King of the Wicked (The Banished Series Book 1)

by T. R. Hamby

  Mel had made reservations at an incredible restaurant on the Left Bank, with a view of the city. He had managed to snag a window seat--Nora assumed money was involved in that one--and they admired the lights together. They talked over escargot and coq au vin, and even sipped champagne. It was probably the most romantic dinner she had ever had.

  “I forgot how good French cuisine is,” Mel said as they entered their hotel room. It was a luxurious suite, a one bedroom with a kitchen, a king-sized bed, a walk-in shower, and a clawfoot tub.

  She threw herself onto the bed, kicking off her shoes and whipping out her phone. “Come look at our pictures.”

  He lied down next to her, bumping her shoulder, and they looked over the many photos she had taken of them together.

  “You look like such a dork in this one,” she teased, pointing at the screen.

  “N’importe quoi,” he replied, smirking. “After I paid for this room, and our lovely dinner.”

  “It’s my money too, hubby,” she said. “Maybe I paid for it.”

  He smiled, gazing at her. “You seem happier.”

  She flushed a little. She was happier--much happier. They were away from everything--rehearsal, Lisia--and at her dream destination. She had seen so many of the paintings she had studied in school, and so much more; she had stood underneath the Arc du Triomphe, and the Eiffel Tower. And, most importantly, she had done it with Mel.

  She took his hand, squeezing. “I feel much better,” she murmured, “already. Hopefully it lasts.”

  “It will,” he said firmly.

  “It doesn't always work like that,” she cautioned. “One good day doesn’t mean anything.”

  He looked a little pained at her words. He brushed at her hair. “It does, though,” he said. “It’s a good day, isn’t it?”

  She hesitated. It was difficult to remember that, when the fear of another dark day hung over her head. But he was right, and she would have to try to remember that. Today was a good day, and nothing could change that now.

  He drew close to her. “Whatever tomorrow is like--I’m right here,” he said.

  She smiled. Maybe tomorrow would be shit, but today she was happy--more than happy.

  She kissed him, and he groaned, pulling her close. He was cautious, though. She sat up, turned and brushed her hair over her shoulder.

  “Help me with my zipper,” she said. They had gone shopping before dinner, and she was wearing a glittering black dress, the price of which had made her blush.

  He pulled it down, carefully brushing his fingers down her back.

  “You’re not...doing this for me, are you?” he said warily.

  She shot him a look over her shoulder, and he laughed. He sat up, holding her, and kissed her bare shoulder, making her shiver.

  “I love you,” he whispered, kissing the spot behind her ear. “So much.”

  She felt a wonderful wave of happiness, and she gripped his arm.

  “I love you too,” she replied. “Thank you for taking me to Paris.”

  “We took ourselves to Paris,” he reminded her, taking off his shirt.

  She smiled, smoothing her hand along his arm, tracing the scar on his shoulder, where Ariel had cut him with the Blade. She realized, with a jolt, that all that time Mel hadn’t been in danger of death. And he never would be. What would he say if he knew that now?

  But she couldn’t tell, as much as she wanted to. She couldn’t betray Michael’s trust.

  He slipped her dress down, squeezing her shoulders. “Ma belle mariee.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll get mad if I tell.”

  “One day I’ll learn French and I’ll know.”

  “You will,” he said, laying her down, “and I’ll be in trouble.”

  The next day they resumed their war on the Louvre. They went out to lunch, then did some more shopping at the Triangle d’Or. Nora helped Mel choose a three piece suit, which made him look so striking she nearly attacked him in the fitting room. They then visited the Musee d’Orsay, milling around in the modern art section.

  “We have to look for a house,” he said, as they ran from the rain. Water was flooding the streets, and everyone on the sidewalk was running for cover.

  They stopped under an awning, but it was too late--they were soaked.

  She brushed her sopping hair off her face. “Tomorrow? The Left Bank?”

