The Boss (Chateau Book 3)

by Penelope Sky

  This bitch had humiliated me—again.

  I stood up and grabbed the phone. When I turned to the door, Melanie stood in the doorway, in a wrinkled nightgown with one strap down her shoulder, hair and makeup in the same mess I’d left her in just a moment ago.

  But that beauty meant nothing to me now.

  The stress on her face had turned her ugly, because she already knew exactly what had happened based on my conversation with Magnus. “What’s…what’s going on?”

  I grabbed my bomber jacket and forced my arms through the sleeves as I threw it on my body. I stared her down as I walked to the door, silently commanding her to get out of my way.

  She didn’t call my bluff and moved aside.

  “She ran.” I moved down the hallway and to the top of the stairs.

  Gilbert was down below, shouting to the valet. “Get the car around. Now!”

  Melanie was quick behind me. “You mean Raven?”

  I stopped on the second landing and looked at her over my shoulder.

  Her face turned white like the snow at the camp.

  I kept going, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the bottom floor as quickly as possible.

  “Fender! Wait!” Melanie came after me, tripping at the bottom, but Gilbert caught her. “Please!”

  I was at the front door.

  “Please!” Her sobs were so loud they echoed in the foyer, like a storm on the roof that shook the entire house.

  Time was of the essence, and I didn’t have it to waste. I didn’t want to console her. But instead of stepping over the threshold and into the pouring rain, I turned to face her again.

  She got to her feet with Gilbert’s assistance then came to me, barefoot, teardrops on the floor like muddy tracks from the rain. “Don’t kill her. Please…please don’t. I’m begging you.” Her pupils were bloodshot red, her eyes puffy, her cheeks wet and black from the rivers of makeup that traversed down to her chin. “You were going to remove her from the camp anyway, so just—”

  “No.”

  Her chest started to rise and fall harder, her breathing becoming labored with terror. “I would never forgive you—”

  “I don’t need you to.” I’d give this woman anything she wanted, but not this. “She humiliated me—again.”

  “She’s just trying to survive—”

  “My answer won’t change. Not this time.”

  Her hands covered her mouth to muffle her sobs, and her entire body shook with uncontrollable tremors. She slowly moved to her knees in front of me, her face in her hands, her cries like wails.

  “I will find her. And she’ll face the Red Snow.” I left her there on the floor and stepped into the rain where my car waited. But her tears came with me, a cacophony inside my mind, a sound that would haunt me forever.

  I made the trip in record time.

  I pushed the car through the damp streets, rode my horse through the snow, and arrived at the camp close to noon.

  My reins were tossed to a guard, and I landed in the snow, my eyes scanning the area for signs of activity. The camp was as quiet as ever, the girls in the clearing, like there hadn’t been an escape overnight.

  I marched deeper into the camp until Magnus caught me.

  He pushed his hood back and regarded me since the girls couldn’t see him. His eyes were bloodshot, like he’d taken that pipe pretty hard to his head, but other than that, he looked fine.

  “Where is she?”

  Magnus squinted his eyes as the sun shone on his face. “Haven’t found her.”

  Heavy heartbeats passed, thudding in my chest like hooves from a horse. “How is that possible?”

  “Hounds followed her tracks close to the river then lost the scent. The storm hid her horse tracks—”

  “She’s on horseback?” My voice rose, spit flew from my mouth, my vocal cords nearly popped in half. “How the fuck did she get into the stables?”

  “I don’t know. The bolt was cut—”

  “Cut?” I asked incredulously. “What the fuck did she cut it with?”

  “I don’t know.” He continued to give the same meaningless answer, his eyes staying on mine even though the sun made them water.

  “You don’t know?” I stepped closer to him, forcing him to step back. “I’m sick of that answer, Magnus. You’re supposed to be in charge while I’m away, but the second I leave, all hell breaks loose.” Bartholomew’s voice came back to me, telling me to cut my brother out and replace him with someone far more suitable…or kill him. I pushed the thought away as quickly as it entered my mind.

  His arms hung up by sides, bloodstains on the fabric from the wound at the back of his head. “We’ll find her. The men and hounds are still looking—”

  “If they can’t track her, that means she crossed the river.”

  Magnus gave a subtle reaction, a quick blink. “She and the horse won’t survive if that’s true.”

  “Unless she crossed at the perfect spot.” My eyes drilled into his face, looking for a trace of a lie. I refused to believe that Magnus would betray me for a woman, let alone a woman who looked like a hag compared to Melanie, but now I wasn’t so sure. It was the second time she’d escaped, this time with a horse, and now she couldn’t be tracked. “Magnus.”

  He held my gaze, confident in his stare, like he had nothing to hide. “No.”

  His loyalty to me was far greater than the obsession he had for this woman, so I accepted it without a second thought. “She would never know where to cross in the dark, so if she crossed in any other way, she was swept downriver. The men will continue the search for three days. If she doesn’t pop up, we’ll assume her body is irretrievable. Whether she’s dead out there or dead in here, makes no fucking difference to me.”

  The hunt continued past three days.

  Moved into four.

