The Butcher (Fifth Republic Series Book 1)
The Butcher: Chapter 12

It was the first time she slept over and we didn’t fuck.

She got into bed without taking off her makeup and snuggled into me, her leg hiked over my hip, her arm around my neck, using me as a body pillow. Sadness still throbbed in her eyes, and that was probably why she was able to drift off to sleep so easily.

My sleep schedule was all over the place and I wasn’t tired, so I watched her for a while, the lights from the Eiffel Tower appearing in the crack between the curtains. At some point in her sleep, she turned the other way, facing her nightstand where her phone sat.

I left the bed and stepped into the sitting room, shutting the door behind me until it was just open a crack. I went to my desk and opened my laptop, going through emails and the mail that Gerard had left on the desk.

My phone lit up with a text message from Luca. Heading to Crazy Horse.

Again? It was a cabaret show similar to Moulin Rouge, more of a tourist spot than a local place.

I’m fucking one of the girls.

Then why do you want me to come?

Because there’s a bar—and other girls.

I’ll pass.

What’s your deal, asshole?

I’ve already got a girl here.

So? She probably won’t even notice you’re gone.

I chuckled out loud. Fuck you, Luca.

Just get back before sunrise.

Take one of the other guys.

You know you’re my boy.

Have fun, Luca.

His messages stopped.

I checked my emails then went through the mail on my desk. There was an invitation for the annual gala at Luxembourg Palace, another obligation to see one another as if we didn’t see one another enough as it was. A black-tie event, one that I attended solo every year. I set it aside then went through the rest.

Luca texted me again. You still seeing that same girl? The married one?

Yes.

He had no follow-up question to that.

I worked for a couple of hours, and when I finally felt tired enough, I returned to bed. She’d made her way to the center of the bed, curled up in the blankets like a fish caught in a net. I slid in beside her and did my best not to shift the mattress too much.

But it was enough, because her eyes opened, tired and dazed, and she looked at me for a long second, like this was a dream. Then her eyes filled with soft affection, like the sight of me brought inexplicable joy, and she moved into me like a child reunited with her favorite stuffed teddy bear.

I circled my arms around her and held her close, watching her use my shoulder as a pillow.

Her arm draped over my waist, and she tucked her leg between my knees before she released a sigh and fell right back into deep sleep.

I hadn’t been tired a moment ago, but the sight of her at peace made my eyes grow heavy—and I fell asleep.

I was dead asleep when I felt it, a warm mouth around my dick.

A dream suddenly came to me, Fleur on her knees on the rug around my bed, trying to suck a dick that was far too big for her little mouth. My breathing changed, my body felt tight, and pleasure burned me from the inside out.

I automatically reached for her hair, my hand coming into contact with the softness that I had fisted countless times. I was aware of the warmth in the room, the sunlight through the crack in the curtains, the tightness in my balls.

My eyes found the strength to open, and I looked down to see her ass in the air, her mouth buried in my crotch. She grabbed my dick by the base to support its weight as she pushed her mouth over my length, barely making it past the halfway mark before she needed to withdraw to take a breath.

I propped my head up on my arm and watched her for a while, watched her eat my dick like a pancake breakfast.

Her eyes flicked up to look at me, mouth full of dick, that fine ass still in the air.

I wanted to come in her mouth, but she turned me on so much that it drove me insane, made me desperate to fuck her as hard as I could. I gripped the back of her head, and I forced her back, watching my dick slip from her lips and flop against my stomach. “Come here.” Instead of directing her on top of me, I guided her beside me and shoved her face into the sheets. Her ass naturally popped up, and I moved behind her, my dick already slick from her tongue. I slipped inside her without resistance because she was more than ready for me.

She gave a cry when I shoved my full girth inside her, her screams muffled against the sheets because I continued to pin her neck down. I pounded into her like a whore from the brothel rather than a woman I actually cared for—and she seemed to like it. Her mascara bled onto the sheets, and her sharp nails dug into my knees from where she reached back and gripped me.