  He smiled, his blue eyes bright under the streetlights. “You read my mind.”

  “I’m starving.”

  He looked around, then took her hand. “In here.”

  They ducked into the restaurant next door. Thankfully there was one table left, and they sat down, trying not to drip onto the tablecloth.

  “I like this,” she said, looking around. “It’s very French.”

  “With German beers,” Mel said, glancing at the menu.

  She took out her phone. She had promised to send Gilla pictures, and she spent the next few minutes doing that, while Mel looked over the menu. Michael had warned her--out of his own squeamishness--not to eat the snails, so she made sure she sent a picture of herself with escargot on her fork.

  Michael messaged back, Gross, and she laughed.

  “What’s Gilla saying?” Mel asked, flipping a page in the menu.

  She hesitated. “It’s Michael,” she replied.

  He paused for a moment, then continued studying the menu. “Oh.”

  She bit her lip. “You’re still mad.”

  He looked up at her, hesitant. “You have to give me time,” he said gently. “A lot of time. You know what’s between us.”

  She felt a twinge of guilt. He was right; she shouldn’t be pushing him.

  She nodded. “I’m sorry. You--”

  Their waiter arrived just then, setting down a basket of gougeres with a flourish.

  “Merci,” she said, looking up to find--

  Alex Lisia. Right there, in the flesh, smiling at them.

  “Bonsoir,” he said smoothly, “française ou anglais?”

  Mel and Nora stared at him, for a long, stunned moment.

  Finally Mel managed, “Anglais, s’il vous plait.”

  Lisia nodded. “Of course,” he said, in a notable Italian accent. “My name is Georgios--I will be your waiter. What shall we have to drink?”

  Nora was still shocked. The man they had been hunting for was in, of all places, Paris, in this shitty restaurant, serving them.

  “Altbier--two,” Mel said quickly. “And the fromage fort.”

  “Of course, sir,” Lisia said, although he looked a little cross. Nora knew instantly he didn’t like that Mel hadn’t said “please.”

  She had no idea what possessed her to do it--perhaps it was just being raised to have good manners--but she said as he turned away, “Please--and thank you.”

  Lisia turned, frowning, and looked her up and down. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck rise.

  When he was gone they looked at each other. For a long moment they just stared.

  “What do we do?” she finally breathed.

  “We should call Michael,” Mel said, and he took his phone out of his pocket.

  But she grabbed his hand. “No,” she said. “No--leave him alone. Don’t bother him.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “He’ll lose his shit.”

  “There’s no point involving him yet,” she said. “You and I are here.”

  He sighed nervously. He glanced over his shoulder, drumming his fingers on the table. She knew he wasn’t used to doing things without Michael, as ironic as that was.

  “We have to find a way to get him alone,” she said, shifting in her seat. “Maybe invite him out drinking...but we don’t really look like his crowd…”

  “The crowd that beats their girlfriends?” Mel hissed, and she gave him a look.

  “Not helping. Chill out already.”

  She could hear him grinding his teeth together.


  She spotted Lisia approaching again, and she straightened in her seat. He was eyeing her, smiling almost delightfully, and she resisted the urge to recoil.

  “Altbier,” he said, setting down two beers, “and the fromage will be out soon. Are we ready to order a main course?”

  She glanced at Mel, who was staring at his menu, his jaw working. She hesitated; she didn’t know what to do.

  She looked at Lisia again, who was studying her amusedly.

  “You’re American?” he asked, and she flushed. “Sorry. I could tell by your accent. Why not try escargot? It’s almost a rite of passage. Have you tried before?”

  She hesitated for just a moment longer, her heart pounding in her chest. He was still staring at her, his eyes almost clouded, a familiar smirk on his face.

  Then she smiled, and she let out a little laugh.

  “But it’s snails, isn’t it?” she said, cocking her head.

  Mel stared at her, bewildered, but Lisia chuckled.

