Diamonds in the Dust Page 19

  She’s served her purpose. I let her go. She’s sucking in deep breaths, trembling on her knees. Her mascara and lipstick are smeared; her cheeks and lips streaked with my cum.

  “Stay,” I say.

  I go to the bathroom, wash up, and adjust my clothes. When I come back, she’s still on her knees on the carpet with her back against the exposed window.

  I stop in front of her. “That’s a good slut. Do you want to come?”

  She looks broken, her eyelashes wet with tears.

  I crouch down in front of her. “You do, don’t you? That’s what dirty whores want. Go ahead. Touch yourself.”

  Her lips part as she stares at me with a mixture of shock and hurt.

  I chuckle. “You didn’t think I was going to touch you like that, did you?”

  Her chin trembles but her voice is strong. “You’re a bastard.”

  I shrug. “It’s your choice. Get up.”

  Using the window as a support, she pushes herself up.

  “What did this lesson teach you, Zoe?”

  She hugs her breasts and crosses her legs, hiding as much of her nakedness as she can. “That nothing we’ve shared is real,” she bites out with tears shining in her eyes. “The kindness isn’t real. It means nothing, which means this means nothing, too.” Spitting the words at me, she continues, “You mean nothing to me, and you never will.”

  It’s my turn to stare at her. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit that she thinks what I’ve given her isn’t real. It’s true, though. Isn’t that what I said to my father, that I was going to manipulate her into wanting to stay by giving her what she wants?

  I’ve underestimated her, but not as much as I’ve underestimated how her answer would affect me. This isn’t how this lesson was supposed to go at all.

  Gnashing my teeth, I say, “Make your choice, Zoe. My lover or my whore?”

  She’s trembling, her frail body shaking, but from the way she drops her arms and stands up straighter as she bravely exposes herself, I know what her answer is going to be. She’s going to choose the spiteful route.

  My phone rings just as she opens her mouth to speak. I take it out of my pocket and check the screen. It’s Gautier.

  I answer with, “Not now.”

  “It’s your brother, sir,” he says. “You better come now.”

  Chapter 23

  Zoe

  * * *

  “Put on your dress,” Maxime says in a curt tone.

  The string of expletives he utters makes me rethink disobeying him in this. Something happened. He doesn’t wait to see if I’m complying. He hurries to the door and yanks it open. Standing there waiting, he drags a hand over his head. I’ve never seen Maxime behaving so worried. Angry, yes. Cold and cruel, yes, but never with such obvious concern.

  I shimmy into the dress as quickly as I can. Anyone can walk past the open door, but I also instinctively know whatever the phone call was about is bigger than this, than me. The fabric is light, but even the soft brush against my backside hurts. The ache between my legs and in my dark entrance is an extension of my punishment as I walk over to where my captor waits.

  He looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re a mess. Grab a towel from the bathroom.”

  I do as he says. My reflection in the mirror shocks me to a standstill. My makeup is smudged, and my hair is wild. Streaks of cum are mixed with dark rivulets of mascara on my cheeks. Shame burns in the pit of my stomach. Tears burn behind my eyes. Who am I becoming?

  Maxime’s loud voice booms through the space, making me jump. “Now, Zoe.”

  Grabbing a facecloth, I wet it with cold water and rub it over my face until my skin turns red. Not everything comes off, so I bring it with me to wipe away the evidence of what I can’t face. Maxime’s expression is tight. He’s taken off his jacket. At the door, he holds the jacket out for me. I pull it on, hating the smell of winter that clings to the fabric.

  Taking my hand, he pulls me behind him to the elevator. I almost trip in my heels trying to keep up. We ride down straight to the basement parking, not going back for our coats or my clutch in the cloakroom.

  He unlocks the car and shoves me inside. “Buckle up.”

