The Boss (Chateau Book 3)

by Penelope Sky

  I would see her lifeless body… just hanging there.

  “No…” I clutched my stomach as the sobs physically pained me.

  Heavy boots sounded outside the door, the lock turned, and then Fender stepped inside.

  I immediately went still, my sobs stuck in my throat.

  He shut the door behind him and stood over me.

  Livid. Psychotic. Maniacal.

  Just a look was far scarier than anything he could actually say.

  He came closer.

  I instinctively backed up.

  “You’re afraid of me.”

  I started to breathe hard again.

  “Good.” He went to the armchair, but instead of plopping down into it, he carried it to my bedside and took a seat. Right across from me. His dark eyes were colder than the blizzard raging outside. We went back in time to our first interaction, and I was even more scared now than I was then. “You’re leaving with me tomorrow. You don’t get a choice. You forfeited that luxury when you betrayed me.”

  It was too intense to look at him, so I dropped my gaze.

  “Look. At. Me.”

  I immediately obeyed, my eyes still watering in grief. “I… I didn’t betray you—”

  “Did I say you could speak?”

  Now I realized just how well he used to treat me. He’d never been this callous, even when I rejected his advances or told him no when he expected to hear yes.

  “You ran off into a blizzard with no chance of survival.” His voice rose slowly, climbing like a spark growing into a flame. “You could have broken through ice and felt your heart stop from shock before you even had a chance to drown. You could have been attacked by wolves, your flesh ripped off your face piece by piece. You could have fallen into a crevasse of snow and suffocated. You could have done any of these things—and I wouldn’t have been able to save you. That’s betrayal.”

  I breathed hard as I stared, not expecting that to be the reason for his wrath.

  His eyes narrowed. “You would rather die out there than be with me?”

  I shook my head. “I…I didn’t want my sister to be alone. I didn’t want her to die alone—”

  “So, you wanted to die with her?” he snapped, his voice growing louder.

  “Do…do you have a brother?”

  His eyes narrowed in a way they never had before. “Yes.”

  “Then wouldn’t you rather die with him…than leave him to die alone?”

  He processed that question for a long time. A really long time. With his unblinking gaze, he stared at me endlessly, like he could read the words written across my eyes, found something new to look at as the seconds passed.

  He rose from the chair. “We leave in the morning.” He left the chair where it was and moved to the door.

  I started to sob again, knowing Raven was out there, dead.

  He opened the door then turned back to me. “Your sister will live.”

  I gave an involuntary gasp, and new tears flushed my eyes. “Thank you…thank you so much—”

  “Thank Magnus. If it were up to me, she would have hung.” He shut the door, locked it, and left. He didn’t make a fire for me like he usually would. He let me sit in the cold and the dark…like I deserved it.

  Once I knew my sister was okay, the tremors and tears stopped. I took a hot shower to thaw my fingers, to get the dirt out of my hair that had been transferred from the snow. My clothes were dropped on the floor, and I slept in my bed naked. I didn’t even need a fire because the inside of the cabin was still considerably warmer than the blizzard outside. The wind made the windows rattle, waking me sometimes because it was like a witch shrieking right next to my ear.

  By morning, it was over.

  Silence.

  I sat up in bed, the sunlight coming through the windows because it was a clear day now that the snow clouds were gone. Last night felt like a bad dream, a cold nightmare. My lips were still dry because the moisture had been sucked out of my skin by a sponge made of ice. I barely moved my legs and felt my muscles resist because they were sore.

  The lock turned in the door.

  I tugged the sheets to my chest even though it was just Fender, and there was no reason to worry about modesty with him.

  But it was a guard with my breakfast.

  When he realized I was naked in bed, he stilled, like he shouldn’t be there. He didn’t even bring the tray to the bed like usual. He left it on the armchair by the front door and hurried out. “Boss said be ready in thirty minutes.”

  Dressed in my work attire, I sat at the edge of the bed next to my empty tray.

  Several pairs of boots thudded against the wood. The door was unlocked and opened. The two men there took their usual posts on either side of my door.

  And then Fender made his entrance.

  Dressed in all black, his eyes matching, he stared me down. His muscular arms hung by his sides, the veins visible on the backs of his hands and along his neck. The rest of him was covered.

  His anger hadn’t faded after a good night of sleep.

  He actually seemed angrier.

  Wordlessly, he turned around to depart, expecting me to follow him.

  “Fender.” I approached the front door and looked outside, the sunlight making my eyes squint and water.

  He pivoted slightly toward me but didn’t completely turn around. He could only see me in his peripheral vision.

  “Can I say goodbye—”

  “No.” He continued forward.

  I ignored the men on either side of the door and caught up to Fender. “Please. What if I never see her again—”

  He spun around and gave me a look that was the gateway to the underworld. Eternal flames burned, the threat unmistakable. “I allowed her to live, and you dare ask me for more?” He took a step closer to me, an audible crunch of his boot against the snow. “After what you’ve done to me, you dare ask me for anything else?”

