Then an anguished cry pierces my ears, and I can feel my soul being torn from my body, ripping me apart.
Gabrielle.
My Gabrielle.
I want to cry. I want to scream. There’s no time to quell the rage that I feel.
Instead I let it fuel me.
I’m going to kill my father. I’m going to kill Jones.
And I’m going to save her.
My grip on the handle of the sword is so tight, I think it might have fused into my skin. I don’t want to let it go until my job is done.
As quietly and stealthily as I can, I pull myself out of the floor and step into what must have been the kitchen. There’s still an old stove in the corner.
The noises, those horrible noises, are coming from the room around the corner. I want to run, but the creaking floorboards will give me away. Instead I walk slowly, so fucking slowly, too slowly, trying to hold it together.
I don’t have much of a chance here.
I know that.
A sword and me against a gun or two, against my father, against a trained assassin.
This is a suicide mission.
The only hope I have is that my father might hesitate in having me killed.
That hesitation might save the both of us.
I put my back flat against the wall and look around the corner.
Jones is standing right in front of me, back to me.
He’s just outside another room, where I think my father and Gabrielle must be, though I can’t see them, keeping watch or perhaps waiting for his turn.
I don’t know how these sick fucks operate, but I’m not going to find out either.
Inside the room, I can hear my father whispering something to Gabrielle. I can hear her struggles and muffled cries.
I feel only vengeance.
Now I understand exactly what was driving Gabrielle all those years.
She’s passed the torch to me, and I will gladly wield it.
I don’t even have to think. I just act.
And I act fast.
Jones is in the middle of turning around, sensing me, when I’ve reached around him with the blade of the sword at his throat. My hand grabs his jaw for leverage as I slide the blade across his neck.
Slitting someone’s throat is harder than it looks. You have to press hard. You have to cut through the windpipe and cartilage.
I fail at that, making only a superficial cut, but it’s enough for him to cry out, to try to fight me, for me to lower the sword and for him to play right into it.
I drive the sword deep into his chest.
This time I press hard. I won’t make that mistake again.
Jones falls to the ground, crying out and sputtering blood as he holds his chest, the red seeping through his fingers.
“Jones?” I hear my father cry out from the other room. “Jones?”
I step over Jones, who is writhing in a bloody mess on the floor, and head into the room.
My father is on the floor, pinning Gabrielle down, her shirt ripped half off her, breasts exposed. My father looks up at the doorway, and before his eyes turn to the shock of seeing me, I see the lust in them. The malevolence. The pure, oozing evil.
This man must die.
He’s not even a man at all.
Not even a father.
He’s a monster.
“Pascal,” he says, clearing his throat. “I didn’t think you had it in you to show up.” He glances back down at Gabrielle, who is staring at me with such hope and sorrow and shame in her eyes that it breaks my heart while steeling my resolve to kill him. “I guess you mean more to him than you do to me. A disposable slut. A little treat, a pet who you dump on the streets when you’re done kicking them around.”
Jesus.
My hand is holding the bloodied sword so hard that it’s starting to shake.
“Get. Off. Her,” I say through a grinding jaw, rage pulsing in my temple. “Now.”
My father smiles and almost rolls his eyes. “Or what? You’re going to stab me with your sword?”
“Yes. Just after I cut off your dick and gouge out your eyes.”
His brows raise. “My, my. Sometimes you say things that impress me, son. This is one of those times.”
“I am not your son,” I say, coming forward, trying to see on the other side of him, wondering where the gun is. “I will never be your son.”
“It’s too late for regrets, Pascal,” he says. “You can’t change who your parents are. You can’t change who you are. It’s not even worth trying.”
He grins down at Gabrielle and kisses her.
She whimpers, trying to fight back.
I spring into action, running forward, sword extended.
Then he slips over so he’s sitting up, one arm wrapped around Gabrielle, hand over her mouth, the other pulling a gun up from the other side of him and holding it against Gabrielle’s head.
I freeze.
“You come closer, and I’m blowing her brains out right in front of you,” he says. “I did say I had other ways of making you suffer, didn’t I? I didn’t think I’d have to use them, though. I didn’t think you were that stupid, that naive, that . . . in love. In love with her? She’s trash. And she used you, Pascal. Just as you used Marine. Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Back to juvenile vocabulary, are we?” He gives me a sour smile. “Yes, I suppose you never were as smart as I had hoped. A waste of space, just like your brother, just like my brother. Seems like I’m the only Dumont who got the good genes. The rest of you are insipid. Useless. A total disappointment.”
“I’m glad to be a disappointment to you,” I sneer. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
That bothers him. His gaze sharpens, like a wolf. “Is that so? Well, then it’s your lucky day. You got your wish and I get mine. I get to fuck your lover’s brains out before I blow her brains out, and I’m going to make you watch the whole thing. In fact, you’re going to beg me to pull the trigger before it’s time, just to put her out of her misery.”
I can’t give him any more of my attention. I won’t.
