Chapter 11: Étienne - Crushing His Mountain Flower

Afew summers ago. . .

I had been leaning back against a fence, passing cigarettes back and forth, the others wrestling and lobbing an occasional fist at each other, because French mountain families didn’t do play-fighting.

Everything was a test to see where you ranked in the pecking order.

I was at the very top. And I intended to remain there.

Faustine was talking, her hip jutted up again my thigh, but I wasn’t listening to her.

I was looking across the clearing at Léonie Pinoteaux, but she wasn’t looking at me.

Ever since I had killed that mad boar in front of her, she’d been extra careful not to get caught looking at me.

But I knew she wanted to.

Unlike most of the other girls, she never purposely tried to get my attention, never flirted with me.

She had my complete attention anyway.

Could she possibly be real? Was that sweet, open gaze real? Or was Léonie’s manipulative family using her to ensnare me?

Was her shyness real or faked?

Everything about her appealed to me, those thick bright red curls that she had wound wildflowers all through, her delicate fingers that were swishing gently through high grasses to find a few of the small juneberries, the way she was soft and gentle.

I had to find out if she was real and true.

“Léonie,” I said, pushing off the fence and walking toward her. “Come with me. I know where you can get a lot of berries.”

“I’ll come too,” Faustine said eagerly behind me.

“I didn’t ask you.”

She huffed, but my eyes were all on Léonie, a pink flush on her cheeks, a little white tooth worrying her bottom lip.

And she followed me right away, her trust sending a heady rush of blood all down to my cock.

I was going to find out who this woman was, because she was going to be 21 soon. Old enough to offer a bride-price to her father.

We wound our way up the mountains, Léonie following obediently behind me. Her smell was all up in my nostrils, that delicate wild mint and dittany scent that meant I knew she loved being in the mountains as much as I did.

She was my twin soul, the one the ancestors had sent just for me.

Everything in her sung to me, called to me.

Mme and Da were against this match. The Pinoteaux could not be trusted, they warned me over and over.

“Can’t you find any other girls you like?” Mme had cried just last night.

But no, no, I couldn’t.

There were plenty of girls around.

But none like her. . .

The effect she had on me made me angry, my gut tightening at the way her scent seemed to burn through my whole body, and when I had helped her up to where juneberries grew in a wild purple tangle, I took Léonie Pinoteaux’s chin with my fingers and kissed her.

It was nothing like I expected, her lips unbelievably soft underneath mine, and the rush of possessiveness I felt surprised me with its vehemence.

My cock was throbbing, pressing against the thin fabric of Léonie’s dress as she shyly reached out her hands for my shirt, and I could barely repress a lustful groan as she tightened her fingers against my chest.

This girl was mine. I put an arm around her waist, crushing her close to me, and was only able to drag myself away when she gasped in shock at the feel of my tongue plunging into her mouth.

My heart was pounding and my eyes were glued to where my kisses had made her pretty lips even plumper.

For a moment I wanted to flip up her skirt and take her right here on the hillside, and I could barely make myself step back.

Because I knew she would have done exactly as I wanted, and the knowledge was equal parts terrifying and thrilling.

“This is the best place to find these berries. Grab some,” I said roughly, and Léonie instantly plunged her fingers into the bushes.

Ancestors, that kiss had almost knocked me on my ass.

“Ouch!” she cried suddenly.

“What happened?”

Léonie pulled her finger back and there was a line of blood spiraling around her ring finger, dripping down in bright scarlet drops and coating her nail.

“I guess there was a thorn there,” she whispered.

“You should look first,” I said sternly.

“But you told me to,” she replied, blinking those big blue eyes at me, the pale lashes sweeping over her freckled cheeks.

And I knew then that I didn’t give a fuck what it cost, I was going to get Léonie as my bride. . .

Present day

That little scar she carried from the thorns had always been my reminder to be careful what I asked my wife to do.

Because she would obey me instantly.

So these cold dead fingers I was gently holding in my own?

Weren’t hers.

If they didn’t show the evidence of her sweet and trusting nature? They weren’t my wife’s.

I didn’t have to see shit else. Because somehow I’d been played.

For a moment I stared uncomprehendingly at the two corpses.

Who the fuck⁠—

Then I wiped the blood off my face and stalked out of the room.

“Monsieur, so sorry for your loss,” the funeral director said, hurrying after me. “Would you like to arrange a time for the memorial service?”

“You can dump those bodies in the trash heap,” I snarled.

“But—Monsieur, your wife⁠—”

“That’s not my wife.”

“What?”

“I don’t know who the fuck you’ve got back there, but it’s 100% and completely not my wife. Now you’re going to let me drive that hearse of yours, because I have somewhere I need to be. I’ll have my men drop it back here when I’m done.”