  I instinctively stepped back, my nostrils exhaling the moisture from my lungs. His eyes seared mine, so I dropped my chin and looked away. The contact was too painful, too blazing hot. It was like looking directly at the sun.

  He took the lead, walking ahead of me, his two men positioned on either side of me from behind. In a perfect triangle, we walked, moving through the camp, past the clearing. Blood wasn’t visible under the noose because none had been spilled last night. The girls weren’t at the benches yet because they were still getting ready for the day. I should only feel relief that I was departing this place forever, but since a part of my heart was still there, it was like leaving home.

  Because my sister was home.

  We moved to the front of the camp where I’d arrived all those weeks ago. A black horse was there, saddled and ready to go. Fender climbed on then looked down at me.

  I just stood there. “I…I’ve never ridden a horse.”

  He stared down at me for a couple seconds, his hostile look exactly the same, and then he climbed back down. “Left foot here.” He tapped the metal opening where it was supposed to slide in. “Grip the horn.” He instructed me by putting my left hand on the horn of the saddle and my right on the back of the saddle. “Swing your leg over. Go.” He gripped my hips and lifted me, guiding me up like a father putting his daughter on a pony at the fair.

  Now, I was on top of the horse, having a clearer view of the camp because I was so tall.

  Fender guided me to the back of the saddle then climbed in front of me. He took the reins of the horse in one hand. “Hold on.” He dug his heels into the sides of the horse, and we took off at a run.

  “Oh my god.” I squeezed him hard and pressed my cheek into his back, holding on for dear life. “Can you slow down?”

  “No. I’m late—because of you.”

  After a long ride, we made it to a main road.

  There were men there ready to take the horse into a stable to rest. There were also cars tucked inside a wooden structure covered with ivy and bushes. On the left were two expensive
sports cars. The rest were work trucks and cars I used to see on the road every day.

  Gray like rain clouds, the car Fender chose was sleek and curvy, a type of car I’d never seen before. I didn’t even know what kind it was. We got into the seats, and he started a powerful engine that was like a small explosion in the beginning before it faded into a gentle purr. He turned on the radio, carefully backed out until he made it to the main road, and then floored it.

  It was like riding the horse all over again.

  Fender took the road hard, pushing the car to a speed that would kill us instantly if he lost control of the wheel.

  My arms covered my chest, and I disappeared into the seat, watching the world fly past us so quickly, it was just a blur. The trees, the grass, the sky, it was all a streak of color. “You might get pulled over…” If I asked him to slow down, he wouldn’t, even if I was scared.

  He glanced at me, one hand on the wheel while the other relaxed on the center console. He gave that slight smile, like he knew something I didn’t, and then focused on the road again.

  Hours later, we were in Paris.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  My visit had been short, but the beauty had been so profound, the culture potent, the food exquisite, that it felt like home now. It was the last time I was normal—so it held a special place in my heart.

  There wasn’t snow on the ground here, but a light rain dotted the front windshield. People walked on the sidewalks with umbrellas over their heads, a hot coffee usually in their other hand. We took a bunch of smaller streets and maneuvered around roundabouts until we headed away from Paris, into the countryside, into a landscape as beautiful as the city—just in a different way.

  Then we approached tall, iron gates that immediately opened as we got closer. Armed men were on the inside, and they stepped aside when they recognized Fender’s car. The view of the property had been obstructed by high walls made of stone, green ivy growing over the surface with resilient white flowers drinking the drops of rain.

  A long road wrapped around the property and approached a three-story palace.

  Palace might not be the right word, but that was how it looked to me.

  A pond was in the center with a fountain, and large lily pads floated over the surface, raindrops making indentations in the smooth water like bullet holes. Fender slowed down as we took the car around the pond and approached the grand front entrance to his home.

  Was home even the right word?

  He brought the car to a stop but left the engine on.

  I looked through the raindrops on my passenger window and saw a man standing underneath the front portico in a tuxedo. Another man in a suit immediately went around the front of the car as Fender went around the back, like he was the valet. I opened the door and stepped into the rain, my hair immediately losing volume from the moisture on my scalp. I walked up the stone steps and underneath the portico roof, approaching the man in the tuxedo.

  He gave a slight bow. “C’est merveilleux de vous revoir, Sire.”

  Uh…what?

  Fender barely gave him a glance over before he nodded to me. “English. Melanie doesn’t speak French.”

  The butler turned to look at me, and his greeting was not warm or kind. He pressed his lips tightly together and looked at me like a wet cat that had shown up on his doorstep. He sucked on the inside of his lip before he met my gaze again. “I see.”

  Fender stepped through the grand doorway. “She’s the lady of the house. Service her the way you service me.” He disappeared farther into the house until he was gone from view.

  I stayed outside like I needed approval from his butler to step inside.

  Based on the look he gave me, I wouldn’t get that anytime soon.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and rested two fingers against his temple. Like he had a migraine, he gave a long and drawn-out sigh. “His Highness did not tell me he was bringing a guest. I’m quite unprepared for—” he pointed down at my clothing “—this.”