“You like that, sweetheart?” I fisted her hair and pushed her cheek to the sheets, her face turned so she could breathe. I usually gave her a fraction of my size, but this time, I gave it all to her, saw her wince through the pain, but she never protested. She took it like a champ—took it like it was her job.

“Yes…yes.”

I continued to pound into her hard, never slowing my pace or having to edge myself, not when I was still partially asleep, my mind and body not fully connected. It allowed me to give it to her ruthlessly, harder than she anticipated.

Her hands started to flail, gripping the sheets and tugging them until they slipped off one of the corners. Her legs were wide open, but her pussy tightened over my dick with the grip of a viper—and she came with a scream.

I closed my eyes and savored the sound before I finished, giving her my seed when she squeezed it out of me, filling her pussy like it was the first time, even though it had been more times than I could count. Adrien had had this woman in his bed every night but chose to fuck around—the most idiotic thing I’d ever heard. But now my dick was the one plowing into her, and that was just fine with me.

I gave her ass a hard spank when I was finished, making her grunt in pain. I pulled out and spanked her again, hitting her so hard she rolled onto her side and moaned. The handprint was visible on her cheek, so I leaned down and kissed it, kissed the red, welted skin, made the pain feel good.

She softened at my kisses, turning her torso to watch me, her fingers moving into my short hair before she guided me toward her, bringing me over her so she could kiss me on the mouth. It was more than a quick kiss to start the day, but a long kiss with breath and tongue, like having my dick and my come wasn’t enough for her, like she still wanted more—like all of me still wasn’t enough.

I separated her knees then moved between her thighs, my hand deep in her hair as I kissed her, her body covered in the t-shirt she’d stolen from one of my drawers. I tugged it up to expose her tits before I sunk inside her again, feeling her suck in a breath against my mouth when she felt me, like she didn’t just take me.

She must have been sore because she spoke against my lips. “Easy…”

I restrained myself from giving it all to her, invading her like she was a virgin, my rocking as gentle as the small waves at sunset.

Her ankles hooked together at the small of my back, and she kissed me as I moved inside her, her fingers deep in my hair, her other hand clawing at my back. “Yes…like that.”

Dalia’s Market, a run-down storefront in the 18th arrondissement, sat undisturbed under the lamppost, the street empty of cars, while the sidewalk held a camp of the homeless in tents, empty cups placed outside in the hope of donations—or a chance to con someone.

The blacked-out SUV pulled up to the front, while the others behind me came to a stop. The guys hopped out first, dressed in all black with masks over the bottom part of their faces, tactical vests covering their chests and backs. Armed with rifles, they fired at the latch on the rolled-down door until it popped free. Then they slid it up, revealing the stands of produce that would be available at dawn. They moved farther inside, unlocked the hidden door that led to the basement, and descended.

I stayed in the back seat and listened to the gunfire a moment later. It lasted for a couple seconds before it went quiet.

I took that as my cue and hopped out of the back seat, flanked by my two guys, as I headed down the stairs and saw the bloody sight below. Girls were huddled in the corner, latched on to one another and shaking like they were next to be executed. The tables contained bottles of over-the-counter medications, like ibuprofen and acetaminophen, but instead of replaceing those harmless drugs inside the containers, you’d replace shit more sinister—and illegal.

I didn’t care about the drugs—just the women forced to pack it.

There were dead men on the floor, brains splattered under the tables. I walked through the bodies, ignored the ones who trembled as their brains continued to troubleshoot their afflictions, and then found the three guys in the rear who had been kept alive. Their wrists were zip-tied behind their backs as they sat in the plastic chairs at the table, their cigars still burning where they’d been left behind.

One of my guys pulled out a chair for me then stepped away.

I took a seat, pulled out my own cigar, and lit up.

They put on their best poker faces, tried to be brave when they were about to shit themselves. One had already pissed himself. I could smell it. I took a puff as I stared at the first one. “Who’s your supplier?”

