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Henri finally stopped touching me and placed his hands on his lap. “Thinking about what exactly?”
Victor just tapped his nose.
“Am I in trouble, then?” Henri raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’ve been MIA for three days?”
“Trouble?” Victor blinked away his thoughts. “Frankly, you’re always in trouble, Mercer. And no, I had other urgent business come up.” He sighed. “To be honest, if your last name wasn’t Mercer and I didn’t get such a kick out of befriending my enemy’s brother, I think I would’ve tossed you in the sea by now.”
Henri chuckled.
Chuckled!
As if Victor—one of the most unpredictable, menacing men I’d ever met—just made a joke.
“Ah, come now, Vic.” He smirked, the bruise on his freshly shaved jaw from someone’s punch slightly green in the sun. “You’d miss me far too much.”
Victor’s mouth twitched. “And there is the crux of my little problem.”
“Your problem being that you like me?”
Victor huffed. “Strong word.”
“So…did I kill them?” Henri asked warily. “You said if I killed them, we’d be having another conversation. Is this another conversation?”
Biting into a strawberry puff pastry, Victor pouted as if he honestly didn’t know if he enjoyed Henri’s company or wanted to choke him with his danish. “A friend of mine at the local hospital called yesterday. Daxton passed away, but Roger is stable. However, he’ll never walk again, seeing as you snapped his neck.”
Henri leaned back with a scowl. “Isn’t a broken neck usually a death sentence?”
“Not if the spinal cord isn’t damaged. You were close.” His face darkened. “Lucky for you, you didn’t succeed.”
“But Daxton—the one who hurt Ily…he’s dead. That’s a bonus.”
Victor shot me a black look. “Pronounced deceased at five a.m. that morning.” He pinned Henri with a judgy glower. “Died of a ruptured penis, if you must know. Apparently, whatever trauma you delivered created a hematoma that burst. He bled out before they could operate.”
“Serves him right.” Henri toasted Victor with his coffee. “He shouldn’t have touched her.”
The sun slithered behind a cloud, drenching all of us in shadow.
My skin prickled with goosebumps at the callous way Henri spoke of killing someone. He didn’t exactly rejoice, but he didn’t show any remorse for stealing a life, either.
Did that make him crazy or sane?
Safe or dangerous?
His eyes flickered to mine as if he sensed me questioning so many things.
My heart stopped.
He jerked.
All those guarded feelings in him crowded behind the walls he’d tried to erect.
He looked as if I truly undid him, only this time…he’d begun to despise it.
“You know, mon ami, if you enjoy dispatching my guests so much, perhaps I will put you to work, hmm?” Victor sipped his coffee, watching Henri over the rim.
Henri tore his gaze from mine. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Victor shrugged. “I should be reprimanding you. All my guests are aware I don’t tolerate brawls or in-house violence. To fight one another equals immediate chastisement or a revocation of their invitation. I even sent Larry home yesterday as I’m not in the mood to listen to his whining. But…”
“But?” Henri stiffened.
“Lucky for you, you actually did me a tiny favour.”
“How so?” His forehead furrowed.
Victor carelessly tossed me a blueberry and custard tart and lowered his voice. “A little birdie told me that Daxton wasn’t keeping secrets as well as he should. He informed someone about the location of my Elysium. I obviously don’t need to tell you what a big fucking no-no that is. Especially with your brother hunting. He was one of the scant few who I let boat here. The rest I fly in—windows blindfolded and no address given. I thought he was trustworthy after a decade of his company. I was wrong.”
“Do you think Q was behind it?” Henri asked. “Bribed him to talk?”
“Who can say?” Victor leaned back. “All I know is…Daxton Hall was a walking dead man. And it pleased me to think of him enjoying himself, one last time, all while knowing he wouldn’t be leaving here on Sunday when he was due to go back home to his wife and three little girls.”
I froze with the sticky, sweet tart at my lips.
My stomach growled.
My appetite roared.
But the thought that the man who’d almost raped me had three daughters? That he had no empathy to be able to put his own flesh and blood into my shoes. Or imagine how he’d feel if another man did to them what he did to me…
My mouth gushed with sick saliva.
I threw the tart onto the grass. A cloud of cheeky sparrows descended in glee.
Henri’s gaze cut to me.
I looked up.
Our eyes caught all over again, and he did yet another of his heart-scrambling tricks. Bending a little, he tucked a few straight strands behind my ear and continued talking to Victor as if he hadn’t just blown my aching chest apart.
“How many of your guests know your exact location?”
