The Boss (Chateau Book 3)

by Penelope Sky

  I came inside her for the final time, my ass tightening as I shoved myself completely within her, my spine tingling when I dropped another load inside her body. Skin-to-skin with her, it felt like pleasure in its purest form, the ecstasy that could only be created when there was nothing between us.

  She winced and gave a quiet cry when I forced myself deeper. There was nowhere for me to go, but I did it anyway, my dick out of my control. But she drew me into her body like my release was more important than her temporary discomfort.

  I finished with my face pressed into her neck, kissing her as the last wisp of pleasure faded, as my dick softened because it’d finally had enough. I pulled out of her then rolled over, getting to my side of the bed and immediately closing my eyes.

  Her breathing quieted over the next few minutes. She continued to lie there, her skin shining from my sweat, my come between her thighs and on the sheets beneath her. When her breaths became quieter and drawn-out, I knew she’d fallen asleep.

  My eyes opened, and I looked at my lit bedroom, the windows a mirror because they reflected the light coming from the sconces and chandelier. A million things went through my mind—all the shit I had to do tomorrow, an email I got from Magnus right when I walked through the door. My head turned farther to look at the woman beside me, in the exact same position I’d left her, as if this were the first time she’d truly slept since arriving here.

  Dark makeup had stained her pillow, and my bed smelled like sex with a hint of her floral perfume. Her lips were neutral because the color had disappeared on my chest and neck. Her fair skin was unblemished, like she hadn’t just spent weeks as forced labor in the camp in the middle of the wilderness near the French Alps. Her perfection was eternal.

  I left the bed and put on my boxers before I scooped her into my arms and carried her down the stairs to her bedroom. She was barely covered by the black nightgown, her perfect curls now messy from my possessive fingers. My arms were used to lifting bars with weight plates stacked to capacity, so she literally felt like a feather to me, a single barbell.

  I placed her on the bed and draped the blanket folded at the corner on top of her before I left.

  “Fender?” Her quiet whisper was cracked, as if she’d been asleep for hours rather than minutes.

  I turned back around at the door, prepared to flip off the light and depart.

  She took a quick scan and realized she was in her bedroom. “Why…why did you bring me here?”

  I was in no mood to explain myself. I walked out and ignored her question.

  I sat in my office across from Liam, one of my top guys. With blond hair and blue eyes, he was a young guy, nearly seven years younger than me, but he was eager, obedient, and most importantly, quiet.

  I stared him down. “Explain.” I sat in my leather armchair with gold buttons in the stitching along the sides, my large carved desk in front of me, windows all along the wall from one corner to the next. A full sitting area was on the rug in the center, several couches and armchairs, a large mantel with a fire that was big enough to roast a whole pig on a spit.

  “Charles said he’s been having issues with his men—”

  “No.” I straightened in my chair and leaned forward, one of my heavy arms resting on the shiny surface of the preserved wood, a relic of my noble ancestors. “Don’t explain why he hasn’t paid. Explain why he’s still alive.”

  Liam stilled at my command, his blue eyes showing a brief hesitance. “It’s only been a day—”

  “If it’d only been a minute, that would be enough. Tell me when it’s done.”

  “He’s one of our biggest distributors—”

  “You think I give a damn?” I instantly blew up, spittle flying from my mouth and sprinkling the desk with my outburst. “Everyone wants to do business with me. You know why? Because I don’t fucking play games. If I say I’m gonna do something, I fucking do it. You don’t pay me, you die. That simple. I made that very clear when he signed his contract.”

  “His men were hit by somebody. Bad blood—”

  “Don’t. Fucking. Care.”

  Liam finally shut his mouth.

  “Now that you’re done wasting my time, go do your job.”

  My elbows were on the desk as I stared at my laptop, my hands together in front of my mouth, my eyes combing through the columns to make sure every single ounce was accounted for. Magnus did his own measurements at the camp and sent them to me securely, so we would always be able to track every single grain from start to finish. If someone was disloyal, we would find out. It’d only happened once, and it never happened thereafter because the men never forgot that brutal execution.

  People were only honest if you gave them no other option but to be honest.

  The door opened without a knock. My eyes immediately glanced up to see Melanie standing there, wearing a beautiful dress and heels with a sparkling necklace and bracelet, her hair straight and shiny, her makeup ready for a formal event.

  She kept one hand on the door as she stared at me, trying to gauge my mood.

  That was pretty easy to do—since I was always angry.

  She took the risk and stepped farther into my office, scanning the elegant room as she approached my desk, her heels were muffled on the rug and then loud against the hardwood floor as she made her way across. She stopped in front of my desk, her fingertips fidgeting together at her waist, having an elegant poise that I found so attractive. Even when she was in the clearing, she had this graceful posture that gave her an unspoken power despite her situation. She was both confident and timid at the same time…especially around me.

  I waited, in the exact same position as I’d been in before, except my eyes were on her instead of the screen that required my attention.

  “Will you have lunch with me?”

