Jasmine

Predators thrive on fear. They feast on terror like savage beasts, smelling the blood of their victims and hoping for a taste of alarm. A plea for mercy. Tears. Shaking voices, trembling limbs, cold sweat. The key to not feeding a predator’s insatiable craving is to not give them what they want.

So when my father’s glare meets mine, he gets nothing. I don’t blink. I don’t tremble. I don’t speak. I’ll give him none of my fear to feed on. I learned at a very young age not to cry. Not to beg. Refusing to give him what he wants gives me power. I have no doubt he still enjoys hurting me, but the pleasure is lessened.

When my brother first took me, he exacted my punishment for my betrayal with his fists. I fought him back this time. He bears scratch marks on his cheeks and a bloodied nose. I take grim pleasure in knowing the fury the marks I bear will incite in Rico.

But I know my family. It was only a taste of what will come. I screamed with everything I had at first, an attempt to rattle my brother, who’s far more likely to give in to my pleas for mercy than my father. I can control my every reaction, and screaming is no exception. But as soon as I realized my father was near and my screams relayed to Rico, I silenced myself. I don’t really want Rico to be scared for me. I can handle myself.

I expected an attempt at finding me out when I was with Rico, but even I was surprised by how rapidly my family found me and Sonya. No sooner had Rico’s tail lights faded in the distance when we found ourselves surrounded. It sickens me to know Rico and I were watched, our lovemaking likely on surveillance for all to see, but what I fear above all is harm coming to Rico.

I can handle harm coming to me. Hell, I’ve come to expect it. But the thought of them doing any real damage to Rico…

“Will he come for you?” I don’t know if I’ve ever seen my father so furious. When he’s angry he becomes quieter, his voice barely audible.

I hope not.

Though I long for him to rescue me, I don’t want Rico hurt. The brief time I had with him, sitting on his lap and letting him hold me, are memories I’ll hold onto forever.

“Or perhaps he doesn’t really care for you,” my father says, a mere whisper. One of his eyes twitches, betraying the fury that rages in him like molten lava, threatening to erupt. “Like your mother.”

I’m standing in front of him, held by my brother. My arms are behind my back, painfully tight. When he speaks of my mother, my brother’s grip on me loosens a little. I note this. He’s weakened at the memory. Hell, so am I. For a split second, I stop observing and cataloging the details of my surroundings so I can plan my escape. For one brief moment, the memory of my mother’s stark beauty distracts me.

He hurt her, too. She cowered beneath him. Is what he says true, though? Did she not care for us?

To my surprise, it’s my brother that speaks up. “That’s bullshit,” Leon says.

My father blinks, his nostrils flare, his lips thinning so impossibly he looks nearly mouthless. “Of course it is,” he spits out, lapsing into rapid-fire French that’s barely intelligible. “Elle était une putain de salope.”

Leon loosens his grip further at the sound of the derisive words. He may be loyal to my father, but he loved our mother, and that will be what saves me. One rapid spin and a knee to the groin and I’m free. But first, I need to make sure Leon’s fully weakened.

“She never cheated on you,” I say, meeting my father’s glare squarely. “You know she didn’t. How dare you call her a slut? She did everything for you. And you held her practically hostage.” I take in a deep breath and try to throw him off his game. If I talk enough about my mother, he’ll lose his mind. I might be injured in the process, but he won’t kill me, and if I can manage to shake Leon, my chances of escape are higher.

It’s a wild card, but I play it with confidence. “In fact, I doubt she even left of her own accord. You likely made her. You did, didn’t you?”

To my shock, his eyes widen and his mouth parts before he shuts it.

“How dare you?” he whispers, but I continue on as if he hasn’t said a thing.

I lean forward as far as I can to deliver my blow. “Women only leave the ones they hate. And we weren’t the ones she hated.”

Somehow, inexplicably, I’ve struck a nerve with him. His face pales, and I’m not sure at first if it’s fury or fear that makes him whiten. Maybe both. Then his lips curl upward in a snarl. “You always were too smart for your own fucking good. I should’ve sent you away with her. You are more trouble than you’re worth.” His words are laced in a heavy French accent, peppered in muttered curse words. The beautiful language is mutilated with his hatred. “You were a pale, sickly little thing when you were born. I had no use for a daughter, but your mother suckled you at her useless breasts and sang to you when I wanted nothing to do with you.” He means every word. I hate him. I fucking hate him. But it’d be a lie to say his words don’t sting. They burn like salt on an open wound, blisteringly painful. His razor eyes slice right through me.