  I wanted to hang her body on the noose so the girls could see it.

  Could see what happened if they ran, if they disobeyed, if they did anything other than process that coke.

  But it never happened.

  She couldn’t be found.

  I sat in my cabin in front of the fire, drowning my anger in scotch. The executioner made an announcement to the girls, that she’d frozen to death and her body was stuck under a waterfall where we couldn’t reach.

  That should be enough to scare them from making the same attempt.

  The door opened, and Magnus stepped inside, pushing his hood back, his eyes less bloodshot now that the concussion had passed. He moved to the other chair beside me and stared at the fire.

  I drank my scotch like he wasn’t there.

  “I’ll leave in the morning.”

  My eyes remained on the flames, thinking of Melanie at home in her bedroom, knowing that her sister was dead. Her sister’s death had been cleaner out in the wild rather than from the noose, but she was gone all the same. Good fucking riddance. “I’ll return to Paris in five days.”

  Magnus gave a slight nod before he grabbed the bottle and poured himself a glass. One of us was usually at the camp at any given time, but sometimes there was a day or two where the overlap failed. The guards weren’t stupid enough to cross us.

  He brought the glass to his lips and took a drink, his tired eyes focused on the fire, heavy with stress.

  My chin was propped on my closed knuckles, letting the fire envelop my body with heat Melanie used to give me. When I returned home, I wasn’t sure what I would find. Even if I didn’t kill her sister, she might not want anything to do with me.

  What would I do then?

  Magnus turned his gaze to me, silently waiting for me to meet his look.

  I was still pissed off even though he had nothing to do with it, so it took me a few minutes to reciprocate.

  He held up his glass slightly. “It’s Mom’s birthday.”

  I stared at his glass for a while, not realizing the date because so many other things had been on my mind. I lifted mine and gave a slight tap against his. “Happy Birthd
ay, Mom…wherever you are.”

  Twenty-One

  Knife in the Stomach

  Melanie

  It was like a knife in the stomach.

  Raven was dead.

  I knew it.

  Magnus wouldn’t be able to protect her, not this time.

  I sat in the living room in front of the fire, tears coming and going as I looked out the window onto the estate and the landscape that extended for miles. “Why couldn’t you have just waited one more fucking day…” Tissues were balled in my fingers, damp against my skin. There were no smudges of makeup, not when I’d stopped bothering to make myself look nice.

  I used to wait on pins and needles for Fender to come home.

  Now I couldn’t care less.

  Deep in my heart, I knew Fender had a gentle soul and an innate kindness, so there was hope that he wouldn’t go through with it. He might spare her—for me. He might lock her back in her cabin as her punishment.

  He did love me…after all.

  Gilbert knocked on the door and let himself inside even when there was no response. He moved into the living room and regarded me, with features soft with sympathy. “Melanie, Fender has returned to the palace. Thought you’d like to know…” He gave a slight bow then stepped away.

  I stayed in my spot on the couch because I dreaded the answer Fender would give.

  If he told me she’d been hung in the Red Snow, I’d throw myself out the window to make the pain stop.

  I couldn’t face that reality, so I stayed curled up in the corner of the couch, a box of tissues beside me, a dull headache behind my eyes that had been there for almost a week. My fingers loosened on the tissue in my hand and brought it to my nose to wipe the snot that had dripped through my stressed sinuses.

  An hour later, the bedroom door opened.

  I knew it was him, and instinctively, I pulled my knees closer to my chest and took deeper breaths, preparing for the hardest moment of my life. The room instantly felt warmer when his presence approached, when his energy rivaled the heat of the fire.

  I kept my gaze averted.

  He stepped into the living room and stopped near the coffee table.

  He stared…and stared.

  I kept my eyes down, my breathing becoming a bout of hyperventilation, tears forming in my eyes once more.

  “Chérie.”

  “Don’t…fucking…call me that.” Tears poured down my cheeks, and I pulled my knees closer. My hair was oily because I hadn’t showered. My skin was dry because I stopped moisturizing. I’d descended into darkness and couldn’t get back up.

  He moved to the cushion beside me and took a seat, his eyes on my face like I was in full makeup and a beautiful dress.

  “You could have just brought her back like we agreed on. That’s all you had to do.” My words were muffled by the hard tears. “If you think you can kill her and still have me, you’re wrong. She’s all I have…”

  “I didn’t kill her.”

  The breath died in my throat and never reached my lungs. My face turned to look at him head on, to see those dark eyes regarding me with his eternal affection, like he still saw beauty in my plain face and sorrow. “Did you… Is she here?” My voice cracked with happiness, imagining her downstairs, waiting for me. My hands reached for his, squeezing them in gratitude.

  “We never found her.”

  My hand immediately loosened on his, my dream shattered. “What…what do you mean?”

  “We searched for four days. Never turned up.”

  “So…so…she got away?”

  His eyes turned sympathetic. “She’s dead. Her body went over a waterfall or she’s buried somewhere in the snow, and that’s why the hounds can’t find her.”

