Page 46 of Hero Worship

He slid several more photos across the desk, personnel files, by the look of them. " Philippe Mercier runs the security team. Former GIGN, discharged under... interesting circumstances. The kind of circumstances that suggest he might be open to alternative employment opportunities, given the right motivation."

"You've already approached him," Ash said. It wasn't a question.

"Let's say certain conversations have been had." Nikolai's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Roche trusts his security team implicitly. Perhaps too implicitly. They know his schedule, his habits, which clubs he favors on which nights. They know exactly when he's most... vulnerable."

"And they know what he does to his companions," I added, watching Viktor's face. "They've helped dispose of the evidence."

Viktor's hand clenched on the arm of his chair. "These are rumors. Speculation."

"Are they?" Nikolai produced another file, this one thicker than the others. "Seven models in the past year alone. All young men with certain... similar features. All last seen at private parties in Roche's home. All officially listed as having moved abroad for work opportunities." He opened the file, spreading crime scene photos across the desk. "Until last month, when a construction crew found this under the foundation of a building Roche's company had demolished."

The photos made bile rise in my throat. The body had been preserved somehow, posed like a mannequin in what looked like an elaborate couture outfit. The face was perfect.Tooperfect, maintained through some grotesque taxidermy process that made the victim look like a living doll.

"Jesus," Ash breathed behind me. His hand tightened on my shoulder, possessive and protective.

"The police were paid to classify it as a cold case," Nikolai continued. "No connection to Roche, officially. But his security team knows. They've helped him perfect his... techniques over the years. Helped him select suitable subjects. Helped him dispose of the evidence when he tired of his living art pieces."

"Why should I care?" Viktor's voice was harsh. "She made her choice."

"He," I corrected, voice like steel. "And did he really have a choice? Or did you give him exactly two options: deny who he was or lose everything?"

Viktor's fist came down on the desk hard enough to rattle the crystal decanters. "You think I don't know what Roche is? What he does to his pretty toys when he's finished with them?"

"And yet you let your own flesh and blood—"

"She is not my blood!" Viktor surged to his feet, but Nikolai's hand shot out, catching his wrist in what looked like an iron grip. The movement was so smooth it seemed almost casual.

"Sit down," Nikolai said pleasantly, though steel ran beneath the words. "We're not finished."

I felt Ash move closer, his presence solid and protective at my back. The contrast between his touch and Viktor's rejection of his own child made my chest ache. This was what real strength looked like. Not denial and fear, but acceptance and protection.

"The operation," Ash said once Viktor had subsided. "What's our timeline?"

"Three nights," Nikolai said, producing a thick envelope. "Complete floor plans of each club, staff rotations, guest lists. Everything you need to make the right impression." His smile was cold. "I trust Lucky Losers' newest power couple can handle the rest?"

The implied question hung in the air. Could we pull this off? Could we get close enough to Roche to eliminate him while extracting Misha? The familiar electricity of a challenging mission thrummed under my skin.

"We'll need a safe house ready," I said, already planning out angles of approach. "Somewhere Misha will feel secure after extraction."

Viktor cleared his throat roughly. "There is a property," he said, not meeting anyone's eyes. "In Lyon. Nobody knows aboutit except—" He broke off, swallowing hard. "It was her…hismother's family's home.Hewould remember it. From before."

For a moment, just a moment, his mask cracked. I caught a glimpse of something raw beneath the surface. A father's fear warring with years of rigid beliefs. His hands shook as he pulled out another cigarette.

"There was a garden," he said quietly, almost to himself. "Behind the house. They used to... used to spend hours there together." His voice caught. "Before everything changed."

The admission hung in the air between us. Not quite acceptance, not quite love, but something. A crack in the wall of rejection he'd built. I thought of all the times I'd wondered about my own father, the nameless, faceless man who'd never known I existed. Was it better or worse, having a father who chose to stop knowing you?

"I'll make sure he knows," I said, keeping my voice neutral even as I seethed at Viktor. "Though you could tell him yourself."

Viktor's face hardened again. "No. But..." He looked at Nikolai. "Perhaps I can ensure my interests don't interfere with whatever happens at the clubs."

"Well," Nikolai said, rising smoothly. "I believe we all understand each other." He gestured to the door where Anton waited. "Your car is ready whenever you are."

Outside, the Paris night was cool against my skin. Ash pulled me close as we waited for our ride, his touch possessive in a way that made heat pool in my belly despite the tension of the evening.

"A word of advice," Nikolai said quietly, lighting a cigarette. "The old guard… Men like Viktor? They don't change. Not really. But sometimes..." he exhaled a stream of smoke, "Sometimes they can still serve a purpose."

The black SUV pulled up, and Ash helped me inside. As Paris slid by outside the windows, I leaned into his solid warmth, suddenly exhausted.

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