I stare into Gabrielle’s eyes, and she stares at me.
I’m trying to tell her I won’t lose her.
She’s trying to tell me something else.
She gives me the slightest nod, like she’s ready for something, and then her eyes dart over my shoulder.
I turn around just in time to see the bloody mess of Jones coming at me in a tackle. I’m thrown to the floor, and everything slows down, frame by frame.
The sword falls from my hands and into Jones’s.
My head hits the floor.
I’m staring at Gabrielle.
She opens her mouth and bites down as hard as she can on my father’s hand. As he yelps in surprise, she puts her self-defense classes to work by throwing her head back and slamming it against my father’s forehead.
The gun drops out of his hands.
Gabrielle picks up the gun just as Jones is about to drive the sword into my heart.
She shoots him in the head.
Jones goes flying back, blood spraying over me.
Now she’s trying to shoot my father, but he springs up, knocking the gun out of her hand.
It skitters across the floor, away from them, away from me, just as I’m trying to get to my feet.
I grab the sword.
Gautier grabs the gun before Gabrielle does.
Looks at me first, aims it at me.
Then smiles.
I’m expecting the bullet just as he turns it to the side and aims it at Gabrielle.
Shoots her in the ribs.
I scream and go running toward him.
He swings the gun around to fire at me, but I’m fast.
I throw myself on top of him, the gun flying across the room again.
I hold him down, and I punch him, over and over again.
My fists are merciless.
They are o
n a mission.
They are looking for salvation. For justice and revenge.
They will not stop until I can feel the bones of my father’s face brush against my knuckles.
He starts coughing, choking, sputtering.
And yet he’s still smiling at me, white teeth against a face of blood.
“I knew you didn’t have the guts to kill me,” he tells me, spitting out red, maybe a tooth. “You’re such a disappointment, Pascal.”
I pause and sit back on him, crushing his stomach.
“Who said I wasn’t going to kill you?” I growl.
I take the sword and hold it above my father’s heart.
A flash of fear comes over his eyes.
“This is the only time I won’t be a disappointment to you,” I tell him, my voice coming out so gruff and strained that it barely sounds like me. “And it’s going to be at the cost of your life.”
Before he can say anything, before I can hesitate, I drive the sword down, down, down, right into his heart. He struggles, and then he stops.
And then he’s dead.
He’s dead.
I killed him.
My lungs seem to seize in panic and relief, fighting for air, fighting for something to make sense of what I did.
And then I remember why I had to do it.
Gabrielle is lying a few feet away, on her side, bleeding out onto the floor.
I go to her side, beside myself in horror, gently touching her face.
Her eyes flutter as they look up at me.
“Gabrielle,” I whisper. Her name comes out choked. “I’ve got you. You’re safe, I’ve got you.”
She barely nods. Her eyes pinch closed, and she struggles for breath.
I quickly rip off my shirt and then sit down beside her, pulling her up onto my lap and holding the shirt against the wound, which is streaming out. I kiss her head, tell her it’s going to be okay, even though I have no idea if anything is going to be okay ever again.
Then I pull my phone out of my pocket and call 112.
I talk to the operator, and she tells me what to do for Gabrielle as the ambulance is dispatched. She talks me through it, even when I start crying, even when Gabrielle seems to slip from consciousness.
I hold her, trying to stanch the wound, trying to keep her alive until sirens fill the air.
I’ll never forget that sound.
It sounds like hope.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GABRIELLE
The world comes back slowly, sound by sound, color by color, feeling by feeling.
First I hear the sound of a machine, a soft whir coupled with a low beep that coincides with my own heartbeat. Then I open my eyes and see white. Nothing but white. So bright that I have to blink a few times.
Is this heaven? I think absently.
Am I dead?
How did I die?
And then I feel.
I feel a hand wrapped around mine, squeezing tight. The hand is strong and warm, and it feeds comfort into my veins, just as the IV drip does.
I’m in a hospital.
“Gabrielle.”
I’m in a hospital with Pascal by my side.
I move my head slightly and see his face peering down at me, tears in the corners of his eyes.
Those beautiful eyes.
Staring at me with so much sorrow and hope and happiness that I feel it all the way into the depth of my heart, the marrow of my bones.
I try to move my lips to say his name, but I can’t, my lips are too dry.
“Shhh,” he says to me, reaching over and brushing his fingers over my cheek. “Don’t try to talk. You’re okay. You’re all right. You’re safe.”
I blink at him slowly. I don’t feel safe, especially as I notice the awful bruises and gash on his cheekbone where I hit him with the gun.
Oh fuck. I am so sorry.
I need to say the words, to tell him, but they won’t come out.
“It’s fine,” he says with a soft smile, knowing what I’m looking at. “It’s just a bruise. I got some stitches while I was here, so it all worked out in the end. Plus, now I’m going to have a real tough-guy scar. Might fool some people.”
You are a tough guy, I think. I think you saved my life.
“Wh . . .” I try to talk, but my throat is so parched.
