Page 27 of The Carver

I miss feeling you inside me.

I smirked.That’s better. A lot better.

I want to see you, but I’m afraid you’re going to make me beg for it.

It was Friday, so she didn’t have to be at her office job first thing in the morning. I was glad to help her, even respected her for wanting honest work, but I would have preferred paying her to fuck me. She’d be on my time all the time. At my beck and call, following orders like everyone else on my payroll. Just the thought made me hard.I’ll always make you beg for it, sweetheart.

She sent an eye-roll emoji.

Gonna spank your ass for that.

I really backed myself into a corner, didn’t I?

Pack a bag for the weekend. My driver will pick you up in thirty mins.

But not you?

I have a dinner.I’d bring her with me, but she’d seemed uncomfortable at the last one. She didn’t have to be the woman on my arm for my public outings if she didn’t want to be. She would still be my woman at home, and that was what mattered.But I want you here when I get home.

Her dots didn’t appear for a while.

I wondered if she was thinking about asking to come with me, considered giving it another try. Her dots appeared a moment later.I’ll see you then.

I felt the sting of disappointment, but I dismissed it the second I felt it because it was unfair to feel any resentment. I’d laid out my terms, and she’d abided by them all so far.You better be face down, ass up when I walk in.

I walked into the crowded restaurant, the gold chandeliers hanging from the coffered ceiling, mirrors on the walls reflecting the pendant lights, the vases of purple lilies and white roses underneath the abstract pieces of art.

It was a nice place, but I didn’t care how nicely decorated it was. I cared about the food—and the company.

Oscar sat alone at a table for four. His hands were together under his chin as he stared at me from across the room, ornate rings of gold and silver on every single one of his fingers. Thetable next to him contained his men, sitting there drinking their café crèmes and trying and failing to blend in with everyone else.

I crossed the room full of tables covered in white tablecloths with little vases of white roses and dropped into the chair across from him. He looked indistinguishable from everyone else, in a blazer with a dress shirt underneath, an Omega watch on his wrist, probably one he’d taken from one of his enemies as a souvenir—and a reminder.

I needed a drink before we got into it. I called the waitress over by simply raising my hand. “Two old-fashioneds.”

Oscar gave no objection to the selection. “Heard about Regis.”

“Good. Hope everyone has.”

“There’s always a traitor in your midst. And he’ll be replaced by someone else…and then he’ll be replaced by someone else. Men are incapable of honor, it seems.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Oscar was a member of the Aristocrats, an organization of men who belonged to bloodlines of people of great historical significance. As a result, they felt entitled to relics, buildings, artwork, things that now belonged to the Republic of France. It was their intention to reclaim them all. They were fairly harmless—unless you had something they believed belonged to them.

Smart men proactively donated their keepsakes to earn their allegiance, which came in handy when they found themselves in a dire situation. But others refused to give away what they bought or inherited, and if the Aristocrats learned you possessed something they wanted for themselves, you were next on their list. All the rich people of France were well-connected. There were lots of parties and events, and if someone mentioned youhad a famous painting or sculpture and they got wind of it—game over.

“What will become of him?” Oscar asked.

“I gave him the opportunity to confess and lose a hand like a thief, but he chose to lie. So my men took him to London and sealed him into the foundation of one of my new buildings.” One of the buildings he’d invested in, ironically. They entombed him in concrete, to be a part of my empire forever as a pillar. He wasn’t given the chance to say goodbye to his family. His wife would hear about his death from the others.

Oscar didn’t react to the horror of what I’d said. “Honesty is always the best policy.”

“Not being a thief is the best policy.”

He nodded slightly, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

The waitress came over to take our orders.

I didn’t look at the menu. “Steak. Rare.” Didn’t know if they even offered steak, but I was sure they did.

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