“But, Monsieur⁠—”

I was already gone, grabbing his keys without asking and peeling the fuck out of the parking lot. I needed to get back to the lodge immediately and figure out what happened.

If that dead body wasn’t Léonie, where was she?

With the red hair on the dead woman, it had to be a Pinoteaux.

But where had a dead Pinoteaux woman come from? Who had killed her?

And why had I been told she was my wife?

There were a few remaining guards at the lodge, instantly snapping to attention when I drove up.

“Search this house from top to bottom,” I ordered. “I want to know where my wife is.”

“Sir—”

“I said search the house!”

The first thing I would do was figure out exactly what the hell Tilly and Armand had seen. Had they been fooled by the fake Léonie and Hugo too? And whose deception was it?

But when I yanked the front door open and strode inside⁠—

They were gone.

And their entire quarters wiped clean.

Fuck. That meant they had to be connected to the disappearance, even though they’d served the Bastide family for decades.

We went from room to room, my furious hands tearing apart the beds, the closets, slamming the kitchen table against the wall.

Where the fuck was my wife?

As I stood in the kitchen, breathing hard, I heard a faint banging from somewhere in the building.

What the hell?

I followed it, room to room.

“Léonie? Léonie? Sweetheart, is that you? I’m coming to get you!”

It sounded like it was coming from under the floors somewhere.

Was my wife in trouble?

Hastily, I descended the stairs to the basement, flicking the light on just as I heard the knocking sound redoubling.

It was coming from one of the supply closets!

If someone had locked my wife in a closet, I was going to tear them limb from limb. . .

I opened the door and out tumbled my idiot brother Mano, his arms and legs tied up so he landed hard on his chin on the concrete floor.

Flicking out my knife, I impatiently cut his bindings free.

“What the fuck happened?” I snapped, ripping the dirty sock out of his mouth. “Where is Léonie?”

“How the hell should I know,” he rasped out, rubbing his throat. “Maybe you should ask Hugo.”

I dragged him upright.

“Tell me what the fuck happened to you. Who tied you up?”

“Fucking Hugo knocked me down from behind.”

“You—let Hugo tie you up? Our brothers who reads books all day? Idiot. Where the fuck is my wife?”

“I don’t know,” he groaned. “But she seduced me down to the basement with her. How the hell was I supposed to know it was so Hugo could fuck me up?”

I stared uncomprehendingly at him, yanking him upright by the ear.

“You are telling me that my nine-months-pregnant wife lured you into the basement so our brother could tie you up?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To get information. Damn, I need to piss. I’ve had to piss all over myself.”

“You’ll be fucking pissing through your ass if you don’t tell me where my wife is!” I snarled, shoving him into the wall. “What did you tell her?”

He looked at me, and I felt fear and rage shudder all over my body.

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her everything,” Mano hissed back, trying unsuccessfully to block my fists as they landed on his face.

“I warned you⁠—”

“I told her you were the one who set her up. You were the one who told me to wait for her in the bedroom. You told me to leave a condom wrapper on the bed. You bribed the doctor. You called her a whore in front of the ancestors and her whole goddamn family. Not me.”

Fuck

“And then what happened?”

“Hugo tied me up, stuffed a sock in my mouth, and left me in the closet. And when I see him, I plan to wring his neck.”

“I can’t believe Léonie did that.”

“Well, brother, then you are blind as well as a fool. Because she deliberately set me up. I’m pretty sure they were leaving together. They looked thick as thieves.”

Fuck fuck fuck

I turned and headed back up the stairs.

So my wife had left the lodge knowing I had set her up.

But not knowing why I had done it.

She might even have left thinking I hated her. . .

Fuck.

I called my mother.

“Send every man at home down to the lodge! I need help searching for Léonie.”

My plans were fucking shot, there was no point in the lies now.

“Léonie? But isn’t she⁠—”

“No!” I snarled. “I was lied to. She’s alive out there and I need to find her.”

“But—the Pinoteaux are already trying for our supply lines,” Mme squawked into the phone. “You have to come back here and work on security plans.”

“I don’t care. The top priority is finding my wife! Get them down here now!”

Something caught my eye as I paced the porch. There were two paintings there. One looked like my brother Hugo. The other. . . was Léonie.

And the painter had caught that play of light in her eyes, the way the summer-sky blue had different spots of golden sunshine in it.

“Yeah,” Mano said as he came up behind me. “Looks like we both might be edged out by Hugo.”

“I’m not edged out with my own wife,” I snapped, unease spiraling inside me as I looked at those two paintings next to each other.

I might have fucked up, but Léonie loved me. That was just a fact of nature. I simply needed to see her and explain. . .

Once the Bastide men arrived with my SUV, I sent out specific orders for where and how to search, to make sure that we covered our territory fast and efficiently.