  I dropped my gaze, feeling embarrassed by my appearance. I’d gotten used to it during the course of my captivity and didn’t think twice about it. But out here in the real world, I really did appear homeless. Wasn’t sure what Fender’s fascination was if his butler didn’t even want me in the house. “You want me to take off my shoes?”

  He gave a nod. “That’s a good start, yes.” He stood there and watched me remove my muddy boots, pure disgust on his face. “We need to get you some clothes…” He released another annoyed sigh. “Immediately.”

  Gilbert escorted me to my bedroom on the second floor.

  But it wasn’t really a bedroom as much as private quarters. A four-poster bed made of gold was against the wall, with a blush-pink duvet and ivory sheets. A mass of decorated pillows were on top, and a nightstand was on either side, matching the bed. Curtains of the same material as the duvet covered the windows, and floral wallpaper was on the walls. A private living room had a tea set on the coffee table, which didn’t have a speck of dust even though Gilbert hadn’t expected me to occupy this room. There was a TV, a shelf of old books, and a grand bathroom with a bathtub the size of a small swimming pool.

  “Undress and shower. I will dispose of your clothes.”

  I turned to look at him, not even having enough time to absorb this unbelievable room, a space suited for French royalty.

  Gilbert continued to stand there, his arms behind his back, staring at me expectantly.

  I waited for him to leave.

  “Please.” He nodded to me.

  “You…you want me to undress right now…in front of you?”

  “Yes. I want to get those…I don’t even want to call them clothes…out of this estate as quickly as possible. It’s insulting to the history in these walls just to have them here. And I’m not buying what you’re selling, Melanie…even if I didn’t prefer men for my lovers.”

  I did as he asked and stripped down until I was completely naked.

  He took it a step further and actually put on gloves before he rushed them out of the room, muttering in French. “Disgusting…absolutely disgusting.”

  It was the first time I’d showered with real hair products, high-end stuff I hadn’t even heard of. I scrubbed myself down, shaved everything, massaged my scalp with the quality shampoo, and let the camp rinse off my body.

  When I dried my hair, there was an assortment of brushes and hair products available, prepped for any guest who might stay. But I couldn’t imagine Fender having a guest…unless it was a woman, and she would probably have her own clothes.

  For the first time, I was actually able to style my hair, give myself a blowout, get the shine back into my strands. My face was free of makeup, but I actually could see a glimmer of my old self in the reflection. I stared for a while, my thoughts immediately going back to what I’d left behind.

  I hoped she was okay.

  I stepped back into the bedroom and found clothes on the bed. Gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt were there, big enough to make a poncho for a horse, so I assumed they belonged to Fender. I put them on and had to tighten the drawstring and make a double knot just to keep them up. The shirt was more like a blanket.

  But it felt like heaven against my skin, because it was the first time I was able to feel clean cotton against my skin. Our work clothes were only washed once in a while, so it was rare to feel a shirt against my skin that felt this weightless, that smelled like nothing except the faint hint of soap.

  I took a seat on the edge of the bed, unsure what else to do with myself. Leaving the room didn’t even cross my mind because I hadn’t been allowed to vacate mine at the camp, ever. The door was always locked.

  But my bedroom door was actually open, and I could see the hallway.

  I still didn’t move.

  I wondered where Fender was. Would he come to talk to me soon? Or would he ignore me for a while because he was still angry with me?

  Voices sounded from down the hallway, Gilber
t’s French-accented words loud and booming. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Most gracious.”

  A woman’s deep voice responded. “When Fender calls, we come.”

  Gilbert stepped into the room first. “Melanie, come here. Stand straight.”

  I hopped off the bed and approached them.

  The woman walked in with a younger man behind her, who held a clipboard and a pen. She looked at me the exact same way Gilbert did, visibly disturbed by my appearance, which was saying something because I looked a lot better than I had earlier. She turned to stare at Gilbert, as if this was some kind of mistake.

  Gilbert shook his head.

  She rubbed her hand absent-mindedly into her chest as she looked at me. “Oh dear…”

  I stood there, humiliated once more.

  She pulled out a measuring tape from her pocket and wrapped it around my waist, taking a series of measurements. “We’ll need everything, Pierre. The full makeover.”

  Pierre started to take notes. “Already on it.”

  I spent the day in my room, sitting on the terrace and admiring the grounds of his estate. There were always a dozen men down by the front entrance, guarding the premises with guns. The lawns and grounds were immaculate, with freshly trimmed bushes and beautiful flowers, bright even in the coldness of winter. It was like a watercolor painting.

  When the sun set, it turned frigidly cold, so I returned to my bedroom.

  Gilbert knocked on the door before he entered with a silver tray. Without looking at me, he carried it to the small dining table in the living room and set it down. He poured a hot cup of tea from the teapot and removed the silver lid over the plate.

  I walked over to take a look.

  It was fresh pasta with red sauce, an entire loaf of bread, and a side of cookies. The smell hit my nose with a burst, and it was the best-smelling thing I’d inhaled in a long time. “That looks really good.”

  As if that was all Gilbert had been waiting for, a compliment, he departed.