He couldn’t stop himself from shaking, knowing exactly who I was even though we’d never met. “We get the product from Jerome⁠—”

“Not the drugs. The girls.” I already knew who his supplier was, but I wanted to make an example out of him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just started here⁠—”

I pulled out my pistol and shot him in the head. The sound of the blast was deafening in the enclosed space, even with the silencer on.

One of the other guys gave out an uncontrollable shout.

The other—the one who’d pissed himself—had wet eyes.

I turned to the next one. “Your turn.” I aimed the gun at him.

This one didn’t play games. “Godric.” His eyes were down because he couldn’t look at me, couldn’t face down the barrel pointed at his head.

“Good,” I said. “Where can I replace him?”

“I—I don’t know. I really don’t know. You can ask the boss⁠—”

“Who’s the boss?”

“The man I work for…his name is Peter.”

“Peter what?”

“Peter Astinoff.”

I kept my gun on him. “Call him.”

He hesitated, like he couldn’t believe the request. “I—I don’t have his number.” He looked at his dead comrade. “He hired me⁠—”

I pulled the trigger, and he fell out of the chair.

“Please don’t kill me.” The man with the wet pants immediately started to beg for his life, trembling so hard in his chair that the tapping of the legs against the concrete was audible.

“Get me Peter, and you won’t have to die in your own piss.”

“I don’t have his number, but I can get you to him.”

“How?” I continued to hold the gun to his face.

“I think I know where he lives.”

“You think?”

“He was having a party and wanted us to bring the girls…for entertainment.”

I kept the gun trained on him, but for once, I was intrigued by this information. “Address?”

“I don’t—don’t know the address, but—but I remember how to get there.” He could barely talk, afraid his brains were about to get blown across the floor. “It’s the 4th arrondissement. I can take you there now.”

I finally lowered the gun and nodded to one of my guys to cut him free.

When his wrists were unbound, he closed his eyes and released a heavy breath.

“Change your pants,” I barked. “My car isn’t going to smell like piss.”

We drove across town to the 4th arrondissement, the roads empty at this hour. My witness was in a different car, a gun held to his temple. With the window cracked, I smoked a cigar, passing the old buildings and seeing Notre-Dame come into view, the cranes still in place because the renovation would take years.

Fleur texted me. You awake?

I’d been simmering in the back seat, burning underneath my clothes. The women I’d liberated were being taken to a safe house by the guys. After they showered and changed their clothes, they would be given money and papers to head on their way or be reunited with the families from which they were stolen. Most of the girls weren’t even legal adults yet. I wanted to ignore Fleur’s message and let her think I was asleep because I was in a pissed-off mood, but I respected her too much to let her message go unanswered. Working.

She seemed to read my clipped tone because her response was brief. I’ll talk to you later.

I should just leave it at that because I had other priorities right now, but I couldn’t. Are you okay, sweetheart? I was pissed as fuck right now, ready to burn down that house and force my enemies to breathe in the smoke, but all of that paused the second my concern for her grew.

Her three dots came right away. I’m fine. Just want you in my bed, is all.

Normally, I would have smiled, but I felt nothing right now. Tomorrow.

Okay, be safe.

Once I knew she was fine, I put my phone away and watched the line of cars pull up to a building behind an iron gate. It must be the place because my crew hopped out with the crowbar then proceeded to break down the gate with a couple swings.

I got out of the car as the guys formed a perimeter around the house, while the others carried the crowbar to the double front doors. They planned their coordinated attack in silence, and once the wordless cue was given, the attack happened simultaneously, the windows behind blown out with gunfire while the door was knocked down.

The men moved through the house, shooting down the security guys who had failed at their jobs. Blood splattered the walls, smoke bombs were thrown into hallways, screams were silenced by death. It happened quickly, framed family photos on the walls shattered by bullets.

