The Butcher (Fifth Republic Series Book 1)
The Butcher: Chapter 5

She lay in my arms for a while until she fell asleep, her head against my shoulder, the rain continuing to splatter against the windows. I looked out into the night and just enjoyed the sound, savoring the peace that hardly ever visited me.

I scooped her into my arms and put her in bed before I covered her with the sheets. She didn’t wake up, just like a child that was tucked in for the night. I turned off the lights and walked out, making my way down to the bottom floor and out through the double doors.

A man in a raincoat leaned up against the wall of the café across the road. Another one was seated on the outdoor patio of Nelson’s, the restaurant on the other side of the walkway. I didn’t wear a coat and I embraced the rain, loving the way it felt against the back of my neck, the way it smelled, the way it made the asphalt glisten, something only a real Parisian could understand.

I walked up to the man in Nelson’s, and he worked so hard not to be suspicious of me that I immediately became suspicious of him. Even when I was right at his table, he refused to acknowledge me, his black coffee sitting there untouched.

“Bastien Dupont.”

He had no other choice but to look at me.

“That’s my name.”

We sat in the parlor, cigar smoke hanging in the air and blanketing the elegant room in a haze of fumes. With one elbow on the armrest, I puffed on that cigar and let the taste of black licorice float on my tongue before it released as a stream of smoke from my mouth.

Luca lounged in the chair, tilting his head back as he aimed his cannon of smoke toward the ceiling. “They’ll never pass it. Damage is done at this point.”

“Nothing is set in stone, especially in politics.”

“You think the Senate will overturn it?”

I kept the cigar in the corner of my mouth. “I really don’t know—and I really don’t care.”

“Doesn’t apply to us, now does it?”

“No.” I rested the cigar between my fingertips and took a drink.

“Is there a problem, Bastien?” Luca asked, tapping his fingers against the cigar to make the ash fall into the tray. “You seem pissed off.”

“I’m always pissed off.”

“More than usual, then.”

I hadn’t spoken to Fleur since I’d left her apartment. Wasn’t sure what she’d decided, if she wanted to give her marriage another try…or continue to fuck around with me. I did my best to stay out of it and be objective, but it was hard to keep my mouth shut. “I’m sleeping with this woman, but she’s married.”

Luca was about to take another drag of his cigar, but my words made him forget about it. “That was not what I expected you to say.” He sat up and put out the cigar in the communal ashtray on the table. “What does it matter if she’s married?”

“Because she might take him back.”

“So, they aren’t married?”

“Separated. He cheated on her and she left him, and he’s been trying to get her back ever since.”

“So, she used you for revenge sex?”

“I don’t think so.” Whatever we had, it was real.

Luca stared at me for a long time, waiting for me to say something more so this story would make sense. “I’m not following, man. You had your fun. Now it’s time for her to go back to her husband. Everybody wins.”

“But I don’t want her to go back to him.”

“Why?”

“Because she deserves better than that shit.” I grabbed the glass from the side table and took a drink. “And she knows it too.”

“Then maybe she won’t take him back.”

“Maybe.” But I hadn’t heard from her. I didn’t want to pressure her or persuade her in any way. I’d given my information to one of the guys who was watching the apartment, but her pussy of a husband hadn’t contacted me. Once he figured out who I was, he probably realized we weren’t in the same league.

“You like her or something?”

After we fucked on that first night, I didn’t expect to see her again. All I had to do was walk out, and that would have been the end of it. But something made me put my number in her phone, something I’d never done before. “Yeah…I do.”

Once Luca realized this conversation was serious, he stopped the bullshit and straightened. Now, he didn’t say anything at all, waiting for me to explain the situation.

“I don’t know, man. I can’t explain it.” I could explain it, the way we came together and set the room on fire, the way we turned into Adam and Eve, destined and created for each other. But that would require details I refused to share. “But yeah, I like her. And whether she takes him back or she doesn’t…it’s shit timing.”

He remained quiet, his unblinking stare on me. “Yeah, it is. Does she know who you are?”

