Page 50 of The Saint

I stepped forward, my gun held across my chest. “As the First French Emperor of the Fifth Republic, I declare that every member of the Aristocrats violated the code. You knew Oscar took an innocent woman, and you supported that decision. You’re just as guilty as the man who snatched her from her bed.”

“You asked for peace?—”

“I changed my mind.” I cocked my gun, aimed the barrel at his chest, and fired.

Marcus was blown away, the bullet hitting him square in the chest and killing him instantly. He hit the floor next to one aisle of seats and lay still.

The second he was down, it was open warfare.

Luca ducked into one of the aisles and aimed for the gunmen who marched forward. Bullets shattered the stained-glass windows, broke the chandelier that hung from above, desecrated the altar.

Adrien was stuck in place. Hopefully he survived this.

I took down one of the guys who came for me then ducked behind a seat. “Don’t let the robes get away,” I called to my guys. I came out again and fired another shot before I had to reload. I shoved the bullets inside, but one of the guys jumped over the seats and came at me straight with a knife. He cut me on the arm and drew a line of blood, but I punched him so hard in the face he flew back and collapsed on the floor.

I grabbed him by the throat and snapped his neck then moved on.

The rest of it was chaos, blood on gold, glass everywhere, bodies at the foot of the altar. The shooting finally came to a stop, andonly one enemy remained. A speck appeared and disappeared in the corner.

“Luca, he can’t get away?—”

“I’m on it.” Luca sprinted across the room, and one of our guys followed.

I had to make sure none of the Aristocrats lived to tell the tale of what had happened here. I trusted Luca to handle it and moved to the stake that the robes had nailed Adrien too. He was still alive, still sweating profusely like he was about to faint.

The guys cut him down and laid him on the floor, and I quickly yanked all the nails and knives out of his skin.

He screamed every time, blood gushing out and dripping everywhere.

If I didn’t get him to a hospital soon, he’d probably bleed out.

“Why—why did you come for me?” He was barely conscious, his eyes bloodshot and glazed like his mind was slowly slipping away.

I took the gauze from one of the guys and bundled his wounds tight. It was unclear whether he would make it, his face whiter than snow, whiter than cream in coffee. “Ask Fleur when you see her.”

12

FLEUR

I sat there alone in the living room, looking at the cold fireplace with the phone sitting in my palm. A watched pot never boiled, and a watched phone didn’t ring either. But I continued to wait, continued to pray, continued to hope that the love of my life would come back to me.

Then he called.

“Oh my god.” I took the call and nearly dropped the phone as I tried to put it to my ear. “Bastien?”

“I’m okay. Head downstairs. My driver is going to bring you to the hospital.”

“Why the hospital? Are you okay?—”

“I’m fine. But Adrien isn’t.”

“Oh.”

“We’re a couple blocks away.”

I was quiet as I absorbed that, that Bastien may have gotten there too late. “Do you think he’s going to make it…?”

He held his silence for a while. “I won’t lie to you. It doesn’t look good. He’s lost a lot of blood.”

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