by Linzi Basset
Enzo Bonheur was the middle-aged chef who lived in a cottage at the edge of the estate. He grew up in France and immigrated to the United States after his wife of twenty years passed away. He’d been grieving her ever since. They’d grown up together and had been the purest love anyone could hope for. To this day, ten years later, he still kept her memory close at heart and had no interest in finding another wife.
“Mon dieu! Calm down, ma petite femme. It’s only me, Enzo,” he cooed at her. “I should just leave you here,” he mumbled under his breath. “Do you know that it was a Gien Pivoines Bleues teacup you just broke? It’s worth two-fifty dollars. Medre! And it took me months to find this. Mois, je vous dis,” he moaned while he jabbed the key inside the lock of the cuff around her ankle.
Samantha glanced toward the pieces of porcelain scattered all over the floor.
“I’m sorry, Enzo. I thought you were Rhone and why the devil did you give me such an expensive cup in the first place?” she berated him. She rubbed her ankle although the cuff hadn’t been tight.
Enzo handed her the sneakers he’d fetched from the closet.
“Put them on. Rapidement, mon petit. We have to hurry,” he urged her when she didn’t move.
“Why? Are you helping me escape?” She asked with her lips pursed but dutifully put them on.
“Non. I need to take you to safety. Let’s go. I don’t want to be here to meet his wrath. Come now. Hurry.”
Samantha reacted to the urgency in Enzo’s voice and tense body. She followed him down the stairs and through the kitchen to the back door.
A loud screech of tires from the front was followed by the slamming of a car door.
“Merde! We won’t make it. Quick, the basement! Hide in the red closet,” Enzo physically forced her down the first couple of steps and slammed the door closed behind her.
Samantha was left in pitch-black darkness. Then a light flickered on below and she sighed in relief.
“What the devil is going on?” She stood indecisively on the stairs. Surely, she wasn’t hiding from Rhone.
She heard the sound of a door slamming. The voice that bellowed her name caused her to cringe against the wall.
“Keon,” she whispered behind her hands that instinctively covered her mouth. She closed her eyes as she heard his voice growing fainter as he thundered up the stairs, then the silence closed in on her.
“Enzo! Where is she? I’ll snap your scrawny neck if you don’t tell me.”
Samantha jumped in fright when his furious growl sounded on the other side of the door. Pots and pans clattered in response.
“Good morning to you too, Monsieur LeLuc,” Enzo replied in a relaxed tone. “Agh! Are you fou? Crazy? Let go of me!”
Samantha heard the gurgling strangling sound which was doused by Rhone’s voice, “Let him go, Keon.”
“Fuck you, Rhone. I want that bitch. Either you tell me, or I snap Enzo’s neck,” Keon’s voice sounded guttural and raw but Samantha could hear the deadly promise even through the thick door.
A scuffle ensued. It sounded like a war had broken out on the other side of the door. Cutlery scattered to the floor. Pots and pans clattered as they followed the same path.
“For god’s sake, Keon. Calm down. Listen to me,” Rhone tried to reason with him.
“I am calm, Rhone and we have nothing to talk about. Except betrayal.”
“Bullshit! I never betrayed you,” Rhone shouted amidst more shuffling and the sounds of fists connecting with bodies.
“You fucked her, Rhone. The person responsible for my wife’s death. How is that not betrayal? Knowing . . . fucking knowing it was her?”
“Jesus!” Rhone huffed when Keon jabbed a straight right fist into his solar plexus. Keon was extremely strong, being the size of a body builder. With the added fury, he became ferocious and his strength increased tenfold.
“I want that bitch, Rhone, and I won’t think twice about beating you to a fucking pulp to get her.”
“She’s gone.”
“Bullshit!”
Samantha cringed when a body slammed against the basement door followed by a groan, which she was sure came from Rhone. It was evident that Keon was a force beyond measure in his rage.
“Enough! Keon . . . uggh,” Rhone puffed as another fist connected. The shattering of the kitchen window was enough to spur Samantha to open the door.
