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Chapter Two
Etienne
Three years later...
The first light of dawn filters through the cracks of the curtains, casting a gentle glow that signals the start of a new day. As consciousness slowly reclaims him, Bastien begins to stir, his movements laden with the remnants of sleep. Sensing his reluctance to embrace the morning, I lean in close, my breath brushing against his ear.
"Time to wake up, Sleeping Beauty," I shout, unable to contain my grin as he rouses from his slumber.
Groaning, Bastien swats at me halfheartedly, his eyes still closed. "Five more minutes, Etienne."
Chuckling, I persist, my fingers playfully dancing across his shoulder. "Ah, but you know what they say, cher ami – the early bird catches the worm."
His weary glare cuts through the air, as a single eye cracks open to meet my gaze. "Since when have we been hunting worms?" he retorts, his voice tinged with amusement.
"Since they started shooting back," I reply, a playful edge to my tone.
"Fine, fine." Bastien finally relents, pulling himself upright. He stretches, joints popping in a symphony of protest. "But if I'm doing this, I want coffee afterwards."
"Deal." My hand extends, an offer of assistance. Our fingers intertwine effortlessly, a testament to the unspoken bond between us forged over countless shared experiences.
After his quick shower, we step outside into the dew-kissed morning, our feet falling into a familiar rhythm as we traverse the grassy terrain. The sun hovers on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and gold. Our destination awaits – a makeshift firing range, situated in an old warehouse on the outskirts of our family's territory. As we approach, the banter resumes, a lighthearted exchange woven into the fabric of our friendship.
"Think you can hit the bullseye today, Etienne? Or should I remind you once again how it's done?" Bastien challenges, his words laced with playful competitiveness.
I raise an eyebrow, a smirk forming at the corners of my mouth. "Ha! You couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if it were painted neon pink and dancing the cha-cha."
A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes, his confidence unwavering. "Is that so?" he retorts, readying his weapon with practiced ease. "Because if I recall correctly, it was your shots that were flirting with the outskirts of the target on our last outing, not mine."
My own weapon at the ready, I adopt a predatory stance, my gaze locked on the distant target. "Well, let's see who flirts with the bullseye this time, mon ami."
The scent of gunpowder hangs heavy in the air as bullets whistle through the atmosphere. The sound of gunfire echoes through the morning, shattering the tranquility like shards of broken glass. Laughter dances between us, mingling with the sharp cracks that punctuate our competition.
"See? What did I tell you?" Bastien teases, his shots clustered tightly at the center of the target. "Perhaps next time you won't be so quick to doubt my aim."
I join him in inspecting the target, acknowledging his triumph with a gracious nod. "Ah, but where would be the fun in that?" I retort, patting him on the back.
A genuine smile spreads across my face, for beneath our teasing banter lies a profound truth – there is no one else I would choose to navigate this treacherous world with than Bastien at my side. Together, we face the challenges that lie ahead, our bond fortified by the shared experiences that have woven us together.
The buzzing of our phones breaks the fragile peace that envelopes us, a powerful reminder of the world we can never fully escape. Claude's summons cuts through the air, his commands carrying a weight that settles deep within my gut, igniting a familiar blend of dread and determination.
"New assignment?" Bastien queries, wiping the sweat from his brow, his expression tightening with anticipation.
"Merde," I answer, swiftly dismissing the notification with a flick of my thumb. The urgency in my voice matches the urgency in my heart. "Let's get this over with."
My phone buzzes – a text from my father. I ignore it. He doesn’t approve of my work for a New Orleans biker club, but not because of the activities involved. He’d rather me use my distinct set of talents for the LeBoeuf crime family instead. As the leader, he insists I run it one day. All I would have to do is give up every shred of freedom I possess.
