Page 20 of Into the Woods

The man was assigned to me by my uncle after my parents died. Uncle Alain said it was to keep me safe, said it was a combined position of driver and bodyguard.

I thought it was overkill and a pain in the ass.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. My orders are to bring you straight to the estate.”

I didn’t doubt that for a minute, but I wasn’t happy. I’d been gone for what felt like forever and the only tie I’d had to Winnie was my college roommate, Teague, who’d checked in on her when I couldn’t. And I didn’t like the things I’d heard recently.

The car stopped in the circle drive outside my uncle’s estate, and I stepped out without waiting for the driver to get my door. I knew it bothered my uncle when I did shit like that, so in turn, it bothered the fucking driver because Uncle Alain believed strongly in shit rolling downhill.

I strode through the foyer waving off the butler and stalked into the study not waiting for an invitation.Le Milieu, and all of its holdings, was supposed to be mine.

Uncle Alain kept control way beyond what was necessary. At the time, I was thankful he’d stepped in so I could go to college and have that bit of normalcy in the throes of chaos, but I was ready to take my place.

“Oncle, I?—”

He immediately cut me off. “Christo, sit. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Dismissed.

That was the way he’d been treating me since he stepped into my father’s shoes. Talking down to me, pushing me to the side when he should be teaching me, showing me the ropes. Setting me up to take the role my father had told me would be mine.

He turned away from me mumbling in the wild mix of French and English he liked to use in order to keep me in the dark. I hated it. Had I had longer with my parents, I’d have been able to decipher his words a whole lot easier, but they’d been ripped away from me way before I was ready, and college French somehow didn’t cover the colloquialisms that were rife inLe Milieu.

I lowered my gaze, shutting out as many distractions as possible and concentrated on the rapid-fire exchange. Bits and pieces filtered through, and I silently translated, filing them away: Henri, debt, the girl. Apparently, that specific girl was special, but when it came to my uncle, they were either special or not worth the dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

“Now, Christophe,” he barked, startling me out of my thoughts. “I need you to go to the Honey Pot and collect the cash.”

My brows jumped. “You want me to do that? You have people to handle the drops.” It was an insult, a slap in the face to send me on his shitty errands like that. “I’m here to start the transition,Oncle, not to do grunt work.”

His fist landed with a thud on the surface of his desk, and he sneered at me. “You’re too good to do the little things, you don’t deserve to learn the big.” Again with the condescension.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t been running with thebeaux voyousduring my breaks from college. I was graduated now, ready for more. But it was day one. I’d do what he wanted first, prove once again, that I was capable, and then work my way in.

I shook my head and stood, buttoning my suit jacket as I stalked for the door. “I’ll do the drop. Get the cash. But after, we talk.”

He graced me with a very French shrug, one that was haughty and dismissive all at once.

Whatever. He wouldn’t be able to avoid me any longer. I was there now, no other obligations, prepared to take my place in the organization. And maybe—hopefully—I’d find Winnie and see for myself that she was okay.

The town car stopped in the side alley next to the club run by Henri and Claudette L’Ourson. The Honey Pot was on the seedy side, offering just about any vice a person could want. Booze,drugs, and women. Card games in the basement, and private rooms in the back that had seen more jizz than a sperm bank.

We owned much nicer clubs, cleaner with higher class, wealthier clientele. But for some reason, Uncle Alain was obsessed with that shit hole. Thewhyhad always baffled me.

When I stepped out of the car, the stench of piss and vomit hit me, curling my lip in disgust. One of the first things I’d do when I took full control would be to board that place up, burn it to the ground. I hated that Winnie’s parents were the ones who’d been running it. That they were the ones who made it the sleazy mess that it was. Thank Jesus, they hadn’t dragged her in.

The inside wasn’t any better than the exterior and I made damn sure not to touch anything as I made my way to the office. Not a door, not a wall, nothing.

The office was empty, and while it would’ve been a major power move to make myself comfortable behind the desk, I didn’t want to touch any of those surfaces either. I didn’t want to think about the things that likely happened in that chair and on the desk, the DNA lodged in the crevices and soaked into the seams.

The rumble of pissed-off voices mixed with pounding feet preceded the thin, wiry ghost of a man that was Henri L’Ourson.

“What the fuck are you doing leaving strangers in my office without a man watching?” His voice was as high as he generally was, brimming with misplaced authority and false confidence.

Once he’d paused long enough for it to register just exactly who’d been left unattended in his office, his steps stuttered to a halt. His eyes shifted, darting around the dingy room as if he was looking for another body.

Uncle Alain had given no indication that there would be anyone else here; it was a simple cash exchange. If he’d thought anything odd might have been going down, he’d have sent me with some of his men.

“You’re alone.” It wasn’t a question, but there was surprise behind the statement.

---