?”

“Fuck you,” he says with a grin.

I smile. Good. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Taking my gun from my waistband, I aim at his hand.

One of my men shoves a dishcloth in his mouth. He clams his jaw shut on the fabric and clutches the armrest. I shoot off his trigger finger.

The silencer dampens the sound, but he screams like a baby behind the bundle of fabric.

“Who sent you?” I ask.

He’s dragging in air through his nose, trying to breathe through the pain. The look he gives me when he can finally focus again says fuck you.

I shoot off his thumb. Flesh and splintered bone hang from the knuckle by shreds of skin.

He bleeds like a pig and cries like a pussy. I’d ice the stumps to stop him from bleeding out and shoot off every motherfucking finger and toe until he gives me the answers I want, but I don’t have that much time. Zoe is home. Alone. I need to get back to her.

Pushing the gun on his left nut, I ask, “Who sent you?”

He mumbles behind the cloth. My man removes it.

He gulps in air, spit and gob mixing with his words. “Brise de Mer.”

This idiot isn’t part of their family. He’s a paid man. If this is about territory, why didn’t they come after me themselves? I dig the barrel into his balls. “Why?”

“To take out the girl,” he slobbers.

I go still. Every molecule in my body freezes in rage. I know exactly which girl. There’s only one girl. There will only ever be one. Still, I grind out the question as atomic violence builds in my veins. “Which woman?”