He lifted his hand and knocked. The adrenaline buzzed beneath the surface but he kept himself calm.
The door opened slowly and the barrel of a gun greeted him. He stayed still, his stance deceptively casual. Claude peered around the door.
“Perron,” he acknowledged.
“Claude.”
Claude stepped back, pulling the door with him. “Come in.”
Marc stepped inside, taking in the room with a swift glance. The windows were covered over, and there was no exit he could see except from where he’d just come in. Jeremy hadn’t been lying in wait, but neither was Sera visible. Jeremy strolled in from the other room and he didn’t have time to think further on her whereabouts.
“Ah, Perron, you’re here.” Jeremy glanced at Claude. “And where is Michel?”
Marc chuckled and pushed the door shut. “He’s gone. Guess he didn’t want to know the outcome.”
Claude gaped, but Jeremy gave a contemptuous snort. “I knew he was a coward. He’ll pay for that later.”
Marc shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Did you kill him?” Claude demanded.
Marc didn’t take his eyes from Jeremy. “No, he’s fine. We made a bargain.”
“How priorities change,” Jeremy mocked.
“Indeed. Now where is she?”
“You think it’s that easy?” Jeremy nodded at Claude. “Go get her.”
“I’m not your errand boy,” Claude retorted. “Get her yourself.” Marc observed Jeremy’s darkening expression and he hoped that their discord could be used to his advantage later.
“I’ll only ask once,” Jeremy said in a mild tone. Claude muttered to himself, tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans as he left the room.
Marc itched to draw his pistol from his inner pocket and put a bullet in Jeremy’s smirking face, but Claude might panic and kill her if he did. A curse from the other room drew his attention. If Sera were dead, he’d make sure that both men paid handsomely for their crime.
Claude emerged, dragging Sera by her wrists. Her head lolled against one arm, and Marc felt icy fear. He had come too late. Her dress hung limply, dirty and torn in several places. Claude heaved her at Jeremy and she slumped to the floor. Her head turned towards him and she blinked, a motion he never would have thought so reassuring.
“The bitch kicked me,” Claude complained.
“Move faster next time,” Jeremy quipped. Claude glared at him and retreated towards the door.
“There she is,” Jeremy said, pantomiming a ludicrous flourish. “But she’s not leaving. I’ve become rather fond of her in the last few weeks.” He dropped to one knee and pulled Sera’s head back by her hair. A switchblade flashed and the bright steel lay against her throat.
Marc swore to himself he’d break those hands that dared touch her. “I should have killed you the other night.”
Jeremy laughed. “Yes, you should have.” He pressed the knife against her skin and Sera’s eyes locked on Marc.
“Let her go. This is between us.”
“Is it? She’s been so very useful to me. After all, you’re here. And she’s been delectable. Do you know she likes this? I was going to let Claude try her, but then, I didn’t want to share.” Jeremy tightened his grip on her hair and she gasped. “There are so very few women who can take what I can do—” He dropped a kiss on Sera’s cheek. “It was the marks from you that told me, at first.”
The memory of the bruises on Sera’s hips swam in Marc’s vision. His stomach turned as the pieces fell into place. She had been intimate with Jeremy. The fury rose quick and fast, but he tamped it down.
“Get up, Jeremy. Leave her be.”
“Oh no, not yet. That was only the beginning.” Jeremy turned the knife aside and stroked Sera’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Do you want to tell him, darling, or shall I?”
“Don’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“It doesn’t matter. Stop wasting time,” Marc said flatly. “You’re as much of a coward as Michel.”
“It doesn’t matter that the woman you came here to save was turning tricks with every man who would bestow his attention on her?”
Sera turned her head away. Her pale cheeks flushed.
“At first I thought that she was doing it for fun, but when Royale told me that she owed him thousands...well, it was even more of a pleasure to take advantage of her.” He laughed when Sera flinched, and patted her cheek. “You thought Royale would keep that to himself?”
