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Guillaume D’Arque is here? That’s good. That means he didn’t hurt Luca or Ri. It also means I’m going to die, but that’s something I can make peace with. Dove showed me what it felt like to be loved. Even now, I feel the warmth of her deep in my heart. The only way they can take that away is if they cut my heart out, just like George Peters did to Ivan Rackham. A death I’m willing to die if it means my birdie is safe.
“What do we have here?”
D’Arque. I’d recognize his nasal voice anywhere. He thinks he sounds so fancy with a French accent, but everyone knows it’s fake. Just like he is. One day, Luca and Ri will show him what actual power looks like. And I will smile down from the heavens above.
“Look at me, Maurice.”
I open my good eye. D’Arque stands before me, smiling.
“You’ve done well, but it’s time to give up. I need something to send the Beast, and a body part from you will get the point across that I mean business.” He smirks at me. “Unless you want to tell me where to find the woman. Dove, I think, is her name.”
He moves closer to me, taunting me. He’s so focused that he doesn’t expect the headbutt that knocks him backward. Fiery pleasure courses through me. I’m going to pay for that, but it was worth it.
“Stupid, stupid man.”
D’Arque snaps his fingers and I brace myself. This piñata is about to break. I know it deep in my soul.
Pain.
So much pain.
There’s a wetness on my face that I know comes from blood, but I don’t care.
Dove is safe.
My birdie is safe.
Safe.
That’s all I ever wanted.
I hear a scream. Opening my eyes, I know I must be dead because Dove is standing there like an angel. She’s talking, but I don’t hear a word she’s saying. A bright light calls to me, welcoming me to a place where I can finally rest. And I’m so exhausted, so I should follow it. See how Ivan is doing. I always liked him.
“Goodbye, birdie.”
19
Dove
“Goodbye, birdie.”
The words are barely a whisper, but I hear them as if Maurice screamed them. His eyes close, and his body goes limp. Rushing past Luca, I go to his side, trying to get him down. He’s hanging from some kind of hook that’s too tall for me to reach.
“Dove!”
I turn as a fist makes contact with my face, knocking me to the ground. I’ve been hit before, but never like this. Looking up, I find a man towering over me.
“You must be the bitch that I’ve been looking for. Let me introduce myself. I’m Guillaume D’Arque, but you may call me Master from this day forward.”
My father used to say I never knew when to keep my mouth shut, and now is one of those moments.
I laugh. “Anyone ever tell you that you resemble a walking penis? Scrotum and all?
Someone coughs to cover a laugh, and it’s enough to make him strike me again.
Shoving myself to my feet, I say, “That’s the last hit you’re going to get, buddy.”
“And what makes you think that? As far as I can tell, you’re outnumbered. It’s you, two men, and a dead guy.”