She gasped at the sight that met her eyes. The kitchen was a mess. Shattered crockery and pots and pans littered the floor. Rhone was struggling to his feet with blood streaming down his face.
“I’m here. Leave him alone, Keon. It’s me you want.”
“Fuck . . . ugh. Don’t you ever listen, woman?” Rhone choked out, still trying to catch his breath.
Before Samantha could respond, Keon’s hand wrapped around her throat and lifted her feet clear off the floor. He seemed unaffected by Enzo hitting him against the head with an iron skittle.
“Your time has come, bitch. And I pray you go straight to hell,” Keon sneered. His eyes seared hers with unmatched hatred.
Samantha didn’t struggle. She kept her eyes on his, feeling the pressure on her neck increasing and her head got lighter.
“I . . . prob-ably . . . wi-ll,” she croaked, already seeing black spots appear from the outside of her vision. “But it . . . was-n’t me. I . . . swe-ar.”
“Keon, think about what you’re doing. Is this what Amelia would’ve wanted? What Beckie deserves? A father locked away for the rest of his life?”
Samantha’s face turned blue, her eyes bulged, and her legs jerked involuntarily as the last of her air supply was cut off.
“Keon, this is not you. Think of Beckie. She’s going to need her father.”
Keon finally registered what Rhone was saying. His fingers loosened around her throat and he lowered her feet to the floor. Rhone caught her in his arms when her legs collapsed. Her breathing was shallow as she struggled to pull air into her lungs.
“Easy, Samantha. Slow breaths. Deep, slow breaths. That’s it. Good girl,” Rhone crouched next to her as he lowered her to the floor. He gently massaged her throat to check if Keon had caused any serious damage. He couldn’t be sure but she seemed fine apart from the bruising that was already turning blue on the side of her neck. Her breath wheezed through her lips but they were slowly returning to their rosy color.
He glanced at Keon who stood watching with his hands on his hips. His breathing was ragged and uneven but the wild look was slowly draining from his eyes.
“Don’t be . . . ang-ry. He had ju-st cau-se,” Samantha whispered.
Rhone’s eyes turned glacial. “I’m not angry at him, Samantha. If it wasn’t for the fact that we need you to establish the identity of Bulldog, I wouldn’t have stopped him.”
Samantha felt defeated. His words were like a blow to the head and flattened any hope of him having feelings for her. He truly believed she had tried to kill him at the treasure hunt. She cursed herself for not having forced Rhone to listen to her since.
She found Keon’s eyes, not surprised to see the hate still visible there.
“I swear I didn’t kill her. I tried to . . . sto-p them but I didn’t kn-ow . . . I didn’t know there we-re so many sni-pers.” She swallowed, searching for Enzo. “Water, please,” she pleaded.
He fetched a glass and sat down on the floor next to her. Rhone reached for it but Enzo slapped his hands away, searing him with a condemning look.
“Non. Je vais.” Enzo’s touch was tender as he gently lifted her and sat down behind her. He pulled her against his chest. “Shh, there, there, mon petit. It’s all over. Here, drink slowly.”
His caring tenderness was all it took to open the floodgates. Big, dry sobs heaved through her body as she began to cry. Her breathing was ragged, gasping as she leaned against Enzo, shuddering wildly. It was more than crying, it was the kind of desolate sobbing that came from a person drained of all hope.
Fuck! Enough, Samantha. Get a grip. You’re
not going to get out of this mess if you turn into a wuss!
The little pep-talk helped to dry up the tears. She wiped her cheeks with angry pats, annoyed that she’d allowed her emotions to get the better of her.
But damnit, I nearly died. How else am I supposed to react?
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cry. I guess—”
“Feminine tricks won’t work, Ace. Not with either of us, so don’t even try,” Keon barked angrily. His fists clenched and released. He pivoted and leaned against the counter, his body strung tight. It took enormous effort to bring his emotions back to order but he managed and turned around to face them.
“I’m leaving because if I stay, I’m not sure what I’ll do next. Think carefully about our next meeting because if you don’t tell us what we want to know, nothing and no one will stop me from getting the answers I want. And believe me; the fact that you’re a woman won’t matter in how I extract the information from you.”
