Disarm

by Halle, Karina

  “Jones, he’s making a mess on my floors,” my father snaps, and I can only assume that the guy Seraphine shot is losing a lot of blood. My father is incredibly anal about his office. Thank God he hasn’t noticed the bullet holes in the books yet.

  “I think we should maybe take him to the hospital,” Jones says.

  “You mean the vet?” my father says. “Because I know that you’re probably on every hospital’s most-wanted list.”

  “He’s about to pass out.”

  My father grumbles. “Fine, fine. Take him. I’m going upstairs to take a shower now. Pascal, don’t go anywhere, I’m not done talking to you. And go to the servants’ quarters and get Charlotte or one of those other lazy fucking maids to clean this shit up. I want it gone before I come back down.”

  “Fine,” Pascal says, and I watch his expression as the men leave the room. I hear shuffling and footsteps and then the front door closing. His eyes then go to the left, probably watching my father head upstairs. Then they go to the right, out the window. I hear car doors slam and then engines start and then wheels crunching gravel until I hear nothing at all but the sound of the pipes groaning as the shower upstairs is turned on.

  Then Pascal looks down at me. “You better get the fuck out of here,” he whispers.

  For the first time, I lower the gun. My arms and hands are screaming from stiffness.

  There’s a moment of vulnerability when he steps aside and I try to scramble out from under the desk, and then he’s grabbing my arm and helping me up.

  We stand, facing each other.

  Brother to brother.

  Maybe for the last time.

  “Did you mean what you said?” I whisper. “About Seraphine in Dubai?”

  He nods. “Get out of here. Go to her. Now.”

  I hold his gaze for a second longer, trying to see the humanity inside my brother’s cold eyes.

  When I find it, I know.

  As quietly as I can, I run across the study, nearly slipping on the spilled blood, then go out the front door, carefully closing it behind me. I check up and down the driveway, and then I slip my gun back into my coat pocket and take out my phone, running down the long winding driveway as fast as I possibly can, trying to call Seraphine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  SERAPHINE

  “Do you have a phone charger I can use?” I ask Marie. “My battery is almost dead.”

  “Of course,” she says, coming over to me and taking my phone and bringing it into her bedroom. When she comes back out, she’s shaking her head.

  “What?”

  “I just can’t believe this, Seraphine,” she says. The teapot starts to whistle, as if emphasizing her disbelief. She heads into her tiny kitchen and takes it off the burner. “What you say is fantastical. It only happens in movies.”

  “If my life is a movie, it’s horror at the moment,” I tell her as she pours us tea.

  I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell her when I got to her apartment. Do I tell her that I shot and possibly killed a man, even if it was in self-defense? Do I tell her that I spent a night in an abandoned apartment and slept with Blaise? Do I tell her I was part of an attempted kidnapping?

  I decided to go with the last one. I told her that I was in a lot of trouble, that I was on the right trail and getting in over my head. I told her about Cyril and Jones and paying €50,000 last night, then I said that men had attempted to kidnap me.

  Then I told her I needed a place to hide out for a few hours.

  Suffice to say, it’s a lot for her to believe.

  I don’t care at this point if she does or not.

  I just need to stay alive.

  “But you have to go to the police,” she says, bringing the cups of tea and putting them on her coffee table. The sight of the steam rising and the sound of the mugs clinking against the glass are so banal, so soothing, so normal, that for a moment it tricks me into thinking everything is all right.

  But it’s not.

  “I can’t,” I tell her again. “I told you, he has them under his thumb. Did you know what happened to Olivier, Blaise, and me last year? Just when I started to suspect my uncle? He hired someone to run us off the road. That’s how my car got totaled, it had nothing to do with a guy running a stop sign. This guy was trying to kill us. I reported it to the police, but they waved it off. The only reason we weren’t all killed is because my uncle discovered Blaise was in the car with us. Though I doubt that would stop him now,” I add under my breath.

  “But your uncle, he’s so powerful. He has so much to lose,” she says, blowing on her tea. “Why would he risk this?”

  “Because he’s also a fucking psychopath. A narcissistic monster. He thinks he’s above everyone, including the law, and especially his brother and his family.”

  She sighs, shaking her head. “I don’t know what to say. I think you need to go to the police. You have to try. When I get back from work, that’s what we’ll do. Together. Until then, you can hide out here.”

  “You do believe me, don’t you?”

  “I absolutely believe you. But I don’t think you have anything to hide from. They did let you go, didn’t they?”

  “I escaped,” I say carefully. As much as Marie is my friend, if I tell her I shot someone, I think she might kick me out. Harboring a fugitive and all that.

  “Escaped,” she repeats. “Again, this is like a movie.”

  And now she’s looking at me like I might be the delusional psychopath.

  “And what about Blaise?” she says. “He was with you? Where did he go?”

  “He went to talk to his brother. I think.”

  “Why was he with you again?”

  “He’s on my side.”

  She raises a brow. “I thought you were bitter enemies.”

  “We were . . .” I trail off and pick up the tea, taking a tepid sip.

  “‘Were’? What happened?”

  I shrug delicately. “I guess we got to know each other. He’s not like them.”