  Sitting hurts my butt. I shift to the most comfortable position I can find. Before I’ve fastened my seatbelt, Maxime is already pulling out of the parking with screeching tires. His hands are clenched on the wheel and his shoulders tense. When we hit the road, I understand why he told me to buckle up. He’s driving like a daredevil, breaking the speed limit. I have to grab onto the door handle to prevent my body from being thrown to his side as we round a bend.

  On a straight stretch of road, I rub the cloth over my face again, but I don’t dare look in the sun visor mirror. I’m not sure I can cope with what I’ll see.

  Maxime doesn’t say a word. All of his attention is fixed on the road. Fortunately, he’s a skilled driver. We skip several red lights. I’m waiting with my stomach pulled tight for a police siren to sound or for us to crash into another car, but nothing happens. I’m one big ball of nerves when he finally parks in front of an apartment block near the harbor.

  “Come,” he says, throwing open his door.

  I get out and scurry after him to the entrance. Gautier stands there, a dark look on his face. They exchange a few words. Gautier nods, then takes off.

  Maxime punches in a code and lets me in.

  “Where are we?” I ask, looking around the modern lobby.

  His voice is tight. “My brother’s place.”

  I want to ask what we’re doing here, but a voice in the back of my head tells me this isn’t the moment for questions. An unsettling sensation steals over me. Alexis seemed nice enough when I met him, but I’m sure it was all acting, just like Maxime is always acting with me, playing nice or decent and kind when it’s nothing but a show, a sick game to manipulate me.

  Maxime and I climb into the elevator. He punches in another code and watches the floors light up with a broody expression. Alexis’s apartment is on the top floor. The elevator gives direct access to Alexis’s lounge. We step into a spacious room with futon sofas and a low table. A lamp casts a soft light over the wooden floor. An electric fire burns in a black metal pit in the center. It’s all very cozy, but goosebumps break out over my skin. The hair on my neck pricks. Something isn’t right.

  Alexis stands in front of the window that overlooks the harbor with his back turned to us and a drink in his hand.

  “Alexis.” Maxime’s deep voice thunders through the space.

  Alexis turns around, unsteady on his feet. Is he drunk?

  Maxime advances on him with big steps. “What the fuck have you done?”

  A whimpering noise comes from somewhere down the hallway. The sound makes me stop breathing. There’s something horrifying about it, something that’s not right. It’s the sound a wounded animal would make. It’s hopeless and scared, lost in pain.

  Maxime grabs Alexis by the collar of his shirt. “Qu’est-ce que tu as fait?”

  Alexis stumbles, spilling his drink over Maxime’s sleeve. He says something in French that makes Maxime draw back an arm and punch him in the face. Alexis goes down on his ass, the glass flying through the air and breaking in shards on the floor.

  The violence is unsettling enough, bringing back unpleasant memories of my drunken father I don’t care to play over in my mind. My reaction is involuntary, a flashback to my youth that makes me retreat to the corner and try to make myself invisible, but it’s not Maxime’s pounding fists that hold my attention. It’s the sickening grunts dispersed with pitiful moaning coming from elsewhere. Maxime is straddling his brother, dealing punch after punch to his jaw. My whole body drawn tight, I turn away from the fight and pause in the doorway. A low howl makes my stomach turn. Cold sweat breaks out over my body.

  Light spills from a room at the end of the hallway. My mind screams for me to hurry, but my feet refuse to obey. It’s as if I’m stuck in slow motion, in a v
ery bad dream. When I finally reach the open door from where the light and sounds come, I battle to take in the scene. My brain refuses to process it. Nausea boils in my stomach, and bile pushes up in my throat.

  A naked woman is tied to a cross in the middle of the floor, hands and feet spread. A man is pounding into her. He doesn’t see me, because his back is turned to the door. A horrible pattern of crisscrossing lines covers what I can see of her breasts and thighs, blood dripping from the cuts. Her left arm is bent unnaturally at the elbow. Her face is bruised and her eyes swollen shut. Cuts mar her legs and feet.

