“Order the murder of your father? Of course I did. My only regret,” he adds, his hands sliding up my thighs, “is that I didn’t keep him alive and force him to watch me fuck his beautiful daughter.” His thumbs are now stroking my inner thighs just below my sex, and it is all I can do not to lean forward and smash my head against his, kick him away, and finally live out that fantasy of snapping his neck.
I’m trembling, visualizing that fantasy, and he laughs, low and dirty, a sound that crawls over my skin like slimy, disgusting worms. “I should force you to have an orgasm right now,” he says, “just to prove I can despite all the hate you’re throwing my way, but that would be a pleasure you don’t deserve right now. Instead, you get to spend the rest of the trip thinking about what I’m going to do to you. How many ways I’m going to fuck you when we’re alone.”
I decide I’m done playing submissive with this man. The game starts and ends tonight. “I’m going to kill you,” I promise him.
“I hope for Sara’s sake you don’t,” he says, “because I might not survive to enjoy you, but then, neither would she survive another day.” He squeezes my legs, thumbs digging into my flesh with brutal force. “Keep them open.”
He backs up and sits in his seat, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture. “When the time is right, when I can send this without him tracking our location, Kayden is going to enjoy that one, I think, don’t you?”
I don’t focus on the horrific knowledge that at some point he’s sending that shot to Kayden. I focus on the one positive confirmation he’s given me. Kayden is alive; be it by design or not, Kayden survived Gallo. But Neuville can’t let him live. Not after he defied Evil Eye. He’s setting Kayden up, planning to kill him, and no doubt thinks he has some plan to justify it and escape retaliation. That picture is bait and we’re headed to Paris. Where Sara is right now. But more so, in that moment, I remember everything. I know why I was blocking the location of the necklace, and my hiding place is both brilliant and almost sadistic on my part, when I think about it now.
It’s in his house. I hid it in his house, and some part of me couldn’t bear the idea of ever stepping foot in that place again.
eighteen
sara
Saturday, the evening of the Louvre charity event
I know I should have some profound words to write tonight. That’s what kept me reading Rebecca’s journal after I found it. I hung on every word. Everything felt impactful. For me, though, it feels rather simple. These days, after so much tragedy has swept our lives, I’ve been working on that. Simple. Keeping it simple. I’m not sure it’s working. I mean, I’m in love with Chris Merit. There is nothing simple about that man. But here’s simple tonight:
1) Yes. Ella could still be in danger, but she is safe with a man who seems to care about her. I know from personal experience that one thing, one very special person, changes everything.
2) Yes. Garner Neuville is looking for Ella, but we’ve known this and it sounds like his operation is about to be taken down. We don’t have details, just that after this weekend, he won’t be a problem. Then I can hug Ella in person.
3) Yes. The extra security tonight for the charity event, just in case Neuville suddenly targets me, is unsettling, but why would he target me now after months of ignoring me? And even if he did, we’ve taken very serious precautions. Not only is Blake Walker here, but so is Jacob. And Jacob might be part of Walker Security now, but he was security for Chris’s building back home, and then for us, before he even knew the Walkers.
So that’s my version of simple. The not-so-simple part of all of this is how Chris is affected by the idea of me being in danger. Especially considering we’re fresh off the loss of his ex right here in Paris, which is why it’s time for me to go be with him. More later . . .
I shut the journal and stand up, giving my silver knee-length a quick once-over, smiling at the idea of walking downstairs and showing it to Chris. I picked it for Chris, because he’s been all about silver on his canvas lately, and it seems I’m always his canvas lately. The idea has me smiling through tiny splintery nerves I can’t show. If I’m nervous Chris will be a hundred times more on edge, and as it is, he only tolerates public events for one reason: to help the kids and families dealing with the tragedy of cancer.
I slip the strap of the heart-shaped jeweled purse I bought for the night over my shoulder and head for the door, hurrying down the hallway. Reaching the top of the stairs, I find Blake and Chris standing at the base, both incredibly sexy in tuxedos. As I start down the stairs both men turn toward me and Blake, who is tall, dark, and hopefully deadly if we need him to be, waves and heads toward the garage. Chris, my blond, hot artist, simply watches me walk down the stairs, and I swear I will never get over the impact of this man looking at me like there’s nothing else in the world but me, and us.
The moment I’m in front of him, his hands settle at my waist, branding me, owning me.
“I love this dress on you, but it’s going to make me spend the night thinking of how to get you out of it.”
&n
bsp; My lips curve, warmth radiating through me. “I love you in the tuxedo,” I say, my hands flattening on his lapels, “even if you hate them. But there’s something about knowing your dragon sleeve is underneath it that drives me a little wild.”
Those green eyes of his burn with amber flecks. “Show me tonight.”
“I will,” I promise, smiling, my hand brushing his scruffy jaw. “The rebel in you just won’t shave for these events. It’s like you want to remind them you’re not this guy.”
“We’re ready now.”
I turn to find Blake motioning us forward, and we head downstairs to our private garage. It’s not long before we’ve ignored the two Porsche 911s and are loaded in the back of a black, nondescript sedan, with Jacob in the driver’s seat. “Hi, Jacob,” I say. “We got you in a tuxedo too, I see.”
“You did,” he says, glancing over his shoulder, his brown hair trimmed to his scalp. “It appears,” he says dryly, “that Paris isn’t romantic after all.”
“I take it you enjoy a monkey suit as much as I do.” Chris laughs.
“It’s obligation, never choice,” he says. “But you two are good obligations.”
“Well,” I say, “I assure you that plenty of women are going to think you are their perfect romance tonight.”
“Let’s roll,” Blake says, climbing in the front seat and looking at us. “Kayden has three of his men inside the event and three on the exterior, backing us up. Our tech guy’s already hacked the security feed and is watching from a not-so-remote location. There’s not a reason you two can’t enjoy your night.”