Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Bullets slam into the wall in front of me when I reach the master. I stagger back, cursing. If Pascal weren’t so fucking old and out of shape, I suspect I’d be dead right now. Lucky for me, I bet he hasn’t done target practice in at least a decade.
“Don’t make this hard,” I snarl into the bedroom.
“You ungrateful pig,” he snaps back. “You think you can kill me? You think I’m going to roll over and die for you? After all that I’ve done. Who gave me up?”
“Shut your damn mouth and put the gun down. We don’t have to do this, Pascal.”
“I notice you’re not calling me Grandpère anymore. Have you really lost all respect, boy? I remember when you were just a sewer rat. I remember—”
I go in low and fast, rolling into the room and coming up shooting. Pascal’s crouched on the far side of the room beside the bed and he’s startled when I charge. His shot goes wide, but mine finds the mark. It hits him in the forearm, blasting a chunk of blood and muscle into the wall behind him, and knocking the gun from his grip.
He curses in French and grabs his wounded arm to his chest. He’s bleeding all over the fucking place. Simon can bill me for the damage.
I stand over Pascal and aim the gun at his face.
He stares up at me, teeth bared. “So that’s it then? You come in here and you’re going to murder me? I gave you everything. I made you what you are today.”
“You’re wrong.” My voice is soft but I feel years of anger flowing through me. “You gave me a chance. You gave me opportunity. But I made the best of it. I built this for myself. I left France to get out from under your shadow and I proved that I don’t need you. I never fucking needed you.”
“You little shit,” he snaps. “You pathetic little shit. Go ahead, kill me. Don’t drag it out. Kill me!”
I kick him hard in the guts. He groans and rolls onto his side on the floor as I grab his weapon and toss it well out of reach. I find a length of rope and a black cloth bag at the bottom of my pack, and kneel down on Pascal’s chest as I bind his wrists behind his back.
“What are you doing?” he groans as I drag him to his feet. “Get the fuck off me. What are you doing, you bastard?”
I yank the black bag over his head.
“You’re coming with me.”
He lets out a long string of curses in French as I drag him stumbling and spitting to the front door. We step out into the hall again, and the nosy old lady’s staring at me from her doorway, her phone up to her ear.
“It’s him!” she shrieks. “It’s the Frenchman. He’s coming for me too!”
She slams the door in my face.
“Stupid lady,” I mutter and call the elevator.
“You’re making a mistake,” Pascal says as we ride back down to the parking garage. “The Biancos. They’re going to be angry.”
“Who do you think told me where you were? You really should’ve stayed in the oasis, you stubborn old fool.”
He’s breathing hard and bleeding all over the place. Part me thinks he might not make it. And another part of me doesn’t care.
We reach the garage. I drag him out and flip the card toward the man I robbed. He’s sitting up and rubbing his head, looking dizzy and barely with it. I’m not even sure he notices as I shove Pascal into my trunk.
I slam it closed on the old bastard and start driving as police sirens get closer and closer.
Two Bianco thugs are sitting in a truck out front.
Neither of them moves to stop me.
Chapter 44
Brianne
Pascal bleeds like crazy. It takes a lot of work to keep him from losing too much blood before the doctor arrives. All the while, he curses and raves in French, and I can only understand maybe a third of what he says. When the doctor finally does show up, I have to help Julien hold Pascal down while he stitches the wound closed and make sure he gets some fluids.
“He’ll survive, most likely,” the doctor says as Julien puts a stack of bills in his hands. “But he needs rest, food, and lots of liquids. No torture.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The doctor shrugs as if he doesn’t actually care.
I sit with Julien in the living room once the doctor’s gone. Pascal’s unconscious in the guest room, the windows latched tight, a new lock on the outside of the door slammed shut. There’s no way that old asshole’s getting out, especially not in his weakened state.
Julien pulls me into his lap. I grind myself down and kiss him. I’m feeling high from adrenaline and terror, and his hands feel so fucking good on my ass.