Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68688 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“You’re going to compare women to asparagus?” I asked in disbelief. “They’re fucking people, Godric—”
He shot forward to the edge of his seat. “I don’t give a shit. Look at me.” His eyes were stretched wide, and the veins in his neck popped from the strain. “Does it look like I give a shit? Does it?”
“These are daughters—”
“These are fucking nobodies, Bastien. The homeless, the poor, women stupid enough to walk through a bad neighborhood alone at two in the morning—”
“So, they deserve this?”
He gave a shrug.
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“It’s how the world works, Bastien.”
“But it doesn’t have to—and it’s not going to.”
He returned his chin to his hard knuckles and stared at me. “Why do you care so much, Bastien?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“I think you do when you risk a knife to your back. You think you have control of this city, but a lot of men want you dead.”
“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” No one had tried to come for me, not in my home, not on the street, not at any of the functions of the Senate. Maybe they wanted me dead, but actually executing a plan was a different story.
Godric stared in silence, his eyes locked on my face with the stillness of a statue.
“Godric, you can get into another line of business. It doesn’t have to be this way—”
“It does, Bastien.”
“You’re telling me, when we were kids, your dream was to be a human trafficker?” I asked incredulously. “Because I remember all you ever wanted to be was a veterinarian.”
Godric burst with laughter. “I forgot about that.”
“You wanted to help animals, and now, you steal women from their homes. That’s who you want to be, Godric?”
“Anything you say before puberty doesn’t count.”
“Answer the question.”
His laughter died away, and he turned serious once more. “Bastien, I don’t care. I don’t care about anyone or anything—besides myself. You can try to guilt me with your questions and your exasperation, but you can’t guilt someone who lacks a conscience.”
I gave a shake of my head. “I don’t believe that.”
He shrugged. “People change, Bastien. Boys become men. We stop caring about animals and toys and obsess over money and pussy. It’s just how it is.”
My brother and I had been divided a long time, but I was still disappointed by the words I heard.
“Bastien.” His voice turned serious, his stare losing all hint of humor.
I met his look.
“The Fifth Republic will fall. The old order will return. And you can’t stop it.” His cheek was propped on his closed knuckles again, his somber eyes watching me across the table. “I suggest you embrace the old order to save your neck—or step down and let someone else take your place. Take my advice.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“I guess you wouldn’t know.” He continued to stare at me, the coffee table between us. “I may not like you, but that doesn’t mean I want you dead.”
“I thought you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”
“I care about Mom. Though, not so much right now. And she’d be ticked if I let you get shanked in the street.” He looked past me out the window, his eyes lingering on the city we seemed to own together, just under different leaderships. “I’m not going to change, and if you aren’t going to change, this only ends one way—with one of us dead.” His eyes came back to me. “And it’s not going to be me, Bastien.”
I met with Roger at Chez Georges. We had dinner together like civilized people, but we talked shop the entire time, not caring about the people who sat directly next to us and overheard the entire thing. I didn’t eat bread very often, but Chez Georges had the best bread in Paris, and I enjoyed that more than my steak.
He got a call from his wife toward the end of dinner and had to leave in a rush, so I sat there alone and finished my meal, preferring the solitude anyway. We discussed what we needed to discuss, so finishing dinner together was just an obligation.
A woman dropped into Roger’s chair across from me, wearing a pink floral dress with a gold necklace around her throat. She was a pretty brunette, looked to be in her early twenties, which was a bit too young for me. “I thought you could use some company since your guest left.”
My eyes moved to the empty seat from which she originated. Another young woman was there, probably a friend or a sister. She drank her wine as she watched her companion make a move on me.
“My name is Abigail.”
My eyes moved back to my new guest, annoyed that she was there, but also annoyed that the woman getting my dick continued to keep me at arm’s length. Told me she wanted casual, but if it was casual, I would be fucking this woman and whoever else I met on the way—and I knew she wouldn’t like that one bit.