The Frenchman (Crime Royalty Romance Book 1) (29 page)

“He is the biggest snake of them all.”

“What do you mean?”

“He works for the Messettes. We bought him years ago when he was partners with your mother.
Oui
. And that night, he brought you to Noir to provoke me. He wants our money, but hates himself for taking it—not a man, a snake! And I knew, then, watching you, so beautiful and—” he clutched at thin air “—and carefree, I could not let him have you.” He stared at me accusingly, like his attraction to me was all my fault. “That is why I sent up the money,” he added, without apology.

Oh my God, wait, so he
had
wanted to buy me? One way or the other—

“Yes, maybe that is when I decided, I would have done anything to have you, Fleur. But I would not use you. Not like that. Not the way
she
would have you believe. As long as you were mine, you
and your mother
were safe from Georges. That’s the truth.”

I steadied my hands on my lap. He couldn’t think so little of me. Did he expect me to buy this? “Do you really expect me to believe your gang wouldn’t have used me as leverage for something?”

“
Mon Dieu
, we are not animals!” he bit back. “And we are not a gang. We are a family. And
oui
, Georges would have respected my wishes, and you, on my word alone. We can handle your mother, we have for years! Until now.”

I gave him my best “oh really” look. My ears were ringing.

“I see you will never believe we have honor. You can only take my word for it, that I would never have allowed them to use you that way.”

“Your word? I don’t need your word, because none of it would have mattered, Louis. Just being together would have trapped Marie.” I wanted it to be otherwise. But it wasn’t. It never would be. “And you knew it, Louis, and that’s why you lied to me over and over again. You lied about who you were.” I stared back at the wall, my vision blurring. Maybe he’d lied because he couldn’t give me up. Well, maybe he should never have brought me so close. I fought the tears, and flinched when he swore under his breath. “Back to this,” he said in French. “You want to blame, and take no responsibility, but—”

Silence. In my peripheral vision, I could see him lean forward, hands on his knees.

“Look at me.”

His voice was low. Menacing.

“Look at me.”

I met his glare.

“Tell me, when did I lie to you?”

“Come on,” I whispered, a low burn, worse than hunger, in my gut. “Omission is the same thing.”

“Is it? When did I ever omit anything? Hm?
Non
. It was you who lied to yourself. Over and over and over again,” he said quietly. “I was astounded how strongly you protect your perfect little version of the world.” He shrugged. “I could lead you to water only.”

My eyes popped open wide. I spun my body around to match the direction of my view.

“You expect me to drink this crap?”

Had I— Had I somehow unwittingly let this happen to me?

“None of that changes what you’ve done now, using your sister to deceive me, to kidnap me?”

“
Oui
, tell yourself that. Keep up the lies. I told you I will release you and I will, unharmed.” He ignored how he’d used Chloé to betray me, I thought, pursing my lips.

“
Mais
 . . .” He flipped his hand open on the table. “I could keep you if you like. Cut off your body parts and mail them one by one to your mother until she releases Georges, if you like?” He used that special kind of sarcasm that the French have mastered. “Then your mother really will finally have something to accuse me of, which is, how do you say, irony, since I am trying to help her from herself.”

I stared at him then, my endless well of hope springing forth at the slightest sign that he meant well. He wanted to help Marie? Why? I thought it was Georges he wanted to help. Yes, don’t lose focus! This is a trap . . . isn’t it?

My eyes darted back and forth across the dirt floor. What could I believe in the moment?

He says he doesn’t want to hurt me. I could, maybe, believe that.

He doesn’t want to use me to hurt my mother. Very hard to believe.

Then again, he says he wants
me
to get my mother to release Georges, when he could have simply forced her hand by never releasing me from here. I was certain other members of his family would have no problem cutting off my body parts and mailing them to her.

He said he wanted to help Marie from herself.

I pushed back my hair. I pulled it all around my right side, twisting it over and over, staring over his shoulder.

I glanced at him. “Why do you want to help Marie?”

His face, pulled taut, relaxed.