  My God. I swallow and swallow again. I’ve never seen anything as gruesome. The shock that froze me fizzles into a fit of blinding rage. My gaze settles on a whip that lies on a bed covered with a plastic sheet. I move like a demon, grabbing the instrument of torture from the bed and swinging it with all my might at the naked man’s back.

  He freezes with a curse at the fall of the strap, his eyes wild and confused as he turns his head my way. He shouts something violent in French as he rips free from the woman and charges for me. The lash I dealt hadn’t drawn blood. To do so is harder than I thought. Lifting my arm, I put more effort into it as I swing the whip his direction, bringing it down over his face and chest.

  He utters a cry, followed by a curse. Before I have time to hit him again, he’s on me, wrestling the whip from my hand.

  “Let her go,” a frighteningly cold, hard voice says from the door.

  The man stills. A sliver of fear slips into his voice. “Monsieur Belshaw?”

  When he obliges, I rush to the woman. Maxime’s words are murderous. The man starts pleading.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper when I reach the woman. “I’m going to untie you.”

  She can’t see me through her swollen eyes, but at the sound of my voice she starts sobbing.

  “You’re going to be all right,” I say, working on the rope that ties her right wrist.

  It’s knotted too tightly. My fingers are shaking too much. I look around the room for something I can use when Maxime pushes me out of the way. He’s clutching a big carving knife.

  “Fuck,” he mumbles under his breath as he takes in the woman.

  “What are you doing with the knife?” I ask, placing myself between him and the woman.

  “Cutting her loose. Move out of the way.”

  I step aside, casting a glance at the door, but the naked man is gone.

  Maxime cuts through the rope tied around her wrist.

  “I think her arm is broken.” I’m having a hard time keeping my voice even. “I’m calling an ambulance.”

  “No.”

  His harsh tone makes me pause. “She needs to go to a hospital.”

  “She will. Put an arm under her shoulder. She’s going to need support when I cut her loose.”

  I wiggle my arm between the cross and her back, holding her up as best as I can while Maxime frees her arms and legs. My heart is pounding between my ribs, my breathing erratic, but I push everything else to the back and focus on helping this poor woman.

  Who does something like this? Alexis is ten times worse of a monster than the man who claimed me.

  “Go find me a blanket,” Maxime says, lifting the limp woman into his arms. “Second door on the left.”

  I rush down the hallway and push open the door Maxime has indicated. It’s dark. I fumble for a light switch. When I find the button, I flick it on. It’s a bedroom. The sheets are tangled on the bed. It smells of whiskey and sex. A blanket lies discarded on the floor. Snatching it up, I run back to the room at the end. Maxime exits just as I arrive. I cover the woman’s body as best as I can.

  “Let’s go,” Maxime says tersely.

  I follow him down the hallway. Through the doorway of the lounge, I see Alexis and the other man. The stranger is dressed, and Alexis is holding a bag of frozen peas against his eye. I get the door and the elevator while Maxime carries the woman and says soothing things to her in French even if she seems unconscious.

  Downstairs in the street, Gautier, who’s returned, jumps to attention. He gets the passenger door while Maxime lowers the woman onto the seat and secures her safety belt. He says something to Gautier, then races around the car, gets in, and starts the engine. I watch dumbfounded, my words all dried up, as he takes off like a racing devil, the taillights of his car two red eyes in a dark evil of the night.

  “I’m taking you home,” Gautier says.

  I turn to face him. At first his words don’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. I’m shivering in Maxime’s jacket, but not from cold.

  “Come, Miss Hart. Please.”

  I look at his outstretched arm. A realization dawns on me. I don’t know how I figure it out because the dots from my mind to my thoughts won’t connect. He’s not allowed to touch me.

  “Please,” he says again.

  Numb, I follow him to a car parked on the side of the road and get in when he holds the door for me. I can’t breathe. I can’t calm the frantic beat of my heart. For the first time since Maxime took me from my home and brought me here, I’m grateful to my kidnapper. I’m grateful he didn’t hand me over to his brother.