Marc wanted to hurt every man that had taken her, but he would start with Jeremy. “Get up, you coward,” he taunted. “I didn’t think you’d hide behind a woman.” He heard Claude laugh, but the man stayed where he was. Perhaps he wouldn’t interfere.
Jeremy flung Sera away from him in an abrupt motion, sending her sliding across the floor. She let out a soft cry, but crawled as far from him as she could manage. He rose, knife at the ready.
“You’re even more of a coward than I thought,” Marc continued. “You shouldn’t need the knife.”
“Why would I give up my advantage?”
“You’re taller, stronger, and outweigh me, but you’re too scared to be without your knife?” Marc gave a derisive laugh and saw Jeremy scowl. The taunting worked, and Jeremy closed the knife and tossed it to Claude.
“Oh, I can kill you without it,” Jeremy assured him. “But it won’t be pretty.”
“Jeremy, don’t.” Sera’s voice carried, even though she had spoken quietly. “Let him go.” She shivered, pulling her knees up to her chest.
Marc made a quick decision. He shed his jacket and went over to Sera, keeping an eye on Jeremy as he draped it over her shoulders and wrapped it around her.
“Oh, how sweet,” Jeremy jeered at him.
“Take care of yourself, Seraphina,” Marc told her. He pressed the jacket against her legs and knew she felt the heaviness of the gun in the inner pocket. She nodded. He kissed her forehead before he rose and could only trust that she’d have the guts to use it.
“And you,” she said.
“Enough of this.”
Jeremy grasped the collar of Marc’s shirt and he stumbled, off balance and on the defensive. His back hit the filthy parquet as Jeremy swept his legs out from under him. Claude’s burst of laughter drowned out Sera’s horrified cry, but he barely heard either as a hand grabbed for his throat. He brought up a knee and knocked Jeremy away before he could get a hold.
Dull aches radiated along Marc’s spine as he swiftly rose. Jeremy landed a punch on his shoulder, but he forced himself to move forward rather than retreat. He blocked another jarring punch and landed two of his own; one to the kidney made Jeremy grit his teeth. He blocked Jeremy’s retaliatory hit. They were well matched, and he was confident that Jeremy would fail.
“What are you standing there for?” Jeremy snapped at Claude.
“You were doing fine without me.” Claude shrugged.
Marc lashed out and Jeremy couldn’t fully block the blow, having divided his attention. He caught Marc’s knuckles against his chin.
“Why don’t you go find your brother?” Marc suggested to Claude, though he had no time to see the reaction. Jeremy gave up on fisticuffs, barreling into him and sending them both to the floor. He thought he heard the door slam. Jeremy’s hands were grasping for his neck and he struggled to keep them at bay. They rolled on the floor and Marc thought he had gained the upper hand as he pinned Jeremy to the floor.
With an almost inhuman strength, Jeremy threw off Marc’s weight. Marc’s head cracked against the floor. His vision blurred and Jeremy was on him. Both hands encircled his throat this time and Marc struggled against the bruising grip, tearing at Jeremy’s fingers, and when that didn’t work, reaching for his face. Jeremy slammed his head against the floor. Stars glittered at the edge of his vision.
The sharp retort of a gun rang in his ears and Jeremy’s grip slackened enough that he could breathe again. He felt the spray of blood on his face.
“You bitch!”
Jeremy clutched at his arm, blood oozing between his fingers. Sera leaned against the wall, Marc’s pistol clutched in her small hands. He could see the slight tremble of the barrel as the light glinted off the metal. Jeremy rose and started towards her.
“Claude, take her out!” Jeremy commanded, but Claude had disappeared. Jeremy cursed. Marc didn’t wait. He lunged and caught Jeremy’s ankle, sending him down to one knee. He kicked back and Marc lost his grip.
“Do it, Sera!” His shout came out as a croak, but she heard him.