“No.”

“Then she doesn’t know you at all.”

“I guess you could say that.” She’d asked me how I earned a living once, but because we were in public, I never answered. She didn’t know anything about me personally, other than the fact that I was rich, something she never asked about.

I loved that she didn’t ask.

Gerard stepped into the drawing room. “Sir, Adrien Laurent is here to see you.”

“Speak of the devil…” I turned to Luca. “That’s him.”

“Her husband?” he asked with his eyebrows raised.

“Yep.”

“I’ll back you up.”

“I don’t need backup, Luca.” I put out the cigar and rose to my feet.

“He’s got a lot of balls coming here,” Luca said. “Are you sure⁠—”

“I’m fine.” I gestured to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright.” He let Gerard escort him out of the room. He might have passed Adrien on the way.

I stood there and waited for Adrien to join me, surprised he had the spine to face me, unless he didn’t understand who I was. Well, if he didn’t, he was about to. I stood in my sweatpants and t-shirt, not afraid to do business in casual attire. My real uniform was my knife anyway.

Footsteps sounded, and then he rounded the corner—in trousers and a blazer like a fucking pussy. He had short brown hair with matching eyes, tall and lean, not packed with muscle the way I was. In hand-to-hand combat, he’d be dead.

He stilled as he sized me up, looking me over as his opponent. He was outmatched if we were in the ring with boxing gloves—and he was outmatched as a lover too. I might have a pretty face, but I was packed and tatted.

The standoff lasted for a solid minute, Adrien coming to terms with the fact that I was the man bedding his wife.

Soon-to-be ex-wife, I hoped.

He finally took a breath like he needed to steel his nerves before he approached me. He didn’t fire off with threats and bullshit right off the bat, so he was smarter than I’d assumed. “Of all the men in Paris, she had to pick you.”

“I think she has great taste.”

An explosion of rage flashed across his eyes, but he didn’t act on it. “She has no idea who you are.”

“Separation of church and state.”

He came closer, the table between us. “I think she’d feel much differently if she had all the facts.”

“I don’t know. She seems pretty tough to me.” Handled those handprints beautifully. Didn’t mind my thumb up her ass. Didn’t scream when some asshole came at her with a machete. The girl had a backbone—and I liked that.

“Tell her, or I will.”

I smirked. “Is that what your mistress said to you?”

His eyes narrowed once again. “I’m sure someone like you doesn’t give a shit about marriage⁠—”

“Quite the contrary, actually. Assholes like you are the ones who shit all over it.”

He bypassed what I said. “I know I fucked up. I admit that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I know we could work it out if you would just go the fuck away.”

I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face, not when it pissed him off so much.

“She said she would consider a reconciliation—and then you showed up.”

“I tend to do that.”

“You think this is a joke?” he snapped.

“You thought it was a joke first when you pissed all over your wedding vows. Or should I say came all over your wedding vows?”

“Fuck you, Butcher.”

This was the part where I bragged about all the fucking I did with his wife, but I had too much respect for her to say a word. I wouldn’t rub my conquest in his face, not when I had to drag her name through the mud to accomplish that.

“She doesn’t mean shit to you—and I love her. So stay the fuck out of my relationship, alright? You claim to be the Justice of Paris, but you’re bedding another man’s wife when he’s trying to put that marriage back together. Fucking hypocritical.”

“You would have been divorced if you hadn’t stopped her paperwork—to be fair.”

With a burning anger in his eyes, he clenched his jaw. “Are you going to step off or not?”

I barely knew the woman. I’d had good sex, some that I paid for and others that were free, but with her, it was different. Couldn’t explain it. But her situation was complicated, and the timing just wasn’t right. “I’ll bow out. But if she comes to me, she’s fair game.”

The restaurant had closed to the public, but I walked inside like I owned the place—because I did. All the tables were crammed together, but they were empty of plates and already wiped down for the night.

Manuel stood at the bar, and he greeted me with a nod before he headed to the back. The kitchen staff was still working after the rush they’d had. From what I’d been told, reservations started a month out.

