Page 68 of The Butcher

“Answer the question.”

His laughter died away, and he turned serious once more. “Bastien, I don’t care. I don’t care about anyone or anything—besides myself. You can try to guilt me with your questions and your exasperation, but you can’t guilt someone who lacks a conscience.”

I gave a shake of my head. “I don’t believe that.”

He shrugged. “People change, Bastien. Boys become men. We stop caring about animals and toys and obsess over money and pussy. It’s just how it is.”

My brother and I had been divided a long time, but I was still disappointed by the words I heard.

“Bastien.” His voice turned serious, his stare losing all hint of humor.

I met his look.

“The Fifth Republic will fall. The old order will return. And you can’t stop it.” His cheek was propped on his closed knuckles again, his somber eyes watching me across the table. “I suggest you embrace the old order to save your neck—or step down and let someone else take your place. Take my advice.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“I guess you wouldn’t know.” He continued to stare at me, the coffee table between us. “I may not like you, but that doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

“I thought you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

“I care about Mom. Though, not so much right now. And she’d be ticked if I let you get shanked in the street.” He looked past me out the window, his eyes lingering on the city we seemed toown together, just under different leaderships. “I’m not going to change, and if you aren’t going to change, this only ends one way—with one of us dead.” His eyes came back to me. “And it’s not going to be me, Bastien.”

I met with Roger at Chez Georges. We had dinner together like civilized people, but we talked shop the entire time, not caring about the people who sat directly next to us and overheard the entire thing. I didn’t eat bread very often, but Chez Georges had the best bread in Paris, and I enjoyed that more than my steak.

He got a call from his wife toward the end of dinner and had to leave in a rush, so I sat there alone and finished my meal, preferring the solitude anyway. We discussed what we needed to discuss, so finishing dinner together was just an obligation.

A woman dropped into Roger’s chair across from me, wearing a pink floral dress with a gold necklace around her throat. She was a pretty brunette, looked to be in her early twenties, which was a bit too young for me. “I thought you could use some company since your guest left.”

My eyes moved to the empty seat from which she originated. Another young woman was there, probably a friend or a sister. She drank her wine as she watched her companion make a move on me.

“My name is Abigail.”

My eyes moved back to my new guest, annoyed that she was there, but also annoyed that the woman getting my dick continued to keep me at arm’s length. Told me she wantedcasual, but if it was casual, I would be fucking this woman and whoever else I met on the way—and I knew she wouldn’t like that one bit.

Not that I wanted to fuck anyone else…

If this woman were older, I would give her a cold reception, but since she was young, I decided to preserve her self-esteem. “I’m too old for you—and I’m married.”

“Oh…you aren’t wearing a ring.”

“I’m not the kind of guy to wear one.”

The disappointment crept into her pretty features, washing away her joy like the rising tide destroyed a sandcastle on the beach. “I’ll let you enjoy your dinner.” She scooted out of the chair and went back to her table.

I returned to my steak, listening to the conversations at all the nearby tables, talking about new decorations for the home, upcoming doctor’s appointments, the horrible traffic in the city. Mundane bullshit.

My phone lit up on the table.I like my new job. It’s nice to be home by five rather than go to work at five.

Her messages normally brought a smile to my face, but my mood was sour. Had been sour since my unproductive conversation with Godric last night.Good. I’d forgotten that she’d started at the office that day. Was too busy with my own shit to think about anything else.

The divorce papers were approved by the judge. Now we set a date for a hearing.

You only went to a hearing for a divorce if the spouses couldn’t agree on the division of assets, so I wasn’t sure what Adrien was contesting. Unless he was picking a fight to draw out the divorce as long as possible just to be a dick. Seemed like something he would do.Good, things are moving.I ate the last few scraps of my steak then asked for the tab.

How are you?

Been better.

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