  “Or…she escaped.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’ve been out there before, chérie. There’s no chance of survival—”

  “You don’t know my sister.” If anyone could find a way, it was her. If the guards hadn’t caught up to us, she might have made it to safety. She already tried to flee once, so she’d learned from her mistakes and perfected her getaway. “The only reason you couldn’t find her is because she outsmarted your men and your hounds.” I couldn’t dim the pride that burned brightly inside me. The storm almost killed us, but Fender didn’t understand that my sister was the storm. They were at her mercy—not the other way around.

  A subtle look of irritation came over his visage. “If that makes you feel better, chérie.”

  I wasn’t blindly holding on to hope.

  I knew she was alive.

  I knew Magnus helped her in some way.

  More days had passed, so I wondered if she was in Paris. Or maybe she took off elsewhere so Fender would never find her again.

  But I knew she would never leave me behind.

  Fender and I had returned to our previous relationship in the cabin, where he came to me for sex, but I refused. He would never make me. He would never threaten me. He would just sit there and stare.

  I read my book in front of the fire in my bedroom, and Fender joined me, sitting in the armchair, entertained by my face. I did my makeup once again, wore the clothes Gilbert provided for me because the misery had passed.

  She was out there…somewhere.

  Like Fender wasn’t there, I read my book and listened to the sound of the fire. Hours passed, and nothing was said. I turned the page, now halfway done with the book. I’d stopped reading when he was gone, too grief-stricken to do anything but cry.

  His deep voice broke the silence. “Chérie.” The command in his voice was impossible to ignore. It rang with an inherent power, like the blood of kings ran through his veins.

  It forced me to meet his gaze.

  He was shirtless in his sweatpants, and his eyes intensified when I met his look, like simple eye contact was enough to fulfill the intimacy he craved. “If you believe she escaped—”

  “I do.” I believed it with my whole heart.

  “Then nothing has changed between us.” The flames illuminated the side of his body, making his muscles glisten with power. But no amount of light could ever brighten those midnight-sky eyes.

  I dropped my gaze.

  He moved from his armchair to the seat right beside me, the pressure of the cushion completely changing when his weight was added. His hand moved to my thigh, and he came closer to me, close enough to kiss me if I would allow it. “Je t’aime, chérie.” His hand cupped my face, and he pressed his forehead to mine. “Tu es mon amour. Pour toujours…”

  Now that I knew the meaning of his words, listening to them was a different experience. He loved me. He would always love me. Forever. But I pretended not to understand, like he was just begging for forgiveness.

  Last time, he’d looked into my gaze in the hope I understood his words. This time, he didn’t, as if he just said them because they were words sitting on his tongue. He moved my hair back and pressed kisses to my neck, slowly moving down to my shoulder, tugging the strap of my nightgown down so he could kiss me there. His kisses turned harder, and his hand cupped my bare tit when the fabric slid down farther.

  My eyes closed, and I enjoyed every single touch, every single kiss, all of his romantic affection that no other man could ever reproduce with the same quality. My head tilted back, and I almost got swept up in his current.

  My palm moved to his chest and pushed him back, ending the rain of kisses.

  He moved with the touch, obeying my request without hesitation. But his eyes were filled with a new level of disappointment and fury.

  “If you want me…you have to promise me.” My palm remained pressed to his chest even though he didn’t move toward me again. I could feel his steady heartbeat increase, growing faster and harder. I stared at my hand for a moment before I looked at him again. “That’s the price you must pay.” My hand left his chest and returned to my lap. “And it’s nonnegotiable.”

  His eyes remained still and cold. Silence passed without an outburst, without him losing his
temper. He inhaled a breath, slowly let it out, and closed his eyes for a moment before he regarded me, as if he was ready to listen to my demand.

  “You have to promise me that you or your men will never kill her. No matter what she does. No matter the situation.”

  His stare remained cold and hard, his breaths increasing slightly. He turned his face away and looked at the fire, all the muscles of his body thick and tight at the same time. Veins bulged slightly every time he used his arms, because any tension at all was enough to make them stress. The light of the flames danced on his face, highlighting his flawless complexion, the fair skin against the dark hair.

  “If you really think she’s dead, what does it matter?”

  He watched the fire a little while longer before he turned back to me.

  “Give this to me…and we can be what we were before.”

  He inhaled a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled. He didn’t want to give it to me, but if he loved me, he would. He would accept the humiliation she had caused and moved on. “I promise, chérie.”

  Once he was inside me, his anger disappeared.

  His hand fisted my hair as he rocked into me, his body pressing mine into the mattress, his deep breaths blanketing my skin with his desire. He spoke to me in French, told me I had a perfect cunt, that I was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that…he loved me.

  He said it with deep conviction, with masculine force, with hands that gripped me so tight it was like I was a balloon that might fly away. He took me like I was air to his length, the water to his throat, the blood to his heart.

  He took me in that same position over and over, sometimes banging my headboard into the wall, sometimes taking it slow, like he needed to kiss me more than thrust into me, like his big hands needed to gently touch me everywhere.

  How could a man who loved like this be cruel?

  How could he be two different people?

  Unless he’d always been the same man—the man that I knew.

  He just forced himself to be something else…for whatever reason.