Guess the place was good.

There was a lone table in the middle, the only one that was easily accessible and not pushed up against others. I made myself a drink at the bar then sat down. The street outside was a one-way road, and sometimes people passed the window. It was a cold evening, but I got warm as I walked, so I hardly ever wore a jacket, not unless it snowed.

I sat there and drank my wine, listening to the chef yell at the staff because he yelled at everyone. He was a good cook, so I let him run his kitchen however the fuck he wanted. L’Ami Jean was an old establishment, one of the oldest restaurants in the city, even before the Second World War. I bought it because I wanted to keep it exactly the same forever. History and legacy were important to me—and not just because the blood of the nobility ran in my veins.

Minutes later, my guest joined me, wearing a pea coat like a goddamn pussy. He barely looked at me before he took a seat across from me, dark hair and eyes, an ugly scar over his left eyebrow where a hook had dug into his flesh years ago. He looked at Manuel and ordered him around like he was his own employee. “Make me a drink, son.”

Manuel looked at me.

I nodded.

Manuel poured him a glass of wine before he set it on the table.

He took a sip before he finally looked at me. “Butcher.”

“Darius.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Hope you have good news.”

“I do. We resolved our shipping disputes and have prepared the payment.”

“Good.”

He pulled out his phone, did some typing, and then passed the screen to me.

I checked the funds before I hit send and slid it back.

He did it again, calculated the total, and slid it across the table toward me.

I eyed it, making sure the details of the sender were encrypted before I hit send and handed it back.

Darius dropped the phone into his pocket. “I appreciate your patience.”

“I appreciate you doing your job. Less work for me—and my knife.”

He smirked as he reached into his jacket and grabbed a cigar before he lit up.

I’d had enough for the day, so I didn’t join him.

“Lemme ask you something, Butcher.”

“I suspected something was coming down the pipeline.” Most of these transactions didn’t happen in person. In the digital age and in my special line of business, physical goods were unnecessary.

“You could make a lot more if you cut ties with the Fifth Republic. A lot more.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then why?” he asked. “You could work for me.”

“I don’t work for anyone, Darius. And I don’t work for the Fifth Republic either.”

“Then you could work with me,” he said. “Imagine what we could do. Imagine the margins if we bent the rules⁠—”

“Some say rules are meant to be broken, but not mine. As long as I live and breathe, they will remain. There’s no reason the criminal enterprises that flourish in this city can’t continue to thrive with order. What I’ve done has created an economy that benefits everyone, from the criminals, to the Republic, and to the people.”

He leaned back in his chair, trying to smile through my words despite the annoyance that built in his eyes.

“Maybe you could earn more under different circumstances. But isn’t it better to operate lawfully?”

His only answer was a shrug. “We’ll have to agree to disagree, Butcher.”

I continued to sit there, arms across my chest, the workers still scrubbing the pans clean in the back.

He continued to smoke his cigar.

“Tell me about Godric.”

He smirked before he released the smoke from his mouth. “What makes you think I speak to him?”

“You have the same politics.”

His smirk remained, and it was accompanied by a slight nod. “Quit while you’re ahead, Butcher. You know what happens to snitches…”

They were mauled in the street, on the way to the car after a nice meal at their favorite restaurant, in broad daylight in the midst of afternoon traffic. Stabbed with knives from every direction, they would have thirty knife wounds before they hit the street—and the attackers would blend into the crowd. There were more codes than mine.

“So, you do know him?”

“If you wanted to play poker, you should have brought the cards.”

I smirked slightly at the joke. “I’ll replace him.”

“Good luck with that.”

“And there will be hell to pay when I do.”

“I’m sure.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded manila envelope before he plopped it on the table. “Here’s everything you asked for.”

I opened it and pulled out the contents, a full report with photos, phone records, and text messages. I’d barely glanced at it and was overwhelmed by the mound of evidence. “That son of a bitch…”

“You better sharpen your knife.”