Page 24 of The Butcher

“Speak of the devil…” I turned to Luca. “That’s him.”

“Her husband?” he asked with his eyebrows raised.

“Yep.”

“I’ll back you up.”

“I don’t need backup, Luca.” I put out the cigar and rose to my feet.

“He’s got a lot of balls coming here,” Luca said. “Are you sure?—”

“I’m fine.” I gestured to the door. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright.” He let Gerard escort him out of the room. He might have passed Adrien on the way.

I stood there and waited for Adrien to join me, surprised he had the spine to face me, unless he didn’t understand who I was. Well, if he didn’t, he was about to. I stood in my sweatpants and t-shirt, not afraid to do business in casual attire. My real uniform was my knife anyway.

Footsteps sounded, and then he rounded the corner—in trousers and a blazer like a fucking pussy. He had short brown hair with matching eyes, tall and lean, not packed with muscle the way I was. In hand-to-hand combat, he’d be dead.

He stilled as he sized me up, looking me over as his opponent. He was outmatched if we were in the ring with boxing gloves—and he was outmatched as a lover too. I might have a pretty face, but I was packed and tatted.

The standoff lasted for a solid minute, Adrien coming to terms with the fact that I was the man bedding his wife.

Soon-to-be ex-wife, I hoped.

He finally took a breath like he needed to steel his nerves before he approached me. He didn’t fire off with threats and bullshit right off the bat, so he was smarter than I’d assumed. “Of all the men in Paris, she had to pick you.”

“I think she has great taste.”

An explosion of rage flashed across his eyes, but he didn’t act on it. “She has no idea who you are.”

“Separation of church and state.”

He came closer, the table between us. “I think she’d feel much differently if she had all the facts.”

“I don’t know. She seems pretty tough to me.” Handled those handprints beautifully. Didn’t mind my thumb up her ass. Didn’t scream when some asshole came at her with a machete. The girl had a backbone—and I liked that.

“Tell her, or I will.”

I smirked. “Is that what your mistress said to you?”

His eyes narrowed once again. “I’m sure someone like you doesn’t give a shit about marriage?—”

“Quite the contrary, actually. Assholes like you are the ones who shit all over it.”

He bypassed what I said. “I know I fucked up. I admit that. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I know we could work it out if you would just go the fuck away.”

I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face, not when it pissed him off so much.

“She said she would consider a reconciliation—and then you showed up.”

“I tend to do that.”

“You think this is a joke?” he snapped.

“You thought it was a joke first when you pissed all over your wedding vows. Or should I saycameall over your wedding vows?”

“Fuck you, Butcher.”

---