He drank a glass of water and slowly slid it, empty, back on the table. “Inspector LaSalle has charged Georges with drug trafficking.”

“Yeah, and her case is air tight,” I said, thinking how confident Marie was that Georges was going to jail for a long time.

“Oui
, because she made it up,” he said vehemently. My jaw dropped open. “And you must undo this, Fleur. It is wrong. This informant she claims to have is lying. He was not at the scene the time they say he was. I have no idea where she got the drugs.”

I squinted—hard to see him for the shame. Seriously? This was his tactic? “You want me to believe my mother, what, planted evidence? My mother is one of the good guys.” I was shaking. “She’s spent her whole life, no she’s
sacrificed
her whole life to rid the ports of scum like your family. She sacrificed me to do it!”

Tears spilled out of my eyes.

Oh my God. Oh my God. I clutched at my heart. This was not happening. I was not going to break into little orphan pieces right here, right now.

I tried to steady my breathing.

In that moment, I was utterly grateful to him, for not saying one word, for not even moving.

When I could speak again, I faced him. Fully. I planned to tell him to go fuck himself.

“Fleur,” he said quietly, eyes full of compassion, which made me want to punch him. “Don’t you see? She thinks we came after the most important thing in the world to her. She thinks it is a game. Only this game she plays now,
she
will lose,” he said quietly.

No. No. No.

I shook my head and crossed my arms tight.

He wanted me to not only believe he was the honorable one, but that my mother was dishonorable. Unbelievable, that he would accuse my mother of wrong-doing, when his brother was one hundred percent a criminal. “How do you know he wasn’t there, Louis?” I challenged him, barely able to control my temper, hating myself for even giving him the slightest benefit of the doubt. I was close to meltdown.

“Because Georges was with me when this informant claims he was selling drugs.
I
was with him this night in my home.”

I recoiled at the fierce—honest—gaze. He
was
with Georges.

No. No. I didn’t want to believe . . . oh my God . . . could Marie? Could she have done what he was saying? No. I could not even contemplate it, not in that moment. I refused to accept what he was saying.

“Maybe I am too late. Maybe she has painted you self-righteous, too,” he murmured in French.

Loud scraping startled me. Louis had pushed back his chair. He rose up, stepped closer and nudged my glass over to me.

“Please, drink.”

“How do I know it is not drugged?” I snarled. He’d put me in an impossible position. He wanted me to choose who to trust. And I refused to. Not right now.

He bent over quickly, hands on his thighs, just a foot from my face.

“Your anger won’t rescue you,” he said, following my face as I pulled away. “Will it, hm,” he added softly, his eyes falling on my lips. I glared at him. “But,” he said slowly, using that gravely, deep voice of his, “maybe it will keep you from seeing the truth a while longer, no?
Mon Dieu
. Is that what you want? To hide some more with my cock in you? I will give it to you, Fleur, but only if you beg.”

I gasped at his . . . cruelty, but this time I wasn’t going to stand and stare and let a vile man hurt me. Not anymore. Not ever again.

“Look at your tiny fists.” He laughed.
Stop!
I was leaning away from his hovering face, shaking with fury.
He wants to provoke you
—the realization popped in my mind. Why? To force you to choose. He wants his way. He is determined to have his way, whatever he wants, whenever he wants. He dragged something over. A chair. I didn’t want him so close, but I didn’t want to shift because it might give him a reason to touch me.

“
Pauvre Fleur
. You know how I feel about you when you are so angry.” He leaned right in, inches away, and his scent flooded my memories with all of the love I held for him. My heart squeezed. It hadn’t gone away. My love wasn’t black, as I’d expected it to be. It was white and pure and holy. “But maybe that is what you want? I can make you feel all the things you want to feel, all those dark ways you want me to make you feel. Ah, look at your chest, you can barely control your lust for me. You want me to fuck you right—”

I knocked his face away with my left hand, the sensation of flesh hitting flesh feeding my violence. I swung again wildly with both hands. How dare he
corrupt
what I feel for him? How dare he constantly dangle desire and pleasure like it is exclusive of love? He had gone too far. I had to fight back. He had hurt me for the last time. I struck out, desperate that he might feel a taste of loss. Real loss. He was stealing from me. From us.