  “And you can trust him?”

  I give her a brave smile. “I trust him with my life.”

  For a moment I’m hit with the images, him fucking me up against the wall in that cold, dirty place, bringing light and warmth to my heart in a time when it feels like I have nothing left.

  I trust Blaise with my life.

  I trust him with everything I have.

  He saved me yesterday in more ways than one.

  He loves me.

  And I know, in my heart of hearts, that I love him.

  That I always have.

  God, I hope he’s okay.

  I don’t know what I’ll do if he’s taken away from me.

  “Hey, I need to go to work,” Marie says, glancing at the clock on the microwave and putting down her tea. “Remember, you can feel safe here. I’ll text you from work, to check up on you. Okay?”

  I nod, feeling a wave of nausea run through me, my nerves twisting inside my stomach. I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t have a choice. It would be pathetic to ask if I could go with her to her job. Blaise was right. This is probably the safest place for me.

  “Okay,” I tell her. “Don’t worry about me.”

  The look on her face says it all: too late for that.

  She gets up and grabs her purse, and then she’s gone, locking the door behind her.

  I try to take a sip of my tea, but my hands are shaking so bad I’m spilling. It’s a wonder that I hit that guy at all last night. And yet the moment I saw that Blaise was about to die under his hands, I knew what to do. All fear went away. I pointed the gun, and I pulled the trigger, and even though my soul is warring with me over potentially taking someone’s life, I also know that I had no choice. Blaise did what he could to save me, and I did all I could to save him.

  For now, it’s worked.

  I get up, shaking my arms out, trying to calm my racing heart, and go over to the window, looking out.

  I spot Marie leaving the apar
tment.

  Just as two large men dressed in matching black suits push past her, catching the door before it has a chance to close.

  I know beyond a doubt that those two men are coming for me.

  Marie knows it too. She looks up at the window and sees me staring down at her. Even though I’m on the fourth floor, I can see the fear in her eyes, the realization that I was telling the truth. Then the determination to help me.

  She goes into the building after them.

  Oh God.

  I run away from the window and over to the door. They’re going to reach me before she does, unless she passes them on the stairs. Do they know who she is, what she looks like? Do they know she’s my friend?

  I don’t know what to do. Barricade the door? Wait for her? How do I know who is out there?

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Panicking, I look around the apartment. It’s small and tidy, with Marie’s minimalist style. The only thing I can see to help would be the bookcase full of books that her TV sits on top of.

  I quickly pick the TV off and start pulling the bookcase away from the wall. It’s heavy, but that’s what I need. I push it across the floor, wincing, as I know the bookcase is making deep scratches in her beloved hardwood.

  I push it up against the door, using all my strength, and then hold it there, waiting.

  I hear footsteps coming down the hall outside. Heavy and echoing.

  Oh fuck.

  They’re getting here before Marie.

  The footsteps stop outside the door.

  I suck in my breath.

  Someone knocks on the door.

  Loud.

  I don’t say a word.

  Now someone bangs on the door.

  “Hello?” a deep voice asks.

  “Shoot the lock off,” another voice says.

  Shit.

  Shit!

  I glance at the lock and slowly move out of the way in case a bullet comes flying at me.

  The floorboards creak loudly under my feet.

  I freeze.

  “Did you hear that?” the deep voice asks. “Someone’s in there.”

  There’s a pause, and I know they’re getting ready to either smash down the door or shoot their way through it, and either way, I’m dead. I’m dead.

  Then . . .

  “FIRE!”

  Marie’s muffled voice screams through the apartment building, and before I can figure out where she is or what she’s doing, the fire alarm goes off.

  It’s so loud that it makes me jump. It vibrates through the whole apartment.

  “Fuck!” one of the men outside yells, and then everything explodes into chaos as people start screaming and doors start opening, and I can tell from the shouts and the stampede of feet that people are rushing out of their apartments, trying to figure out what’s going on.

  “Come on, there’s a fire!” someone yells, and I know they’re talking to the men. “Get moving!”

  “There’s someone in this apartment,” one man says.

  “No, there isn’t; Marie would be at work,” the neighbor says, sounding suspicious. “Who are you again? Do you live here? I’ve never seen you around, and I remember every face.”

  God bless that neighbor for questioning them, because I hear their footsteps fall away, and when I take a chance and lean up over the bookcase to look out the peephole, I can see the two men going down the hall, the neighbor—an older woman—following them like an escort.

  Now I know there’s no fire, that this was a clever diversion by Marie.

  I run to my phone and see a million texts from Blaise and a few missed calls since it’s been charging. My heart leaps into my throat, thinking something has happened to him, until I see the last text.

  Get out of there! There are men coming for you.

  Are you okay? Please answer me.

  I’m heading to Marie’s.

  I breathe out a sigh of relief and lean back against the wall.

  He’s alive. He’s okay.

  He’s coming to get me.

  I can only hope that the men have dispersed, especially as the police and fire trucks show up. I can hear their sirens beyond the shrill noise of the fire alarm.

  I can also hear someone knocking at Marie’s door.

  My heart skips a beat.

  “Seraphine!” Marie yells from the other side.