  I ate lunch alone, right here at my desk, so I could keep working. My dinner was usually enjoyed in the same way. I hardly ever dined with anyone except at social events, and without company, there was no reason to sit alone at a dining table, my thoughts my only conversation. I didn’t want to spare the time to eat with her now, but when her appearance was so hypnotic, it was difficult to say no. I could stare at a bright screen with spreadsheets and emails, or I could stare at the most perfect thing ever created. My only answer was a nod.

  We sat at the dining table in the garden room, where the windows showed the rose bushes and tulips. The different seasons gave birth to different kinds of flowers, so new ones were constantly cycled in to mask the dead ones. Right now, the pink roses were in full bloom despite the winter season. It was a clear day, so the sun came through and highlighted the water drops on the petals and leaves from the rain that came in the middle of the night.

  She sat across from me, eating with proper manners Gilbert must have drilled into her, her back perfectly straight and off the padding of the chair. Lunch consisted of sandwiches, a salad, and a side of fruit, along with homemade bread.

  Melanie must have enjoyed tea because Gilbert had placed a teapot in the center of the table and gave her a vintage teacup to enjoy it. He didn’t bother to bring me one because I only drank tea on formal occasions.

  She ate quietly across from me, her eyes down most of the time, sometimes on the garden outside the window, which she clearly admired.

  My eyes stayed on her the entire time, grabbing my sandwich without looking, taking bites as I took in her features for the hundredth time. It was the first time she and I had had a meal together. In her cabin, sometimes I would eat, sometimes she would eat, but never at the same time.

  “How’s your day going?” She buttered a piece of bread with the homemade jam my pastry chef made then took a bite.

  I wasn’t a fan of small talk, so I shrugged, doing the bare minimum to participate.

  “You seem to work a lot.”

  “What else is there to do?”

  She stilled at the question and stared for a while, like she didn’t know how to answer that.

  I pick
ed up the other half of my sandwich and took a bite.

  “What are you working on right now?”

  I chewed my bite as I stared her down. “I don’t want to talk about work.” She would never understand any of it, and I wasn’t happy about the way things were going at the moment.

  “Okay…” She took a drink of her tea. “Does your family live in Paris?”

  I paused at the question momentarily, flashbacks playing across my mind. As much as I tried to scrub those memories from my brain, they were permanent. They didn’t live in Paris…but they were buried in Paris. And my father’s body had been thrown into the ocean, to be forgotten, not to be remembered by anyone. “I don’t want to talk about that either.”

  Disappointment filled her eyes. “My father abandoned us after I was born. I don’t remember him.” She shared that information unexpectedly, like she just wanted to talk to me, even if I was only listening. “My mom raised us until she got sick…and then Raven took over.”

  I finished the bite in my mouth as I listened. My eyes dropped for a moment as the clarity struck me. Raven was like me—taking care of her sister the way I took care of Magnus. Dead mothers and worthless fathers. “I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes softened at my comment, because I would never say something I didn’t mean. “Thanks.”

  I took a piece of bread and slathered it in butter before I took a bite, eating with polite manners since she did as well. If I were alone, I wouldn’t bother. Too much work when my energy was reserved for more important things. “How did you spend your time in America?” I knew nothing about her as a person. I knew her body like my own, knew her subtle reactions, her presence, but nothing substantial. That information was irrelevant because it wouldn’t change the way I felt, so it had never been important to me.

  “I was a bartender…going to cosmetology school,” she said with a slight twinge of embarrassment. “Raven is the smart one. After college, she moved to Paris for her graduate studies—”

  “I don’t care about her.” Her only relevance was their relation. Outside that context, I didn’t give a damn about her life and accomplishments. “Being educated and being smart are two different things. The only reason you live in her shadow is because you choose to stand there. Move.”

  She rested her fingertips on her teacup as she absorbed my words.

  “If she were smart, she wouldn’t have been picked for the Red Snow. She wouldn’t have run into a blizzard. She would have kept her head down instead of pissing off every single guard in that camp. She doesn’t belong on the pedestal where you’ve placed her.”

  Her eyes shone a little brighter as she stared at me, words sitting on her tongue that she struggled to say. “You think she’s stupid for trying to be free. Your definition of smart is submission.” Melanie caved to me in every way imaginable, but this was the one thing she wouldn’t bend for. Instead of keeping her mouth shut, she defended her sister.

  “I believe in working smart, not hard. Every choice she makes harshens her conditions, makes her existence more unbearable. Her outcome won’t change, so instead of trying to improve her quality of life like the other girls, she chooses to attempt the impossible. Idiotic. Her time could be better spent.” I took a drink of my water and stared at Melanie, wondering if she would make the wrong decision and push this conversation.

  She dropped her gaze.

  Good.

  After lunch, I returned to my office.

  I approached my desk where my laptop remained. A cup of hot black coffee was waiting for me along with my mail. I grabbed it and sifted through it, opening each piece and glancing through it before tossing it into a pile on my desk.

  Footsteps sounded behind me.

  With an open letter in my hand, I turned around to see her.

  Melanie took a seat on the couch and got comfortable with a book in her hands.

  I stared.

  When she felt my look, she turned to meet my gaze. “I’ll be quiet.”

  My eyebrows furrowed, and I lowered the letter to my side.

