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More people look my way.
“It’s him, the one on the news!” one shouts.
“The bastard responsible for hurting all those poor orphans?” another asks, loudly.
Too loudly.
Orphans? What now?
What the fuck is going on?
“Gerard,” one repeats.
“Gerard?”
They’re repeating my name with horror and hatred, and I can almost feel the swell of the mob mentality.
I’m not one to run away, but I wouldn’t even know who to target right now. My gun is safely secured in the harness, but if they’re ridiculing me for being violent and bringing violence to Paris, drawing a weapon will only throw fuel on the fire.
My family doesn’t target civilians.
I turn to face them, finding a wall of people behind me. That quickly, they’ve gone from ambivalence to hatred, swarming and screaming. Some are throwing things and others are taking pictures with their phones. Someone pushes me and I shove back, which elicits a scream. “Don’t let him hurt us! Get him!”
What?
“Hey, I’m not hurting anyone.” I don’t want to draw attention to myself. That’s not how I work.
A big, burly guy puts his hand on me, and I lose it. I’m no fucking pacifist. I hit him so hard I break his jaw. He falls to the ground screaming, holding his jaw in his hands. The crowd presses in on me. I can’t breathe. I’m smothered by their hands on me. I’ve never seen these people before.
I can’t call my brothers or even fight my way out. The crowd begins to pull me down. I’m on my knees when someone leans down and breathes in my ear.
“Don’t fight it, Lyam, if you know what’s good for you.”
I shove my way up, looking for the person who spoke to me.
“Who the fuck was that?” I manage to extricate myself from two men when three more who look vaguely familiar grab me from behind.
“He’s trying to hurt us!” one yells.
“Call the police!” another yells.
Cameras flash again. I’m shoving and pushing but getting nowhere. A prick hits my neck. I flail as realization dawns on me.
It was a setup, all of it. These aren’t tourists or students. This was a setup.
I punch the guy in front of me as the world gets hazy.
“We’ve got him.”
Cosette.
Our baby.
I sink into a world of darkness.
* * *
SIXTEEN