There was a flash and Jeremy staggered forward. Sera backed away until she was trapped by the wall. Before Marc could move, there was a third shot. Jeremy toppled to the floor at Sera’s feet. He lay still, the life fading from his eyes. Sera held the gun on him until she was certain he was dead, edging around the body. Her chest heaved and she looked about to faint. She dropped to her knees at Marc’s side and seemed to recover. He sat up gingerly, trying to ignore the headache that blossomed at the back of his skull.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her hand cool on his cheek. Tears brightened her eyes. He didn’t speak. Instead he leaned forward and kissed her. She responded, her lips soft and gentle. “Is that a yes?”
“It will be.” Marc staggered upright and Sera scrambled to her feet, steadying him until his vision cleared. He glanced around the room, but as before, it held little. He frowned. “We’ll have to get rid of the body somehow. We can’t leave it.”
“But how?” Sera shuddered. Marc headed into the small hallway, poking his head into the filthy bathroom. “What are you looking for?” Sera trailed after him.
“They had to have left something to take care of things,” Marc replied. “There’s too much evidence here, too many fingerprints and DNA, to just leave it.”
An empty bottle of bleach sat on its side, but the bathroom was otherwise empty. The door to the second bedroom had been torn off its hinges and lay on the floor. Scraps of wood and a broken chair littered the room. When he came back to the first bedroom, where Sera had been kept, there were two jugs tucked behind the door. Sera lingered outside the room; he didn’t blame her. He spotted her shawl on the floor, and her bag, scooping them up and passing them over to her before he grabbed one of the jugs. Liquid sloshed inside and he cracked open the lid, wrinkling his nose.
Gasoline.
Jeremy had come prepared.
The apartment, the entire building, could easily go up in flames. Its age and the detritus would almost guarantee it. Two jugs might be enough to destroy the apartment, though he had no idea if it would torch the building. He took the jugs out into the main room, wincing with the effort.
“Marc? What are you going to do?” Sera had put on her shawl and she stood as far from Jeremy’s corpse as she could manage. He dug into his pocket and tossed her his car keys.
“The car’s downstairs. Get it running and wait for me.” He picked up his jacket and put it on, digging into the inner pocket. He nearly always carried a pack of matches, and they were still there.
“But what if Claude’s there?”
He hadn’t thought of that. He left the jugs on the floor and came over to her. “Do you think you could run fast enough once I set this place alight?” he asked. She pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulder, securing it. He took the gun from her and put the safety on, slipping it into his jacket.
“I can.” She gave him back his keys. He shoved them into his pocket.
“Go to the door. And when I say go, just run.”
He unscrewed both jugs, starting in the bedrooms. His ribs ached as he swung the jugs, splashing the gasoline over the floors and walls. The fumes started to make his head swim, but he kept going. He tossed the empty jug onto the bed and returned to the main room. Sera hovered by the open door. He poured gasoline around the edges of the room, returning to the centre to pour the remaining half of the jug over Jeremy’s corpse. He turned to Sera.
“Run.”
He struck a match and threw it into the bedroom, where it smoldered for a moment and then caught. He backed up, lighting another match that he dropped onto the corpse. Just before he pulled the door shut, he lit a third. He could hear the crackling as the flames licked at the walls, and he didn’t stop to hear more. He caught up with Sera on the first floor landing. As they reached the ground floor, she stumbled, catching herself against the banister. He half-lifted her, hooking one of her arms over his shoulders, holding her close. He'd thought he’d never do that again. They stumbled through the door and onto the street.
The white van had gone, but the Peugeot was still there. He breathed a sigh of relief. He unlocked the doors and Sera sank into the passenger seat. He hurried around to the driver’s side and started the engine. The street was empty and he was glad for it. There would be no witnesses and hopefully no emergency calls until it was too late to stop the blaze.
Marc pulled up outside his apartment and killed the engine. Around them, the world went on as usual, the Friday market a few streets away teemed with shoppers, and people walked around without a clue that anything out of the ordinary had occurred. He went to stir Sera from her doze, stroking her arm. She opened her eyes drowsily.
“Come upstairs and then you can sleep.” She nodded and reached for her bag. “Do you need a hand?”