  “Yes, but it’s delicious,” he said firmly. “You have to try. We have two dishes-- the Bourguignonne is my personal favorite.”

  She pretended to consider, before nodding. “Yeah, okay. My brother says they’re nasty,” and she nodded to Mel, who looked even more flabbergasted, “but I’ll try anyway. It’s my first time in France.”

  “You are American, then,” Lisia said, barely acknowledging Mel’s presence. “Welcome to Paris, belle femme.”

  Mel shifted, but Nora giggled.

  “You’re sweet,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Bien sur. Let me get those orders in.” And he walked off, looking smug.

  Mel looked at Nora as if she had three heads. “What are you doing?”

  “Just think for a minute,” she said, but he shook his head.

  “Fuck that,” he replied, loud enough for the neighboring table to look around.

  “Do you want to catch him, or not?” she insisted, grabbing his hand. “Trust me.”

  “Nora,” he whispered, “you know what he did to Bernette.”

  “I’m just luring him,” she replied. “To that alley we passed. It’s only a block away. You wait there, and I’ll bring him. It’ll be over before eight.”

  He didn’t look sold. He shifted nervously, squeezing her hand. “Something will happen,” he said, and she shook her head.

  “It’s just your nerves. It’ll be fine.”

  “It’s not just my nerves--it’s not right--”

  “We don’t have a choice.”

  Her hiss must have struck him, because he was quiet. She remembered what a mess he had been when she had helped with the Ariel case, but she stood by what she said--they didn’t have a choice now, and Mel was going to have to deal with it.

  It hurt to see him like this, though, and she squeezed his hand again.

  “You have to keep it together,” she said firmly. “Please. I know it’s a lot.”

  He looked away, and finally sighed. “You do all the talking.”

  So she kept up the charm as dinner progressed. She and Lisia talked between deliveries of meals and dessert--stupid flirtations that meant both nothing and everything. Lisia wanted to hook up--it was obvious. Now if only to seal the deal.

  Mel had been quiet, pointedly ignoring the flirting the whole night. But he was tense, squeezing his fork until it was warped, his head twitching. Nora would have been worried, if not for the task at hand.

  “Go to the bathroom,” she whispered as Lisia approached.

  He looked like the last thing he wanted to do was leave her alone with Lisia, but he got up, his face dark, and slouched off to the restroom.

  Lisia looked pleased to see him go. “He’s a fun one,” he said dryly, and Nora forced herself to laugh.

  “He has a conference call,” she said, “at eight. He’s nervous. He’s going back to the hotel soon.”

  “I get off at eight,” Lisia said eagerly. “What...what are you doing?”

  She knew the hesitance was feigned, and it made her stomach churn.

  But she smiled and shrugged, playing coy. “Nothing yet.”

  “Maybe you would...want to hang out? I could show you around. Show you the shit the Americans aren’t supposed to see.”

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding too. “I can bring the check...you can hang out at the bar...it’s another hour…”

  She nodded, and he walked off, looking very pleased with himself. She dropped her smile, feeling repulsed. Asshole. His girlfriend was six feet underground, after receiving skull fractures from being pushed down the stairs, and here he was picking up women like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t murdered someone--destroyed a whole family. He was sickening. Charming, beautiful, and sickening.

  He deserved what he was getting.

  Mel returned to the table, and she was relieved to see him.

  “You okay?” she whispered. She couldn’t hold his hand--not when Lisia could see--so she nudged his leg with her foot instead.

  He looked at her, and his face was pale. “You know I don’t mind men trying to flirt with you,” he murmured quietly. “It’s understandable. But this--this thing isn’t a man. He’s evil...if you were just like any other woman tonight, you would be walking to your doom.”

  “I know,” she said soothingly. “I know. But that’s not going to happen to me. Or to any other woman ever again. Not by him. So let me do this.”

  He stared at her for a moment, and she shivered. He was scared--she could see it on his face.

  But he finally nodded. “Okay.”