Samantha didn’t watch him go. She sought out Rhone’s eyes.
“He was there. At the treasure hunt,” she managed to whisper. It hurt to talk and all she wanted to do was allow the darkness that hovered around her to swallow her, wrap her in the arms of nothingness.
Rhone had been too angry to listen to her since the hunt to allow her the opportunity to tell him. Now, he needed to understand how devious Adam Baxter was. That he had the resources to worm himself in anywhere he wanted to go.
“Who?” Rhone asked. His tone impatient.
“Bulldog. He was waiting for me in the ma-ze.” She swallowed with difficulty. “I didn’t shoot you that night, Rhone. I swear on my sister’s life.”
She closed her eyes and passed out—her small hand clamped trustingly around Enzo’s weathered one.
Rhone’s expression was grim, his gunmetal gaze reflected his frustration, but his touch was gentle when he picked her up from the floor—after a silent scuffle with Enzo, who was reluctant to hand her over.
“Prepare some chicken soup for her, Enzo. I suspect she’ll have trouble swallowing for a couple of days.”
“Aren’t you going to have her throat checked out? What if he caused damage? He had her dangling in the air. Medre! I’ve never seen him this angry.”
“Yes, Enzo. I’ll contact Ethan and have him check her,” Rhone assured the worried man crowding alongside him, all the way upstairs.
Enzo stood watching as Rhone placed her on the bed and covered her with the sheet.
“I don’t know what’s going on but what Keon did . . . Ce n'est pas sur. She’s a petit femme, pour l'amour de Dieu!”
“She might be a tiny woman, Enzo but don’t be fooled. Looks can be deceiving. She is lethal. Don’t ever forget that. She’s not to be trusted.”
Enzo stared at him. “You’re an imbécile, Rhone. Whatever was in her past is forgotten. This woman, the one lying on this bed, is pure and honest. I hope your eyes open before it’s too late.”
With those cryptic words he walked out. Rhone stood unmoving next to the bed. His gaze was enigmatic as he looked at Samantha. The purple-blue bruises on her throat stood in stark contrast to her pale face.
His hand reaching out to brush back her hair was unintentional and it shook him when he realized what he was doing. She was beautiful even while she appeared fragile. His lips pressed into a flat line.
Fate was cruel, which was something Rhone knew first hand. It was the demons in his life, the ones that held onto his neck so tight they squeezed the air out of him.
He was tired of the constant fighting and battle to keep others safe while his soul slowly withered into a void of loneliness.
He’d believed that love was like that; just when you believed it was strong and lasting, it always weakened and eventually let go. Until, he witnessed what true love meant—between Keon and Amelia; Ruark and Courtney and all their friends. It had made the craving to find his own happiness stronger. Even so, love might be powerful, but fate was unstoppable.
Fuck, when is this going to end?
Chapter Eleven
“The Government? Come now, Baxter. They are the easiest to control. All you have to do is either offer a bribe or blackmail them.”
Damien Whittaker kept his face neutral, but he was too smug and it irritated Adam. His lips twisted into a half smirk when he mentioned bribe; the hint directed at Adam.
Adam couldn’t dispute it. Money could offer comforts and as far as he was concerned, it was the only thing that guaranteed happiness. The days when he thought otherwise had been long forgotten.
“All of them? Why do we have so much trouble with Kevin Douglas then?”
Damien shrugged negligently. “There are always exceptions. You know that better than me or need I remind you of your departed partner, Joe Sutton, whose untimely demise you are still supposedly investigating after five years of his death?”
Adam struggled to keep the belligerence from his expression. He was tired of being reminded of his corrupted journey. It happened. So fucking what? He’d left the straight and narrow road he’d travelled his entire life, the day he’d walked in on his fiancé fucking the only man he’d trusted with his life; the director of the NCS at the time. When the syndicate made him the offer a week later, he didn’t hesitate. He wanted the power they offered to rid the world of cheaters.