  Thank God.

  I look through the peephole to make sure she’s alone.

  With what strength I have left, I push the bookcase to the side and open the door.

  She rushes inside, locking it behind her, and immediately pulls me into a hug.

  “Are you okay?” she cries out.

  I nod. “Did you pull the alarm? That was genius.”

  “I didn’t know what else to do. God, Seraphine. Those men. They were after you, I know it.”

  “I know it, too, they wouldn’t leave either. One of your neighbors practically scolded them.”

  “Madame Langlois. About time her nosiness became a blessing.” She heads over to the window and peers out. “I don’t see them out there, but the fire trucks have arrived. They’re going to come through the building.”

  “Then I think we’re going to have to get an escort out. Blaise is on his way.”

  I bring out my phone and quickly text Blaise back. I’m okay. Marie pulled the fire alarm. We have to leave the building and I’m not sure if the men are still there or not.

  He responds immediately. Okay. I’ll come by with an Uber and you guys get in right away. Is there a back entrance to the building?

  I look at Marie. “Is there another way out of here?”

  “There’s an emergency entrance, but the fire alarm sounds when you open it.”

  I give her a wry look, since the alarm is already going off. “Then they probably went out that way. I don’t think they’re going to risk being seen by going out the front, not with the cops and firefighters showing up.”

  “You’re right,” she says. “I think I hear the firemen now.”

  She goes to look through the peephole, and I text Blaise back.

  We’re going out the front. It’s safer in a crowd. We’ll get a fireman escort. See you soon.

  Marie opens the door to two firefighters in their gear, staring at us. “Are you okay?” one asks.

  “We panicked,” Marie says. “We didn’t know where the fire was.”

  “So far we can’t find any sign of one,” he says.

  “We’re still scared. Can one of you escort us through the building?”

  “I will,” the other firefighter volunteers. He’s younger and has an appreciative look on his face as he looks Marie over.

  Whatever. We just need to get moving.

  We follow the young firefighter as the other roams the hall, knocking on doors, and others are running up and down the stairwell. I feel bad that they’re here for no reason, but it did save our lives. And as I look at Marie as she talks with the fireman, flirting with him, I know she thinks it was worth it too.

  Once we’re outside, there’s chaos, but I manage to scan the crowd of apartment dwellers, firefighters, policemen, and lookie-loos, and I don’t spot the men in suits anywhere.

  I don’t know how long we stand outside, the firemen and police checking the building from top to bottom, being extra thorough, though the more I stand outside, the more I feel like a sitting duck with a target on my back.

  After what seems like forever, a white Toyota pulls up beside us, screeching to a halt, and the back door opens. Blaise is inside, waving me in.

  I look at Marie. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Are you?” she asks.

  “I think so.” I look back at Blaise and then to her. She’s gazing up at the firefighter, and I know that no matter what happens, she’s no dummy. If she sticks around him, she’ll be fine.

  “Text me,” she says. “We’ll get through this. Whatever you need, I’ll do for you. I love you.”

  “I love you t
oo,” I tell her, ashamed for a moment that I even thought she would ever turn her back on me. Then I quickly get in the back of the car.

  I’ve barely closed the door before the car is pulling away down the street and Blaise is pulling me into his arms. “Seraphine, Seraphine,” he whispers. “I thought I lost you.” He cradles my face in his hands and kisses me over and over again.

  I wrap my fingers around his coat collar and bury my head in the crook of his neck, breathing in deep. His smell, his warmth, the fact that he’s alive and I’m alive, and in this moment in time, we’re safe.

  We’re together.

  “What happened?” he asks, and I lift my head to stare into his eyes. God, how could I have ever thought that his eyes held anything but love for me? I see it now, clear as day. “Did you see the men? Are you okay?”

  I nod, trying to keep from crying, the fear of everything slamming into me like a fist to my chest. “They came as soon as Marie was leaving. She saw them, she knew they were coming for me. I locked the door, but they knew I was in there. Then Marie pulled the fire alarm. It was the only way out.”

  “Your Marie sounds like a good friend.”

  I nod. “Yes. But . . . how did you know they were coming?”

  He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I had quite the morning.” He looks up at the driver in the rearview mirror. “We’re not being followed?”

  The driver grins at him. “No, sir.”

  It’s only then that I realize it’s the same driver from earlier this morning. “How long have you been in this Uber for?” I ask Blaise.

  “He’s starting to feel like a long-lost friend.”

  “Most exciting morning of my life,” the driver says.

  “And where are we going?” I ask Blaise. “What do we do?”

  “We’re going to a hotel outside Paris. We’ll take a few days to figure it out.”

  “What can we possibly figure out?” I ask.

  But Blaise just gives me a tight smile, and I realize that as much as this driver has been a big help to us, he’s not ready to hear everything.

  I close my eyes, rest my head in the crook of Blaise’s neck, and fall asleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SERAPHINE

  The Uber ends up taking us to Disneyland Paris, which is far outside the city. When we pull up outside of one of the Disneyland hotels, I look at Blaise, and he just gives me a small smile, his eyes shining brightly for the first time in what feels like forever.