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“What’s his name?”
“Bleu.”
I smirked. “Looks just like him too.”
She gave a chuckle as she squeezed him tighter.
I tucked the blanket around her to keep her warm then ran my hand over the top of her hair, catching some of the soft strands.
Her eyes always turned tired when I did that. They started to blink now. She tried to keep them open, but the fatigue was too much. It was a pointless battle, but it happened every night, nonetheless. When she was a baby, she would fight it even more, and we ended up with a lot of crying fits.
When her eyes closed, they stayed closed this time.
I gave her a kiss on the forehead.
“Daddy…?” Her eyes remained closed, her bear against her chest.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Can Constance be my mommy too?”
I stared at her innocent face as I stilled on the spot.
Her eyes opened when she didn’t get an answer.
“If you want her to be.”
She closed her eyes again.
I watched her for a moment longer before I let myself out of her bedroom. Constance was on the couch in the living room, ready to say goodbye before I left for the night. In her leggings and a loose-fitting shirt, she was comfortable for the evening but still stunning to me. She rose to her feet when I came close, ready to walk me to the door.
I held her stare for a moment.
“What is it?”
After a quick deliberation, I gave a shake of my head. “Claire just told me she loves you… That’s all.”
Her eyes softened like a wilted flower, and the depth of that love went well below the surface, into the recesses of her heart. “I love her too.”
I’d never had a woman anywhere near Claire, but I imagined if I had, they would’ve tried to use my daughter to earn my affection. It would be a superficial ploy just to get to me. But I never had to worry about that with Constance—because she loved my daughter before she even knew me.
“Don’t go…” Her eyes pleaded with me to stay. She wanted every night to be the same—with the two of us in that bed. Sex. Sleep. More sex in the morning. And then the rest of our day.
I wished I could give it to her. “This is the only kind of life I can offer you.”
She gave a nod, but her eyes were depressed.
“This isn’t the life I want for us either. I don’t want my daughter to grow up with an absent father.”
“You aren’t absent, Benton.”
“But I’m not present either.”
“Do you think…this is forever?”
Probably. “He told me the price for Claire—and I paid it.”
“But you guys are friends, right?”
“More than friends, but not anymore.”
“Then he should have helped you with no compensation.” She came forward, her arms crossed over her chest. “A man is missing his daughter, and you take that as an opportunity to exploit him?”
“It’s a lot more complicated than that.”
“How?”
“I founded the Chasseurs with him a long time ago. It was ours. No wives. No children. That was our vow—and I broke it.”
“Sounds like he just needs to shut up and get over it.”
“And he would have…but I left to take care of Claire.”
“I know, but I don’t see why that’s such a betrayal.”
“I turned my back on him. That’s why.”
She gave a shake of her head. “He’s a big boy. He can handle business without you.”
“Like I said, it’s more complicated than that. He was more of my brother than Bleu’s ever been. It’s probably hard to believe, but…we used to be totally different. The men who work for you are only there to earn some money. You can’t buy loyalty. And you can’t earn it by being their boss either. I was the one person he could trust implicitly—and I walked away. I’m sure it’s been a lonely existence ever since.”
She kept her arms crossed over her chest, not an ounce of pity in her eyes. “Maybe you can change his mind at some point.”
“Only if I could offer him something no one else could.”
“Then find something to give him.”
We were back at the Louvre, the January fog blurring the lights in the haze.
Bartholomew sat beside me in the back seat at the curb, the steps between the lampposts slick with earlier rain. He looked out his window for a while before he regarded me. “You shoot him, I shoot you. Got it?”
I held his gaze. “You’re full of shit.”
“Then let’s find out.” He got out of the car, pulled his pistol from the back of his jeans, and cocked it with a menacing stare.
Our previous friendship may have been in tethers, but I didn’t buy that for a second.
I joined him, and we headed up the stairs.
He was exactly where I saw him last, surrounded by his freakish cronies with the skulls, dressed in all black. The second I came into view, his eyes shifted around me, as if I would cave that quickly. When he realized she wasn’t there, the anger set in, made his face heavy, made his eyes coarse.