Damien Whittaker had been only too eager to accommodate him. Adam didn’t care that it gave them power over him. All that mattered was to wipe off Dafoe’s grin from his face; that condescending smirk every time he looked at Adam, rubbing his fiancé’s infidelity deeper.
Damien began by providing the means to build a trail of corruption that destroyed Dafoe’s good name and he lost everything―his house, his job. It hadn’t been enough for Adam. He wanted him gone, so that his deceitful fiancé could suffer. And she did. Suddenly, she was left on the street with no lover, no future husband . . . and no money.
He smiled to himself. It had been easy to use Ace, then. She’d been so trusting and easy to manipulate in those early years. She never questioned him and Wilfred Dafoe had been an easy kill, especially with the proof that he’d planted that he was supposedly involved with the mob to assassinate the president.
Damien had become too demanding of late. He made Adam feel inconsequential. It chiseled away at his ego. He’d just been promoted. He held a revered and prized position in the CIA. It meant something; to the Government, to his team and those who coveted what he had.
The Sixth Order has become a burden. He was set to live a life of luxury without having to work but he didn’t want that. He thrived on the power his new position gave him.
It was time to exert his newfound power with Damien and his partners. His eyes narrowed in thought. Instead of breaking off the connection with them, he would use them. That’s the way to get ahead even faster. The one position he’d been coveting his entire career―Director of the CIA. And if not for the interference of Rhone and Keon, the Sixth Order’s vast connections in the government would have had him there years ago already.
“Did Ace accept our offer?”
“Yes,” he affirmed. Twenty million dollars wasn’t to be scoffed at. Damien didn’t need to know the only offer he’d made to her was the safety of her sister. It would keep her in line more effectively than the money.
His brow furrowed. It might be prudent however to give her some token cash to create a fake trail, if only to satisfy the Sixth Order, should they think to follow the money. He made a note to have five million deposited into her account. He didn’t trust her. She had become too cocky and it irritated him that she didn’t fear him anymore.
“Good. When is she going to do it? I want Greer gone. He’s cost us billions over the past couple of years. He’s not going to have a hand in us losing more―all because you’ve failed numerous times to get rid of him. If the prostitution bill goes through, we are going to be extremely unhappy, Baxter.”
“You’re very sure that getting rid of Greer is going to stop the se
nator. What if—”
“What if, nothing. Now that we’ve got Ace in our corner, he won’t be a problem. If he doesn’t withdraw his decision to present the bill before the next seating, she’ll start eliminating his family one by one; beginning with his parents. He’ll soon realize the time for niceties is over.”
Adam nodded. It didn’t concern him that he was putting Ace’s life in danger by lying about her commitment to the Sixth Order or that the money would line his own pockets rather than hers. Ace would have to fight her own battles. Divide and conquer, a principle that was very useful.
To each his own. She’s a means to an end. Collateral damage. Like all those before her, who thought they could best me.
“You didn’t answer my question, Baxter. When is Ace going to take the hit?”
“She’s got three weeks.”
“That’s cutting it close. If she fails, we have less than a month to stop Douglas from introducing that bill to the senate. Once Greer is out of the way, Douglas will become vulnerable. Greer’s team would be devastated by his loss and then Douglas is free game. What about the child? Why haven’t you actioned those threats? It should’ve been done before Douglas involved Greer. Do you have anything on Ace to nudge her in the right direction?”
“The threats worked to delay the proposed bill to be introduced and I have a plan in place with the senator’s daughter but with Greer involved now, it might fail. As far as Ace it concerned, I already have an incentive in mind for her. She has become rather hostile toward me. Ace isn’t like most women. Threats won’t work with her; she needs some personal prodding.”
“I’ll leave that to you but I want to see progress, Baxter. You’ve left this dangling in the air for far too long. The fact that I have to continuously ask these questions, doesn’t sit well with me. I want to see results.”
He opened the office door; an indication that the meeting was over. In a subconscious gesture of disgust, his nose wrinkled. He drew his head backward. His gaze was sharper than a razor’s edge, the threat undisguised in the vibration of his voice.