“I think I can manage.” She stumbled slightly getting out of the car, but he caught her. She regained her balance and continued towards the door. Parts of her dress glistened in the sun and he could see dark spots on her legs where Jeremy’s blood had splattered. He followed her up the stairs, carefully protective.
As they reached the landing, she turned to him. “You’re not who I thought you were, Marc,” she said abruptly, as if she’d been considering it for some time. Her words felt like a blade in his heart. He stepped around her and unlocked the door, letting her precede him into the flat. She headed straight for the bathroom, dropping her bag and her shawl on the floor and kicking off her shoes as she went. He followed her, but she closed the door in his face.
“Neither are you,” he replied quietly, pressing his hand against the door. She’d turned tricks, she owed money to a gangster—and she’d shot a man. He didn’t know her at all. How could she be so calm? He stayed at the door until he heard the shower running, then turned and left. He paced the apartment, pouring himself a scotch that he took two sips of before he abandoned it on the kitchen counter. He lit a cigarette only to leave it smoldering in the ashtray. He shed his jacket, not bothering to move it from the sofa. After half an hour, he returned to the bathroom door. He could hear the shower still running. What was taking her so long?
“Sera?” He opened the door a fraction. When she didn’t answer, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Her dress had puddled on the floor, red streaks running on the wet tile and her underwear was strewn nearby. The shower curtain was partly open and he could just see her back, bare and pale but for a couple of bruises. She stood under the spray, her shoulders hunched.
“Sera?” he said again. She turned, and he couldn’t tell if the drops on her face were tears or moisture from the hot water. He held out a towel and she turned off the water and stepped out, letting him wrap it around her. For a moment she leaned against him. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. If she hated him, she wouldn’t have allowed him this liberty.
“I need to go home,” she said, tucking the towel around herself. She grabbed another towel for her hair. “I have to work tonight.”
How could she even think of work? “Do you really think you could manage?”
She looked forlorn. “I have to go. He’ll dock my pay, or worse.” She stepped around him and he followed her into the bedroom. She started digging through his wardrobe. “Have I left anything here to wear?” Her voice broke and she leaned against the door, trying to hide the shine of tears in her eyes from him. He wanted to hold her, to try to make everything right again, but he didn’t know if she’d allow him to touch her.
“Let me call the club. You can’t perform in this state.” Marc felt his pocket for his phone and remembered that it had been left in his jacket. When he returned, Sera had found a pair of his rarely used pyjamas. She sat in the middle of the bed, her head resting on her knees. He set the phone on the side table and went to her instead, gathering the wet towels she’d left on the bed. He rested a hand on her damp hair and she lifted her head. She caught at his hand as he cupped her cheek, pulling him down to the bed. He let the towels fall to the floor.
Her lips were on his before he could say a word. He returned her kiss, drawing her into his embrace as she crawled onto his lap. He had nearly lost her and now her scent filled his nostrils, reassuring him that she was here and she was his. She straddled his lap, her kisses fierce and demanding. Her fingers caught the hem of his shirt and she pulled it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor. Her hands skimmed over his chest before returning to her own garments. The pyjama top slid from her shoulders and he broke off their kisses to take a nipple in his mouth, dragging his tongue over the tip, rolling it between his teeth until she cried out. The roughness of his unshaven chin pinkened her pale skin as he transferred his attention. She arched into his touch, pressing herself against him, and he could feel her heat even through the layers of fabric.
Marc tugged at the waistband of the cotton trousers, pulling them down her hips. She shifted her weight until he could fling them away. Her hand struggled with his jeans and he unbuttoned them for her, pushing them down his legs. She was all softness and heat against him, his cock sliding between her damp thighs. He wanted to sheathe himself in her but she shifted, teasing him.
“Seraphina,” he murmured against her breasts. She lifted his head and he looked into her dark eyes.
“Beg me for it,” she told him, tilting her hips just enough to put him between her lips. He shuddered.
The Paris Game Page 24
