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It was a bedroom I didn’t recognize, but I knew exactly where I was.
I felt the weight on my ankle and looked down to the thin black anklet. A subtle red light blinked from time to time. “Motherfucker.” I pulled my ankle close to me and worked on breaking it off, finding a screw to loosen, anything to get this damn thing off my ankle. All I ended up doing was bruising and scraping myself.
I gave up and climbed off the bed.
I was still in the dress I’d picked up off the floor, nothing underneath. There was a pile of clothes on the dresser, full of undergarments, jeans and shirts, pajamas. I was tired of moving from place to place, being issued a new set of clothes like I was in prison. I put on the jeans and shirt before I opened the curtains.
I expected to see a place I knew well, the gardens on either side of the property, the sight of Paris in the faraway distance on a clear day. There was supposed to be a fountain in the front with lily pads floating across the surface.
Instead, I saw a new location.
Rolling hills across the countryside. A medieval village on top of a nearby hill. Groves of olive trees and vineyards with grapes ready for harvest. The smell of jasmine was so fragrant on my nose it smelled like it grew right inside my bedroom. When I poked my head outside the window, I saw it grow up the cobblestone walls several feet high.
No matter how beautiful the place was, my heart sank.
I was no longer in France.
I wondered if Cauldron knew that.
I wondered if he was okay.
I wondered if he’d ever be able to find me.
I left the bedroom and stepped into a hallway. Paintings were on the wall, sculptures of naked men and women on tables along the way. Fresh flowers were in vases. Mediterranean colors splashed across the rugs, hardwood floor, and wallpaper.
It was three stories, so I made it downstairs to the ground level.
It seemed like no one was there. “Hello?”
Footsteps approached, and then Raymond, Grave’s butler, appeared from the kitchen. “How are you feeling, mademoiselle? Is there anything I can get you?”
“A big fat Tylenol. And some answers.” Raymond had always treated me with the same respect as Grave. Made me feel like the woman of the house without being told. It was nice to see his face, but shitty to be back in this prison.
“Of course.” He returned with the pills and a bottle of water.
I downed it right away, hoping it would steady the throb in my temple.
“Dinner is almost ready, but I could make you something now, if you’d like.”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I want to speak to Grave.”
“He’s in the courtyard.”
“And where is that…?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, mademoiselle. I’ll escort you.” He took the lead out the double doors and to the front terrace. It was more than a terrace, but a venue that overlooked the countryside. He turned back toward the building to go into the courtyard, which had a fountain in the center and then various seating areas. There was lots of shade because the enormous buildings blocked the sun.
Grave sat at one of the tables, in jeans and a t-shirt, talking with a couple guys. I recognized one of them. Ronin, his right-hand man. He was basically Raymond, but in his professional life. They drank their wine and ignored the platter of food that Raymond must have brought out before.
Raymond excused himself like he knew what was coming.
I walked up to Grave slowly, so angry I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do first. Eye-gouge him with both thumbs or kick him in his happy place. When I came close enough, I propped my hands on my hips and stared him down.
Grave had no discernible reaction, but he dismissed the guys with a gentle wave of his hand.
They vacated their seats and departed, disappearing around the edge of the courtyard to the front of the property.
He straightened in his chair then gestured to the seat across from him.
I played his game and took a seat.
With his elbow propped on the armrest, he stared at me, the hardness in his face resembling his brother’s. They had the same dark eyes, the same intensity to their presence. He watched me for a while before he glanced to the necklace around my neck.
“Tell me he’s okay.”
His eyes lifted to mine again. “They removed the bullets from his arm. None of the bones were shattered—so he got off easy.”
“Got off easy?” I asked coldly. “You fucking shot him.”
“And he pushed me off a five-story yacht.”
“You. Shot. Him.”
“And. He’ll. Live.”
“He didn’t mean to break your arm when he pushed you off.”
“And I didn’t mean to kill him when I shot him. Now we’re square.”