  What I’ve seen tonight changes everything. It changes the answer I was going to give Maxime back at the hotel.

  Chapter 24

  Maxime

  * * *

  On the way to the hospital, I call Dr. Olivier.

  “Another one?” he asks curtly when I’ve explained the situation.

  “I know.” I glance at the unconscious woman. “This is ending tonight.”

  He sighs. “I’ll meet you there in ten.”

  I park underground and take the elevator to the ground floor. It’s late. It’s quiet. Dr. Olivier meets me at the side entrance. Together, we install the woman in a private room. The good doctor will treat her and give her something for the pain. He’ll also handle the tricky logistics of the paperwork.

  I take a picture of her injuries with my phone. Pocketing it, I say, “Text me an update on her progress.”

  The doctor looks up from examining her. “Where are you going?”

  “To deal with my brother.”

  He nods. It’s not his place to ask questions. “Do you know her identity? I’ll need a name for the forms.”

  I’ll need it to pay a hefty compensation, not that money can atone for Alexis’s actions. Plus, her family will have to be informed of her random assault. She’ll say someone got rough on her while she was working the streets. That’s what they all say, but the prostitutes talk among themselves. Hopefully, they’ll stay far away from my brother in the future.

  “I’ll get her name to you,” I say. “Send me the bill.” Of course, it’ll include a big fat bonus for the doctor.

  Without wasting more time, I get my car and drive to my parents’ house. On the way, I call my father and tell him I’ll be there shortly. It’s almost three in the morning, but he doesn’t share a bedroom with Maman, so I don’t risk waking her up.

  My father replies with, “I’ll wait downstairs.”

  He knows I won’t call at this hour unless there’s a problem, usually one that involves a traitor or an unauthorized killing.

  I kill the headlights before I pull through the gates. Maman’s window faces the front lawn. Father stands in the dark by the door, flanked by two guards.

  “Come in.” He walks ahead of me to his study and only flicks the lights on when the door is closed. He’s dressed in his silk robe and a pair of slippers. He pours two glasses of whiskey before taking the chair behind his desk. “What happened?”

  I take out my phone and show him the picture I took of the woman in the hospital.

  He lifts his gaze to me. “Alexis?”

  My voice is clipped. “Yes.”

  Sighing, he rubs a hand over his face. “Is she going to make it?”

  “I’m waiting for the doctor to text me, but I think so. She’s not much worse than the previous one, and that one survived.” I move
closer. “However, the next one may not be so lucky.”

  “Fuck.” My father slams a palm on the desk.

  He understands the implications of murder. Taking out your enemies is one thing. Taking out the very prostitutes you’re pimping is quite another.

  “We have to deal with Alexis,” I say.

  My father looks at me, his bad eye drooping more than usual. He doesn’t want to punish his favorite son, but he knows he’s let it go too far. If Alexis doesn’t end up in jail soon, he’ll end up with a bullet in the back of his head. These women have families. They’re locals. Their fear of our power is only going to last so long before someone vengeful gets trigger happy. Besides, this is not the example we want to set.

  “Fine,” he says, pushing his chair away from the desk and getting to his feet. “Deal with him.”

  He can fucking count on that.

  I leave his study with long steps. In the car, I dial Gautier. “Is Zoe home?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Meet me at Alexis’s and bring Benoit. Keep it discreet.”

  * * *

  Back at Alexis’s place, I find him a lot more sober than I left him. He’s frightened, as he should be. He knows he fucked up one time too many. The fucker who was with him is still there. Good. At least the man was intelligent enough to do as I’ve instructed, to stay put. He knows better than to let me hunt him, because then he would’ve been a free kill.

  Alexis is pacing the floor, a bag of peas pressed to his swollen eye. “What the fuck took you so long? Where have you been?”

  “Home.”

  He stops. The color drains from his face. “Home?”