The Boss (Chateau Book 3)

by Penelope Sky

I didn’t want anyone to die, but if it had to be someone…please, not her.

  Then she stood up.

  The executioner wasn’t even in her aisle, but he stopped to turn to her.

  “No…” Raven, stop.

  Raven stared him down fearlessly, as if she wanted death to come. “I’m the one you want, so let’s cut the shit.”

  “No…” Tears sprang to my eyes, and I instinctively rose to my feet.

  Petunia yanked me back down. “There’s nothing you can do for her. Stop.”

  All I could do was mask my tears with quiet whimpers, feel the warmth of the liquid coat my cold cheeks.

  The executioner marched her to the block, secured the noose around her neck, and his eyes shone with mirth, as if claiming the life of someone who deserved to live more than the rest of us were some kind of accomplishment.

  If only the boss had accepted my offer.

  “Don’t look.” Petunia turned my face to her to shield me from the pain. “I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

  I could hear the moment Raven’s weight dropped, hear the tension of the cord, but I didn’t hear a sound come from her. I held on to Petunia and sobbed, knowing that my sister was about to be gutted because of me.

  Because of me.

  “Stop!” A man’s voice rang out in the clearing.

  I immediately turned away from Petunia to see something I never expected.

  A guard cut her down, told off the executioner, and saved my sister’s life.

  My fingers wiped the tears from my cheeks as I watched the rope be cut from between her wrists. “What?” There was a mark around her throat where the rope had burned into her skin, and she coughed into the snow, trying to catch her breath after nearly suffocating. When the guard was finished berating the executioner, he leaned over and extended his hand to her, like they were equals. The look in her eyes was one I’d never forget, like she was looking at more than her savior…but her friend.

  “She must be sleeping with him,” Petunia whispered. “And it paid off…because he just saved her life.”

  When I returned to my cabin, my body was numb.

  I didn’t even see what had happened, didn’t lose my sister, but the incident was traumatizing, nonetheless. The guard opened my cabin door and ushered me inside before he shut the door behind him.

  I stood in the middle of the cabin and looked at the fireplace.

  The stonework wasn’t cold, gray, and dark. The inside of the cabin wasn’t partially illuminated by the limited light from outside the windows. It was bright and warm, a roaring fire burning in the fireplace, waiting for me. The room was cozy, like it’d been burning for a while.

  Like it’d been set up just for me.

  When the boss left the camp, nothing changed. He still had dominion over the place, even in his absence. There was no Red Snow that night. My sister was spared—but not because of me.

  When he returned and heard the events that transpired, would he execute her?

  If he really wanted me, he knew he would have no chance if killing her was his decision.

  A blizzard came into the camp, a powerful wind that blew a storm of snow that blanketed the grounds with small mountains that were impossible to circumvent. It was impossible to work in the conditions, so we remained in our cabins until the worst had passed.

  When it did, we were handed shovels and told to get to work.

  We were spread out everywhere, digging into the snow and carrying the powder to the edge of the clearing. I copied what the other girls did, but I’d never held a shovel in my life. It was heavy and cold, even through my gloves, and my entire back was sore from the work. I was used to sitting in the clearing and doing processing tasks with my hands, not real work like this.

  “Like this.” Raven appeared beside me and shoved the shovel into the snow, stepped on it with her foot, and then scooped up a pile of powder.

  I slowly straightened as I examined her, looking at her neck in the small opening between the metal of her zipper. There were hints of redness, but the bruising had disappeared considerably.

  She held my look for a moment before she moved. “Keep working, Melanie.”

  I gripped the shovel hard because all I wanted to do was hug my big sister. I wanted to apologize a million times, to tell her I wished it had been me instead of her. But there were guards everywhere, and we were never allowed to be near each other except for a random occasion such as this.

  I did as she taught me and scooped up a pile of snow.

  We walked together to the edge.