I heard a woman’s scream from upstairs, probably the wife or the mistress or the whore, who fucking knew.

I waited downstairs, listening to her scream as she was dragged into another room and then locked behind the door with her children. Minutes later, Peter was dragged down the stairs and to the center of the living room, forced on his knees like an execution.

“Wife and children are barricaded upstairs,” one of the guys said as he approached me. “No injuries.”

Peter’s wrists were zip-tied behind his back. “Please don’t hurt my family.”

I walked up to him, stared hard into his frightened eyes, and then hit him in the face with my fist. “Insult me like that again and see what happens.” I broke his nose, and blood splattered on me and the floor.

He dared not scream, but he breathed through the pain.

“You beg for your wife and your daughter, but you employ children whose mothers made the same plea.” I squatted down before him so we were eye-to-eye. “How would you feel if I dragged your daughter down here and fucked her right in front of you? And all you could do was watch?”

He trembled at the words, both in terror and anger, his face turning beet red in an unexpressed rage. His eyes were locked on me like a rocket from a fighter jet.

“How would you feel if I made her work her hands bloody every day then locked her up every night? Sentenced her to a short life of manual labor that eventually broke her back? And she never saw the light of day again?”

He continued to shake, like he wanted to kill me for just saying those words.

“You’re lucky I’m a better man than you are, because if I weren’t, your wife would be my maid and your daughters would be my whores.” I rose to my feet and stepped back before I pulled my pistol out of the back of my jeans. I cocked the gun before I pressed the end of the barrel right against his forehead. “It’s simple. Tell me where I can replace Godric, and you can walk upstairs and comfort your family.”

His eyes closed as he felt the cool metal against his skin.

I waited for the answer I wanted, felt him tremble against the gun.

“Don’t try my patience, Peter.”

“I can’t tell you.”

“If you don’t, your family will replace you here—a bullet through the head.”

“You may take my life—but Godric will take my entire family. He’ll wipe out my bloodline. He’ll hunt down my brothers and sisters and their families…my cousins in Albania. He’ll execute my friends and their families and spit on them just for good measure. And only after that’s done…when I have nothing to live for…he’ll kill me.” He stared at the floor, at my bloody boots. “I can’t talk—and no one else will either.”

The disappointment was like gasoline on my tongue, and the rage was a lit match. It was impossible to beat a man without ethics when I had to abide by my own. I chose to be the bigger man, but that made Godric the bigger opponent. There were lines I refused to cross, and Godric danced right over them. “As the first French Emperor of the Republic, I sentence you to death for violating Homines ex codice with the use of trafficked women as free and illegal labor.” I fired the gun, and he fell back, blood pouring from the bullet hole in the center of his skull. “Rot in hell, asshole.”

The SUV pulled up to the gate, and I checked in with security before I was granted permission to enter the grounds. I was escorted through the double doors, and then the butler invited me into the parlor. “Madame Dupont will be here shortly.” He placed a tray on the coffee table, a pot of tea with floral teacups on saucers along with a platter of cranberry scones. He excused himself, leaving me alone in the room drenched in sunlight from all the open windows, the wallpaper a floral pattern, the chandelier made of crystal, the coffered ceilings restored and preserved.

I sat in the armchair and waited, looking out the window to the buildings beyond, dead tired behind the eyes but refusing to show it.

Then I heard the sound of her heels behind me, the gentle tap against the hardwood floor, the way the sound changed once she hit the custom rug her designer had selected for the space. I rose to my feet to greet her, wearing a gray collared shirt instead of my typical t-shirt out of respect.

She stopped before me, thin as a rail in a pink dress that reached past her knees, her blond hair elegantly done in soft curls, a necklace of sparkling diamonds around her throat. There were lines in the corners of her eyes and around her mouth, but other than the subtle signs of age, she’d been perfectly preserved in an eternal state of beauty. Her eyes filled with affection at the sight of me, as always. “My boy.” She cupped my face in her hands, and she kissed me twice on each cheek.