  Her body became more rigid under my gaze because she knew I was pissed.

  I approached the couch and stared down at her. “Get. Out.”

  She got to her feet. “I said I’ll be quiet. I just don’t want to be alone—”

  “Too fucking bad. Take the car and go into the city.”

  “How do you know I won’t run away—”

  “Try, and see what happens.”

  She gripped the book to her chest, her breathing elevated.

  “The only way you leave me is if I let you leave.” My hand shook at my side the longer she didn’t cooperate, when my men would have fled. “Go.”

  She stayed. “Why do you want me here if you don’t—”

  “That’s my business.”

  She turned away, her eyes starting to water.

  Tears didn’t affect me. Empathy was something I’d never learned. The pain and suffering of others was white noise, because no one cared about my suffering. But watching her struggle to combat tears made me feel inadequate, like I’d allowed my trophy to rust over instead of taking care of it. “Chérie.”

  She wouldn’t look at me, her lips tightly pressed together in restraint.

  I set the letter on one of the tables and came closer to her, my hand moving to her waist, my thumb over her belly button while my fingers stretched across her back. My thumb squeezed her stomach slightly as I moved farther into her vision. “I need my space. I need to work.”

  “I’ll be quiet…”

  “My men stop by throughout the day. It’s not a place for you.”

  She still didn’t look at me, but she eventually gave a nod in agreement.

  I could read her pretty well, but in this instance, I struggled. “Why is it hard for you to be alone?”

  “I…I don’t know,” she whispered. “When I’m with you…it drowns out the thoughts I don’t want to have. You see me so infrequently that I’m just left to my own voice, my regrets, my pain. I live in a palace with beautiful clothes, while my sister is—” She couldn’t bring herself to finish. “It’s just hard.”

  My hand cupped her face, and my thumb caught a tear that slid down her cheek. Her eyes were subdued, as if she were scared, and the sheen on the surface of her eyes reflected the brilliant chandelier above. Whether she cried or smiled, her beauty was the same, but this was a sad beauty. Her words from last week came back to me, an echo. You’re all I have. Her father left. Her mother left. And then her sister left, and Melanie crossed the ocean to chase her, hurt that she was left behind. Every single person had come and gone. My fingers moved to her chin, and I forced her to look at me. “I will never abandon you, chérie.”

  Her eyes started to water more.

  As if that was exactly what she needed to hear.

  When I didn’t hear from Liam by that evening, I texted him. Is it done? I shouldn’t even have to ask, and I was tempted to order his execution next.

  There was no response. No dots. No activity.

  I sat at my desk, staring at the dark screen of my phone, growing more furious by every passing second.

  Then it rang.

  It was Magnus, using the satellite phone at the camp.

  I answered but didn’t speak, my mood too foul for a conversation.

  He was used to my silence, so he knew I was there. “I’ve agreed to give Charles forty-eight hours to get the money.”

  My body immediately tightened when I heard what he said, and without a second thought, I was on my feet. I moved to the windows, looking out into the darkness like I could somehow see him hundreds of miles away. My anger was so fucking loud through the phone that I didn’t need to say a goddamn word.

  “He lost over half his men in the hit. The money was taken. But he will have it for us in forty-eight hours.”

  I could see my own reflection in the glass, see the fire in my dark eyes. “I will slit Liam’s throat for this.”

  Static came over the l
ine because the connection was weak, but his words were strong. “It’s forty-eight hours, Fender.”

  “Doesn’t fucking matter.”

  “That’s how we treat our partnerships? I’ve verified that his story is true, that the hit was real, that he even lost his wife and eldest son. Your response isn’t just cold, but maniacal.”

  “We have our rules.”

  “No one has to know—”

  “People talk, Magnus. They’ll know we’re soft.”

  “I think it’s better to appear soft than fucking insane. It’s bad for business. Charles has been our partner for years, has always paid us on time, and to ignore that is disloyal. We would lose more respect doing it your way instead of mine.”

  “There is no your way. It’s my way. I’m in charge here—not you.”

  He turned quiet for a while. “My job is to make you see clearly, to see past your anger and stubbornness and make the best decision for yourself as well as the business. I will do that job whether you like it or not.”

  I clenched my jaw so hard my gums ached. “If you were anyone else, I’d kill you. Personally.”

  “Trust me, I feel the same way.”

  I sat in the sitting area in my bedroom, looking at the TV above the fireplace, nursing my anger with a glass of scotch. The screen was showing a replay of the game, but I didn’t pay attention to it.

  Fucking Magnus. He had a lot of goddamn nerve.

  We disagreed on almost everything, from the business to personal ideologies. We were enemies in every way but blood. But that connection was so strong, so innate, that it conquered everything else.

  I made threats I would never execute.

  He did the same.

  My own man went over my head and snitched to Magnus, and I should kill them both, even if they were right, but I couldn’t. All I could do was sit there and simmer, infuriated. My hands squeezed my glass so hard that I almost shattered it a couple times. But I’d learned my lesson from doing it so many times. A shard of glass in the hand was a bitch to get out, and Gilbert would lose his goddamn mind if the blood stained any of the furniture.