  I threw the snow onto the growing pile. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She spat out the answer like it was an automatic response. Even if she wasn’t fine, she would never admit it—not even to herself. “What about you?” She turned her head to look at me, her brown hair pulled back in a bun, her blue eyes fathomless pools of pain that reached deeper than the deepest ocean.

  The boss immediately popped into my mind, the man who’d taken one look at me before he’d claimed me for himself. My new residence was an upgrade compared to the old one, but without company, I spent my time in solitude—and that was a lonely experience. Maybe he did that on purpose, so I would actually look forward to his visits. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Four

  Chéri

  Fender

  Nightfall.

  I entered the camp with my men on either side of me. Torches lit the pathways through the cabins. A storm had passed over the Alps and blasted the setup, but it’d been shoveled back to its original form. My eyes scanned as I moved, making sure the place was run to my expectations. It was quiet after a long day of work, the girls locked in their cabins, the drugs safely stored in the guards’ cabin.

  I gave no warning of my visits. There were days when I left, only to return the very next evening, just to remind my guards that this was my camp—not theirs. Their lives were just as expendable as a pig on a goddamn farm.

  One of my men led my horse by the reins, while the other carried my bag as I was escorted to my quarters.

  I halted in the clearing and turned my attention to the little cabin in the north, where a glimpse of the firelight was visible through the frosted window. I redirected my route to her cabin. “My dinner will be served here.”

  Silently, the men attended to my horse and carried my belongings to my residence.

  My boots crunched against the packed snow as I passed through the light of the torches, my eyes focused on the front door of the little cabin. A shadow emerged from the right, but I continued my pace without bothering with a glance.

  “There was no Red Snow. Magnus stopped it.” It was the executioner, in the guard’s uniform, his face visible because the women were locked away in their cabins.

  I stopped in my tracks, but my eyes remained on my target. “There’s nothing that happens in this camp that I’m unaware of.” I turned my head to stare him down, to dismiss him from my presence. “You should know that by now.”

  He gave a curt nod then excused himself.

  I continued on my way, approaching the little cabin that held the woman who’d caught my attention the instant I laid eyes on her. The light-brown hair, the bright-blue eyes, the fair cheeks that were as white as the bones of winter.

  My route was interrupted once more.

  “Fender.”

  White smoke left my flared nostrils as my right boot rested on the bottom step of the stairs. Like tearing flesh off bone, I dragged my gaze away from the door and looked into brown eyes identical to mine.

  His hood was pushed back, his short hair tousled from the wind and the cold, his lithe and athletic body leaner than mine but packed with a speed I could never produce. White smoke left his nostrils too, increasing in intensity as our eyes held each other. “Return Melanie—”

  “French.” I didn’t want her to hear a word of this conversation.

  Magnus spoke again, obeying my request. “Return Melanie to her cabin.”

&nbs
p; He was the only one who could speak plainly to me, who could say or do anything and escape my cruelty. They say water could be as thick as blood. A lie. Blood was always thicker than water. There was no man who could earn more loyalty than Magnus had as his birthright. “That’s rich.”

  His brown eyes shifted back and forth as he held my gaze, the quiet night acting as a buffer around us. “Raven is our best worker—”

  “That’s not the reason. And I don’t care what the real reason is.” Like the rest of the guards here, Magnus had found a concubine to facilitate his needs while he was away from his French whores.

  His shoulders tensed as a long trail of vapor left his nostrils.

  “No woman is worth making enemies, Magnus.” I turned away and put my weight on the bottom stair.

  “Fender.”

  I turned back to look at him.

  “Let her go.” He tried again, even though it was pointless to argue with me, but this woman must have clawed her nails deep into his back.

  I left the step altogether and came close, my breath moving into his face. “What did I just tell you about making enemies, brother?” It was an idle threat, we both knew it, but I wanted him to give up his endeavor.

  “This is not who we are.” He continued to stand his ground, continued to defy me—like a fucking idiot.

  “Our ideologies have always been very different. They will remain different.”