I did the same to her. “You look beautiful, Mother.”

“Thank you, son.” She moved to the edge of the couch, and her butler stepped in to pour two cups of tea—even though she knew I didn’t drink the piss.

Her butler excused himself, and we were left alone together.

With her ankles crossed like the Princess of Wales, she held her saucer and sipped her tea. The scones were left untouched because she hardly ate to remain as thin as she was. She only offered food to be polite. She returned the saucer to the table. “How are things, Bastien?”

I hated small talk. “The same. How’s the country house coming along?”

“Ugh, one of the pipes broke, and there was a terrible flood. Delayed the renovation quite a bit.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“There are worse things,” she said. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

She always asked me this because she was interested in continuing the family line, not because she cared about my happiness. I didn’t answer the question, not wanting to discuss my relationship with Fleur, not because I wanted to hide it—but protect it. “No.”

“Bastien, you’re in your thirties now⁠—”

“I didn’t come here to discuss how disappointing my personal life is.”

Her hands came together on her knees, giving me that shrewd look packed with more intelligence than any person should have—especially your mother. “I know what you came here to discuss, and my answer hasn’t changed.”

I gave a slight shake of my head. “How can you protect him?”

“I don’t protect him. I protect you both.”

My temper flared right away, furious that I had to have this conversation for the millionth time. “He’s vile—and you fucking know it.”

She didn’t react to my rage. Didn’t react when one of her guards stepped into the room to check on her well-being. Her eyes moved to him, and she gave a slight nod to dismiss him. As if I would ever hurt my mother. “Tell me where he is.”

She held my gaze with the stillness of a statue. She answered my question with silence.

“How can you possibly support someone like him?”

“I never said I did.”

“Then support me, and tell me where the fuck he is.”

She gave a slight shake of her head. “When you become a parent, you sign a contract with infinite terms and agreements. And those terms and agreements bind you to love your child unconditionally, whether they become the president of France or take a seat on murderers’ row. It doesn’t matter whether I agree or disagree with his actions or yours. I love you both with all my heart. I will not betray him—and I will not betray you either.”

“Has he asked you how to replace me?”

“No.” She didn’t blink, didn’t react to the question, like it was the truth. “You’re the one who seeks him, not the other way around. You have differences that can’t be resolved. As much as I’d like to have my sons under the same roof on Christmas, I understand that’s simply not possible. If you can’t come to an agreement, then live in peace—separately.”

“He traffics innocent women.” I did my best to keep my voice low, but my anger seeped out. “Do you understand that? Most of these girls aren’t even seventeen years old. They’re fucking children. Based on their appearance, they’re either sent to whorehouses or sent to work assembling guns or packing drugs. This is your city, the greatest city on earth. And this is how you want your city to operate? We’re the City of Light, not the City of Darkness.”

She had no reaction to that, her face straight and her eyes dead.

“You have nothing to say?” I snapped.

She blinked, and that was it.

I sat back in the armchair and sighed as I dragged my hand down my face, the frustration burning the tips of my fingers. My mother was the one connection I had to him, but I couldn’t force her to surrender information, and not just to abide by the code. “Then I ask you to arrange a meeting with the two of us. No guns. No men.”

She continued her hard stare, having a better poker face than any man.

“Just a conversation.”

She took a breath and let it out slowly, her long hair behind her shoulders.

“You know I’m a man of my word. I would never bring violence into your home.”

She broke eye contact and looked at the fireplace.

“You’re the only person he respects. If you asked him to come under the banner of truce, we would abide by it.”

She considered it for a long time, her eyes glued to the fireplace.

I’d searched the streets for him. I’d tortured people for information, but they were a hell of a lot more afraid of him than me. Unless I found where he was and took him myself, I would never get what I wanted. My mother was the only connection I had to my brother.

She finally turned back to me after careful consideration. “I’ll ask Godric to consider it—but that’s the most I can do.”