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Chapter Eleven
Bastien
Blood roars in my ears as I storm away from Marcel, his venomous words lingering like smoke. Why didn't I pull the trigger when the chance was mine? Thirst for revenge chokes me, gnawing at my insides like a ravenous beast.
"Keep your friends close," I mutter under my breath, "and your enemies closer." It's an old saying, but one that's never failed me. And now, it's Giroux who demands my attention.
I follow him through the city, a shadow unseen, unnoticed. The streets of New Orleans pulse with life, but I see only him – Giroux, the man who holds the key to Marcel's twisted machinations. If Marcel is making a move on Lisette, Giroux will know.
"Hey, Bastien!" A familiar voice calls out, causing me to startle. It's a fellow soldier from my days in the Marines, a lifetime ago. But I cannot afford distractions now; I brush him off with a terse nod and continue my pursuit.
Giroux ducks into an alley, and I press myself against the wall, eyes narrowed as I watch him whisper into his phone. The muscles in my jaw tighten as I strain to catch every word.
"Marcel wants it done tonight," he says, his voice low and conspiratorial. "The bakery – you know the one. Make it look like a rival gang hit."
My fists clench, and my stomach turns violently at the thought of Lisette caught in the crossfire. No – not on my watch. My focus narrows to a razor-sharp point, and I know what I must do: take down Giroux, then Marcel, and make it safe for Lisette to stay in New Orleans.
As Giroux ends his call and begins to walk away, I stalk him like a predator. Each step is calculated, smooth, silent. We weave through the city, our deadly dance taking us deeper into the underbelly of New Orleans.
At last, in the darkness of a deserted street, I make my move. I spring forward, my hand clamping down on Giroux's shoulder like a vise. He spins around in surprise, and I seize the opportunity to land a brutal punch to his gut, the force of it knocking the wind out of him.
"Wh-what do you want?" he stammers, fear widening his eyes.
"Information," I snarl, my voice dripping with venom. "Everything you know about Marcel's plans."
Giroux hesitates, but another blow to the face wipes away any doubts. He spills the details, each word tightening the noose around Marcel's neck.
"Please," he pleads when he's finished, blood staining his teeth. "I've told you everything."
"Cut the shit, Giroux," I snarl, tightening my grip on his throat. "I know about your plans with Marcel. What's next? When are you attacking Lisette?"
His eyes widen with fear, but the smirk never leaves his face. "You think I'll talk that easily?" he taunts, gasping for breath.
"Fine." My fist connects with his jaw, sending him reeling. "Have it your way."
As I beat him mercilessly, each punch fueled by the rage boiling inside me, Giroux finally breaks. "Alright! Alright, stop!" he pleads, coughing up blood. "Marcel plans to attack the bakery tonight, make it look like a rival gang."
"Is that all?" I demand, my rage still unsatisfied.
"Y-yes," he stammers, tears streaming down his bruised and bloody face. "I swear."
"Rot in hell," I say coldly, and with a final surge of rage, I raise my gun and fire. The gunshot echoes through the night, and Giroux crumples to the ground, lifeless.
"Forgive me, Lisette," I whisper into the darkness. "But I won't let them take you from me."
The night air is thick with the scent of impending rain as I make my way to Etienne's place, my heart pounding like a caged animal in my chest. The streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement, and with each step, memories of Lisette swirl through my mind - her laughter, her touch, the taste of her lips.
As I leave behind the haunting silence of the swamp, I can't help but think of Lisette, and the lengths I'll go to keep her safe. Marcel will soon learn not to underestimate the fury of a man who has everything to lose.
***