I fought until I could fight no more.

My breath raspy, I squeezed my eyes and opened them.

I was trapped on the cot on my side. Locked up tight by arms and a giant thigh.

I had disappeared somewhere horrible. Somewhere I didn’t even know I had in me. I couldn’t believe I had hit another human being. I couldn’t believe what I had become.

I gave up trying to wrench free. It was pointless.

I squeezed my eyes tight one more time.

When I opened them I knew why it was pointless, and it didn’t come down to size or muscle or strength. Louis thought I was fighting him. He didn’t understand I was fighting for the both of us. He couldn’t see what was at stake since he was robbing blindly from himself—even right now. Did he not know what it took to salvage this?

Love. Simple love.

I was near hyperventilating.

He was making that stupid “sh” sound.

I tried to steady my breathing.

Come on
, I willed myself.

“Let me go,” I choked out.

“
Non
,” he whispered behind me.

His cock was already thick, pressing into my thigh. I knew what would happen next. He was going to express himself the only way he knew how. Offer me a bowl of milk. And I would lap it up, ravenously, like a good little homeless kitten.

“No. I mean, let me go for good. Leave me alone forever, and I will convince Marie to drop the charges—if you’re right about her.”

He forced me onto my back, crushing my body under his, and grabbed my face.

“Don’t!” I squirmed. I would cry at any moment.

“Fleur!” He held my face, searching my blurry eyes, all the while calculating. Always calculating.
What did he see?

“I should not have said those things. I was frustrated with you.”

I had to batten down my heart, which begged to forgive him.

“Fleur.” He gave me his soft look. “It does not have to be this way.”

At the hope, the promise in his words, I stopped fighting his hold on me.

Did he understand? Could he understand what we needed? Could he give it to us?

I closed my eyes and placed my hands on his shoulders, instead of against his chest. And I let myself contemplate the possibility.

I felt enormous relief.

Oh my God.

He was right.

I did want to lose myself with his cock in me. I wanted to forget everything else—like I always had in life, pretending the bad didn’t matter. I was willing to sacrifice something greater—what? I didn’t quite know—just to feel his love, the way he gave it to me, one more time. Be in it. Feel him from the inside. I wanted to
believe
it.

I opened my eyes, and I was back in that time and place when I knew him to be great. Not the best man, but the greatest man.

His eyebrows eased, and he slowly lowered his mouth until it was just inches from mine. I
had
to taste him again. I missed him so much it ached, still. I lifted up and claimed his mouth with determination, so he could have no doubt. I breathed in, tasting and nipping and sucking, frantically running my hands down his chest. He responded immediately, grabbing my chin with his hand, tasting my tongue. “Fleur,” he gasped in my mouth.

I arched with abandon.

No, it was not enough. I pushed up, yanking on his shirt, tearing it open. He lifted up onto his knees and took it off as I struggled out of my cardigan. He rushed at me, pulling off my tank top, throwing it aside, pulling my bra down to free my breasts. It was a frenzy of clashing flesh, a battle for more. I grasped his head and shouted as he bit down on my nipple, already budded for him. He squeezed my breasts together and rubbed his face in them. “
Ma petite Fleur
,
tu es mon cœur
,” he murmured. I closed my eyes at his words—I was his heart—and moved my hands over his head, down his strong back, trying to memorize every undulation of muscle, the weathered texture of his skin. I ran my nails deep on the way back up.

He hissed and wrenched back, pulling at my jeans, violently impatient, trying to get them off. They were skinny jeans and I almost laughed with his frustration. He ordered me to do it, and stood up and removed his own. Didn’t want to question. Didn’t want to think. Just wanted to take.
Like he takes
. He fell back on me before I had even laid back down, kissing, licking, and biting anywhere, everywhere, moving down my navel, forcefully opening my legs. When he sucked my clit, a powerful erotic sensation tore through me, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t
enough
. I sat up, grasping his short hair, yanking it as hard as I could. He grimaced and glared up at me.