“They might be hiding in an outbuilding or abandoned trailer. Check near streams or somewhere they might be trying to grab a vehicle. I want her found by noon!”

It hadn’t been that long. They can’t have gone that far.

Mano I took with me, and we ascended the narrow path to a nearby peak.

How many hours head start had she had on me? If I stood up here I’d have a perfect vantage point and would hopefully see the two of them and be able to pinpoint where exactly to find her.

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen them by now,” I snapped impatiently. “I need to find her to undo the shit I did. Look out the window, asshole.”

Mano was leaning against the side of the car, stroking his chin.

“You really think she’s going to forgive you?”

“Of course. Once I explain myself.”

He tapped his hands on the side mirror.

“Maybe not. The way her tongue felt in my mouth didn’t feel like she missed you.”

“Her tongue in your what?”

“Yeah, why else do you think I went into the basement with her like an idiot? I’d do anything to feel that tongue on my prick.”

Red rage flooded my vision, and without warning, I grabbed my brother by the nape of the neck and dragged him across the seat. Then with one boot I kicked him out the window, driving along the mountain roads with my grip the only thing between him and a thousand-foot drop.

“What the hell?” Mano yelled, as I slammed his head against the side of the car.

“Don’t you fucking talk to me about her tongue on anything of yours again, asshole, or I swear I’ll strangle you with that stupid ponytail.”

“You were the fucking idiot who said that shit to her!”

His feet were desperately reaching back for the narrow gravel road as I swung the SUV even closer to the edge.

“You think I need you, shithead? I don’t. I’m only keeping you around so you can help me find my wife. What else did you say to her?”

“You’re a goddamn lunatic! I told her you had moved on, but I still wanted her.”

With a growl, I dragged Mano back into the SUV and threw him on the passenger seat.

“Moved on? You think I could ever move on from my wife?”

“Well, you sure acted like you didn’t care about her,” he said angrily. “All I did was say she didn’t have to worry. I would take care of her after you married Faustine.”

“Faustine?” I barked in disbelief. “Why the hell would I chase down third-rate pussy? That was a waste of your damn tiny-dick breath, because I would never let another man take care of her!”

My jaw was clenched so hard it was aching.

“Have you been selling information to the Pinoteaux about us?”

His jaw dropped as I kicked out with my boot, landing a blow on his kneecap.

But even as he sputtered in denial, I realized I had been the one in denial. I thought Léonie would be waiting for me to forgive her. But she had freed herself.

We scoured every inch of Bastide territory. All that long day and through the night.

But there was no sign of them. Not one sighting. Not one clue which way they had gone.

When we uncovered not one trace of them, I sent my men farther afield, made incursions into Pinoteaux territory, outrunning their guards to scour the landscape.

The thought of her going there for safety, where they would so happily barter her life for a little security and a better social status, made me want to vomit.

Where had a nine-months-pregnant woman and a man with a cane gone? How had they vanished without a trace?

As the next day dawn my panic spiked harder.

How was my wife able to hide so well from me? How had she escaped with Hugo and been able to lie low for this long?

And how was she doing? How was our son doing?

I was desperate to not miss any more time with them.

The thought of it was unendurable. She was 39 weeks pregnant now. She could go into labor at any time.

Was she out hiding in the woods somewhere?

And right now I wouldn’t be there to hold her hand, guide her breathing, make sure the doctors took good care of her. I wouldn’t be the first one to see our baby boy.

Shithell

I was running on cigarettes and energy drinks and no sleep, my eyes raw and red from searching, always searching.

Where was she? It was the only thought in my head.

Now that we were in open warfare with the Pinoteaux, they were encroaching on our territory, openly flaunting the boundaries between our lands but I didn’t fucking care about anything else until I found my wife.

Somehow, she was hiding from me. Every patrol that came back in, I dreaded them finding her body.

I needed something to draw Léonie out. Something to barter or bargain with.

But what?

She was hiding somewhere. But where?

I’d sent feelers out to contacts far and wide, but no one had seen her. Had she fallen into a river? Been kidnapped? The not knowing was torture.

I had an idea, but it was only a shriveled, desperate, idiotic idea. Because surely. . .surely they were half-legend at this point, hidden away from the rest of the mountain families. . .

But it was all I had.

“Come on, asshole,” I told Mano one morning after we’d spent the last 14 hours searching for them.

“Where are we going?”

“To find Léonie. I have an idea.

“Not Faustine? I thought you wanted to fuck her.”

I snorted.

“Maybe your desperate prick should get on that. I’ve never been so desperate. I’m in love with my wife.”

“Have you figured out yet that your wife doesn’t want to be found? Has it penetrated through your arrogant head that she isn’t going to forgive you with a snap of your fingers?”

“No,” I said, turning away with stone-cold fear in my throat. “She’ll forgive me.”