  “He’s bringing the check,” she said quickly. “I’m going to wait at the bar for his shift to end--in about an hour. He’ll pick me up, and I’ll take him to the alley.”

  “I’ll wait in the alley,” he said, nodding, “if you’re sure you can bring him there.”

  “I’ll text you if I can’t.”

  So after the bill was paid, Mel left the restaurant. Nora sat at the bar, nursing a glass of kir, patiently answering the barrage of worried text messages Mel kept sending her. Every once in a while Lisia walked by, and he would brush against her, making a horrible chill go up her spine.

  It was a long hour. She knew Mel was pacing the alleyway, and she felt a pang. Don’t come back, don’t come back. Stay there.

  Finally eight o’clock came, and Lisia appeared at her elbow, wearing a fresh shirt. He looked so young and boyish, it was almost impossible to believe that he had really killed his fiancee, and attacked many others. It was unnerving.

  “Where to?” he asked as they left the restaurant.

  She had already thought out an answer to this question. “Maybe this way,” she said coyly, starting off in the direction of the cafe she and Mel had passed earlier.

  “So, what brings you to Paris?” she asked as they walked. The rain had stopped, leaving the pavement slick.

  Lisia reached out, playing with her fingers. It took nearly all of her energy not to snatch her hand away.

  “Needed a change,” he said, shrugging. “It helps that I know French. But what about you? You’re clearly American.”

  She cast around for a good lie; she hadn’t expected him to ask her any questions. “Well...my brother has this...jewelry convention, and I always wanted to see Paris, so he let me come…”

  “But you two are fighting?” he asked curiously.

  She thought for a minute. She wasn’t sure where he had gotten that from, but she decided to play along. “Yeah...we don’t get along like we used to.”

  “Any guy who couldn’t get along with you is an ass.”

  She smiled at him, and he grasped her hand. She inwardly cringed. God, this was painful. It was like holding hands with the Devil.

  “So why isn’t a guy like you seeing someone?” she teased, squeezing his hand.

  His smile didn’t change. “Oh, it’s a boring story...got my heart broken,” he replied.

  She looked at his smug face and thought o
f his girlfriends--the two with the restraining orders, and the one who was now dead.

  “How sad,” she said coldly.

  He didn’t seem to notice her tone. “Yes. You’d think there was no one good left to see. But you seem okay.” His last sentence was a joke, and she gave a little chuckle.

  They were finally approaching the alley. The sidewalk was still bustling with people, so she stepped to the side, at the opening to the alley, and gave Lisia what she hoped was a flirtatious look. He looked intrigued, and followed her into the darkness.

  She stepped further into the dimness, searching for Mel, when Lisia caught her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  “You’re sneaky, aren’t you?” he said playfully, squeezing her.

  She squirmed. “Let me go.”

  “Why?” he shot back, tightening his hold.

  It was then Nora felt Mel’s Presence, appearing right behind them. His anger hit her like a horrible wave, and she felt Lisia being wrenched off of her. She stumbled, turning to watch an enraged Mel shove Lisia against the wall, holding him by the shirt and lifting him a couple inches from the ground.

  Lisia was white as a sheet, illuminated by the light coming from the entrance to the alley. He gripped Mel’s wrists, staring at him in horror.

  “Por favore,” he whispered, reverting back to Italian.

  “You don’t know when to take no for an answer, do you?” Mel hissed, cocking his head dangerously.

  His anger was so great that Nora felt a cold sweat break out on her skin. Still, she was standing, and she watched as Lisia struggled weakly.

  “Por favore…mi dispiace…”

  “You’re sorry you got caught,” Mel whispered. “You weren’t sorry when you pushed her down those stairs. Now she’s dead. Did you hear me? Bernette’s dead. You killed her.”

  “I didn’t mean...please, forgive me…”

  “It’s not me you have to ask,” he replied coldly. “I’m just the messenger. Look into my eyes…”