  Magnus stayed for another moment, eyes locked on to mine, the vapor dissipating from his nose at a slower pace, a sign of defeat. He abruptly turned and walked off, disappearing into the darkness.

  I rose up the steps, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

  Melanie hadn’t been expecting me, judging by the stark white paleness of her cheeks. She was in her lounge clothing we provided, a black tank top with gray pants. Her hair was slightly damp, like the fire hadn’t dried it fully since she’d stepped out of the shower. With no makeup on her face, her skin was a blank canvas of artwork. Subtle freckles like stars, lips full and curved like a bow, beautiful long hair that didn’t need hours of preparation and product to shine.

  She slowly scooted to the edge of the bed as she kept her eyes trained on me.

  I dropped my jacket and threw it over the couch before I sank into my armchair, planting my feet wide apart, one elbow propped on the wooden armrest so my fingers could cup my chin. It’d been a long ride on horseback, and while the tense muscles of my back craved a shower and a soft bed, this beautiful woman was the first thing that required my attention. My hungry eyes needed to soak in her appearance, to remind myself that she was real, that her memory when I was away wasn’t an exaggeration.

  She was still as I stared, staring back at me.

  The door opened, and the guard set my dinner on the coffee table, along with a tall glass of scotch. He silently excused himself, not looking at Melanie because I’d threatened to emasculate every man in this camp if they so much as glanced at her.

  I scooted forward, pulled the coffee table toward me, and then proceeded to cut through my well-done steak and take big bites before moving to the roasted potatoes and grilled asparagus.

  She watched me eat.

  I cut into a piece and held up the fork to her.

  She eyed it before she switched her gaze to me.

  I turned the fork in my fingertips and extended it to her.

  As though she thought it was a trick, she remained reluctant, but then she left the bed, came the closest to me she’d ever come, and placed the meat in her mouth. She chewed slightly, a flash of pleasure coming into her gaze as she handed back the utensil.

  The girls were fed well so they could work well, but they weren’t given steak.

  I was the only one who was.

  She sat at the edge of the bed again, this time looking at the fire.

  I ate my dinner, wiped the plate clean, and then took a deep drink of the scotch, letting that familiar burn ignite then subdue my nerves. I extended the glass to her in offering.

  She shook her head.

  I finished it off.

  “Please don’t punish my sister.” Her hands were together in her lap, but she held her back straight as she sat at the edge of the bed, like a Parisian noblewoman. Watercolor paintings were hung in my residences, fine pieces of art that showed French aristocracy, and beautiful lords and ladies were on display. That was exactly what she reminded me of, one of those gorgeous women who should be preserved in an oil painting created by an artist talented enough to capture her surreal beauty.

  I could stare at her for hours but always find something new to appreciate. The length of her slender neck was engrossing, the way her collarbone sat on her frame, the way her chin was so sharp in her face that it made a prominently curved line, showing just how perfect every angle of her profile was. My art collection had started as a status symbol, an ode to my noble roots, a history that filled my walls and reminded me of what I’d reclaimed. But in time, I’d begun to appreciate those multimillion-euro paintings, begun to appreciate the famous artists whose work filled my homes and apartments. And that made me appreciate this one-of-a-kind woman. Her work clothes were unflattering, her hair was pushed out of her face so she could focus on her tasks meticulously, and her skin was bloodless because of the cold, but somehow, she made Parisian models look like trolls. She made my whores unremarkable.

  “Please…”

  The desperation in her quiet voice brought me back to her request. “I don’t think about your sister.” I was well aware of the situation because I’d been briefed. The situation was over now. Nothing left to think about.

  She inhaled a breath of relief as she played with her fingers in her lap. “Thank you…for the fire.”

  I relaxed into the armchair with my fingers wrapped around my glass, choosing to spend my evening winding down to the presence of her beauty, the sweet sound of her gentle voice, pondering how I would have her when she wanted me to have her.

  “Where did you go?” Her guard visibly lowered in front of me. She was finally beginning to realize I was no threat to her.

