Fournier laughs. “Nicely played, Alexander.” His head tilts. “Or are you so very indifferent to the fate of your fiancée? Is that why there were two girls at the ball that night?”
Van Wyk’s posture doesn’t relax. He’s barely a dozen feet to my left, hands empty but held ready, his balance poised. Fournier’s almost in arm’s reach, not that it makes a difference. With Vicky held by that gorilla of a man, there’s nothing to do but wait for the next move.
“My Chief of Staff was available and curious,” I reply indifferently. “I thought it hardly mattered.”
“Did the kiss hardly matter?” he asks. He looks to Van Wyk. “Have we got the wrong girl?”
Shit.
“I’m certain we haven’t,” Van Wyk drawls.
“Well, let’s find out.” Fournier leans against the edge of his desk, his attention back on me. “Are you familiar with the old custom of feudal lords, taking the wife of their vassals?”
My jaw tightens, and it’s involuntary. I know he’s noticed; his eyes are on me. He’s watching for a reaction, and I’ve just given him one.
He wants to find my weakness, and he has. Maybe two weeks ago, I wouldn’t have cared so much. It’s impossible to be sure; Vicky was still mine, even then. But now… everything’s different. She has my cum inside her, in this very moment.
“Vaguely,” I bite out.
Fournier waves a hand. “There’s no actual historical merit to it. It’s myth. Fiction. Yet not a bad idea, I’ve always thought. It’s such a wonderful test of a man’s devotion, don’t you think?” He gestures past me toward where Vicky is held, but I don’t turn to look. “And when the wife in question—forgive me: fiancée—is as lovely as this one…” He trails off, letting the words hang in the air, watching me closely.
“No.” The word comes out sharp, and I don’t care. “The answer’s no.”
“That’s what so many of them say,” Fournier replies, rubbing his eye with one fingertip like he’s bored. “They change their mind when presented with the alternative.”
It’s clear he wants me to hand him the line. “Which is?”
Van Wyk takes a pace forward without any direction from Fournier. His karambit is in his hand, and I didn’t see him draw it. He unfolds the blade with a flick of his thumb, and it locks into place with a snap, gleaming and curved.
“Does that answer your question?” Fournier asks.
Twenty-Three
Alex
Somewhere behind me, Vicky gives a gasp of horror.
Interestingly, I have no reaction. My pulse doesn’t increase. My palms don’t sweat. My anger is cold, curling icy through my stomach and feeding me strength.
I might be about to lose a finger, but I’m going to kill every man in this room. Maybe not today—I’m not a fool. I can be patient.
If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s finding solutions. Fournier has just signed his death warrant, even if he doesn’t know it.
“Very well,” I say lightly. “Your desk, or the table?”
Fournier barks a laugh of surprise, and doesn’tlook away from me even as he addresses Van Wyk. “You’re correct as always, Lukas. Wedohave the right woman.” He gestures to the meeting table a few feet behind me. “Over there, please.” He pats the desk he’s leaning against. “This was owned by Louis XV, and I don’t want it scratched.”
Van Wyk walks to the table and pulls a chair out of our way. “Put your left hand here.”
So he’s going to do it for me, and not give me the knife. I suppose the end result is the same.
I take the half-dozen paces to the table, still busy watching myself as if from a distance. It’s almost curious how little I’m feeling, yet at the same time, how cold my rage is. Thoughts flick through my mind: how much it will hurt, how easy it will be to make no sound. What it will be like to be short a finger, and how much I’ll miss it.
How difficult it will be to reach Fournier and Van Wyk for my revenge. I’ll find a way, however long it takes.
This table is mahogany too, but evidently not from eighteenth-century France. The surface is polished to a gleam, with light scratches from age and use, each carefully buffed out, hardly visible. I wonder how many of them came with accompanying pools of blood.
Vicky hasn’t made another noise since her gasp, but I don’t distract myself by looking at her. If I see her held like that again, I might lose it all and leap at Van Wyk. I’m under no illusions I’ll win that fight. No, that’s not the way to take him down.