“Hold on,” he says, reaching over my head to press something. “You need water.”
A nurse appears a moment later. “She’s awake,” she says in surprise. “Let me get the doctor and some ice chips.”
She disappears, and Pascal raises my hand to his lips, kissing the top of it. “Just relax,” he says. “It will all make sense soon.”
My eyes widen as I remember what happened.
I was shot.
I look down at my stomach but can’t see anything because of the hospital gown.
“You’re going to be fine,” Pascal says. “Honestly. You were very lucky. Both of us were very fucking lucky.”
It all comes back to me.
Being captured by Gautier in the tunnel.
Him dragging me up into the house.
Being held down.
What he planned to do with me.
The fear.
Oh God, the fear that was so overpowering that I almost went into shock. It was the only way I could have protected myself from what was going to happen.
No doubt, he then meant to kill me in some torturous way.
Then Pascal showed up.
My knight in tarnished armor.
I was saved.
And then I was shot.
I don’t remember much after that. It’s probably for the best.
“Is . . . ?” I try to say. “Is he . . . ?”
Pascal just nods but with a look that tells me to be quiet.
I press my lips together just as the doctor and nurse come in.
“You’re awake, Gabrielle,” the doctor says. “How do you feel? Wait, don’t answer that yet.”
The nurse leans over and gives me a small paper cup filled with chips. I chew them down until I feel stronger, my mouth satisfied.
I then look at the doctor. “I feel like I’ve been shot.”
Everyone laughs, albeit a little nervously. It’s true, though—I do feel like I’ve been shot. The pain in my side is getting more and more intense the longer I’m awake.
“I see,” the doctor says, squinting at me. “And I’m afraid we’re going to need more morphine.” He nods at the nurse, who does something to the drip, and it’s not long before I feel strange liquid in my veins, making the pain dull, making the room seem blurry and warm.
“I’m going to leave you two alone,” the doctor says. “I’ll have to alert the police that she’s awake, just so you know.”
“Do they have to question her already?” Pascal grumbles.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dumont, but there are procedures we have to follow in cases like this.” He pauses. “Have you told her . . . ?”
Pascal shakes his head.
The doctor nods, giving me a quick glance and a placating smile. “I’ll be back to check you out later.” Then he and the nurse leave the room, closing the door behind them.
Pascal watches the closed door for a moment before he turns back to me. There’s fire in his glacial-blue eyes now.
“I don’t want them questioning you,” he says in a low voice. “There’s nothing to question.”
“There isn’t?” I ask, my voice cracking. I’m so afraid to get the answer to my question. “Is he . . . ?”
He nods grimly. “He’s dead.”
And just like that, all the weight I’ve been carrying on my shoulders, in my heart, the weight that has dragged my soul further and further toward hell, is lifted. It’s like it’s been filled with air and the strings are cut and it’s just floating away.
“He’s dead?” I repeat, hoping this isn’t the drugs talking.
“I killed him,” Pascal says gruffly. “I had to.”
“
You had no choice.”
“I had no choice.”
“And . . . what happened to the other man?”
“He’s dead.”
“Because of me?”
He swallows and doesn’t say anything. He reaches for my hand again. “You saved both our lives,” he says. “Don’t forget that. Don’t you ever forget that.”
I nod, a tear spilling down my cheek. I’m relieved that they’re dead, that we survived, but it does feel different from what I imagined, knowing I took someone’s life, even if he had no problem in trying to take mine.
Maybe that means I’m not as broken as I thought.
“So the police are going to question me?” I ask. “Did they question you?”
“They did. I told them the truth. I told them that he found out that you told your mother about what happened to you, and that you told me. He was threatened, so he had Jones and himself abduct you from the house with plans to rape and murder you. Luckily, I knew what they had planned, and after my father knocked me around a bit, I was able to show up at the house and stop them.”
“What did your mother say?” She was around. She would have to know it didn’t quite go down that way.
“She corroborated the story,” he says.
“And my mother?”
“As you can imagine, she’s a mess. The police questioned her, but she was crying too much to make any sense. I’m sure they will later, but she was gone on her walk, so she never saw any of this.”
I shake my head, and even with the painkillers, I feel the anger in my heart. “She’s never going to believe me. No one will. Even in death, your father has all the power. Don’t you see? Even in death, he still wins.”
All this time, I thought if I could have Gautier killed, then all the pain would be over and I would win. But this isn’t the case at all. He’s gone, but the world will never know the truth about him. A tattered legacy and death would have been the only fitting punishment.
But Pascal is grinning at me. His smile is crooked and cunning and oh so charming, and my heart turns from anger to lust and love when I see it spread across his face. My Pascal. Whatever he’s about to say is going to set my world right-side up.
“You know how I was really paranoid that my father had all those bugs around the house?”
I nod. “Yeah . . .”
“Well, it turns out, I was right to be paranoid. He didn’t bug the bedroom, but he did bug the study. And guess what he admitted to me in full in that study before he left?”
Disavow Page 22