  “Paris.” The women in my bed were of a specific caliber. Models, whores, socialites. Beautiful women in every category. This was the first time I’d ever taken an interest in a woman in the camp. I couldn’t buy her a drink, take her to an estate outside of Paris, couldn’t get between her legs in any conventional way. So, I sat in my chair and waited for something to happen, for her to want me like the others…because they always wanted me.

  “Is that where you live?”

  I gave a nod before I brought my glass to my lips.

  “What did you do there?”

  “Work.”

  “What does work entail?”

  It required too much effort to answer, so I chose not to.

  She seemed to understand I wasn’t much of a talker, so she stopped asking questions.

  There was only one way I wanted to communicate with her. My hand in her hair, my hips between her thighs, my arm hooked behind her knee to keep her open so I could thrust time and time again, make her wince in pain then moan in ecstasy. I wanted to communicate with fire, with grunts, with the taste of my sweat on her tongue, with the lock of our blazing gazes.

  She stared at the fire, the dancing flames reflecting in her eyes. “Why me?”

  My palm rested on the top of my glass, and I listened to the fire pop when it became so hot that it burst. I stared at her cheek, saw the way her light-colored hair fell from behind her shoulder and hung down her chest, fully dry. “I like beautiful women.”

  She turned away from the fire and met my look. There was no surprise there, but there was also no arrogance. She would have to be blind to dispute her beauty, but she clearly didn’t view herself in that regard either.

  “And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  A small burst of surprise exploded in her eyes.

  “I will have you.” I would have her as another item in my collection, a liv
ing and breathing piece of artwork. A painting in my bed, a piece of jewelry on my arm, a different kind of wealth that other men would envy.

  Her stare remained on my face. “Why would you have me when you have nothing to offer me? You’re a bad man…”

  The women in my bed knew I was a drug kingpin, but that made them want me more, not less. These circumstances were very different. “You want to be taken care of. I can take care of you.” She couldn’t start a fire even though she watched me do it more than once. Her intellect wasn’t the hindrance. She’d just been spoiled her entire life, and as a result, there was no drive to figure things out on her own. “I can elevate you to Parisian aristocracy. I can bring you to my estate outside of Paris, where a butler can attend to every need you didn’t even know you had. Gowns, designer clothing, diamonds on top of diamonds on top of diamonds…” She was my diamond, the most expensive piece of jewelry I could ever wear. “Michelin-star meals daily, lingerie more expensive than a Bugatti, sexual satisfaction you’ve never known. Old lovers will feel like inexperienced boys after you’ve had me. I can give you everything. Literally everything.”

  Her expression glazed over as she pictured everything I described, the luxuries that her imagination couldn’t even produce. Just a single taste of me would ruin her palate forevermore, and there would be no going back. She would live in my home and share me with my whores, because even a piece of me was more satisfying than the entirety of another man.

  I glanced at the bed. “Let me show you now.” A night was all I needed. A night of my heavy body on top of hers would change everything for her. She would want more. Her addiction would turn to obsession.

  A tiny flash of temptation crossed her gaze with the speed of a shooting star. It happened so quickly that she probably thought I didn’t notice.

  I did notice. “Chérie.” Sweetheart.

  She pretended it never happened. “You’re a drug dealer…you’re dangerous.”

  I brought the glass to my lips, tilted it to get the last of the scotch, and then set it on the coffee table. “If I’m the most dangerous thing out there, then there’s nowhere safer you could be.” I was the big bad wolf in the woods. I was the monster in the dark. I was the boss that no one wanted to cross. I owned the police, the government, and the addicts on the streets of Europe. “If you think you left an innocent world and descended into the shadows, you’re wrong. It’s on every corner, it’s in the back room of your favorite restaurant, it’s on the other side of your camera on your laptop. You walk past it every day, brush up against it on the metro, listen to its footsteps down the hallway outside your apartment door. I can protect you from all of that. You were taken from your home on a dark night, but with me, you’ll never have to worry about that again.”