“My only use for you was when you grew to be tolerably beautiful. Enough for me to use for my own gain.” His gaze swings to Leon. “I wanted a son. A big strapping man who would defend the honor of our family and help us prosper.”

Leon’s grip loosens.

“Let’s not lose sight of what you wanted to say,” I say conversationally. “Perhaps you’d like to elaborate on what you said about our mother. Your death is imminent, you know.” I’ll kill him the first chance I get. “I hear confession is good for the soul.”

He masks the fear that flickers in his eyes with a derisive snort of laughter, but he knows he’s faltered. His children were his best assets and if he loses us, he’s got nothing left but lackeys for hire.

Leon speaks up again. “You sent her away.” His voice wavers with anger, but it’s controlled. If there’s anything the Francoise family has learned to master, it’s control. “Tell me more?” His grip on me loosens to the point where it’s now just for show. I blink in surprise. He’s only got the barest of grips on my wrists. Pulling away now would be as easy as tearing tissue paper. But what happens if I do? I flex my wrists so slightly, my father won’t be able to detect movement, but I know even if Leon wants me to do this, there will be men in the hall.

Rico will find me. My heart twists in my chest when I think about how he must feel, but a part of me wonders if he really does. Does he truly care about my wellbeing? Will he really come for me? If he truly did care about me, why did he leave me with the agent to begin with?

No one has ever loved me. I was a fool to think Rico was any different.

My father and brother spar verbally, and I’ve missed their words because like a stupid, hapless female, I wondered if the man I fucked not an hour ago truly cares about me. Or was I just another toy who couldn’t handle the likes of a man like him?

“She never loved either of you,” my father says, but he’s looking away now, as if he’s realized his blunder and wants to take it back. We’ve made our every move the past years under the belief that our mother betrayed the family and left us for dead with a monster.

“I didn’t ask you if she loved us,” Leon says. “I asked if you sent her away.”

“Of course I did!” My father takes a glass of water sitting on his desk and whips it at the wall. It shatters on impact but neither of us flinch. We’re used to his tirades, and his loss of control makes him a much easier target. We need to antagonize him. Push him further. If he loses his mind, we can make our move.

But does Leon want to? The loose grip on my wrists says yes.

“So she had a lover, you say?” I ask, needling him. “You couldn’t keep her happy in bed?”

“Fuck you,” he hisses, but Leon speaks up next.

“What method did you use to make her leave?” Leon asks. “Did she really leave on her own? Or did you abuse her, too?”

Our father’s outnumbered now and he knows it. With a howl befitting an animal, he tears at the papers on his desk, ripping things in two with his hands and flinging them every which way. Confirming his guilt. When he clears his desktop with a sweep of his hand, I make my move. I tug my hands out of Leon’s, then dive for the floor and duck for cover. Out of the corner of my eye I see Leon reach for his gun. I can’t see my father from where I am, but I hear the scraping of metal. My father’s armed, too.

Leon removes his phone and holds it in his hand. “You’re gun’s empty. I’ve already taken the ammo.” He continues nonchalantly. “I’m calling off your men,” he says. “When I hit speaker, you tell them all to leave, or I’ll make your death more painful than it needs to be. Understand?”

“Leon. Jasmine.” My father’s voice rings hollow in my ears. He took my mother from me and let other men touch me. I heard him tell Rico I was disposable, and I heard the sincerity in his tone.

Leon punches a number on his phone and hits the speaker.

“Say it,” he mouths.

“Yeah, boss?”

There’s a pregnant pause. Leon cocks the gun.

“You men can go home,” my father says, his voice resigned. He has a brief conversation, and when he’s done I hear shuffling and footsteps retreating outside the door.

“Good,” Leon says. “Kneel.”

I hear the hoarse, terrified scream of my father a split second before the gunshot sounds, followed by the thud as his body hits the floor. He still doesn’t get my scream.

I wish I could feel something for the man whose blood leaks out from the wounds in his chest and head like crimson oil. I can’t. My only concern now is my brother and what he will do to me.

I get to my feet and my brother waves his gun at the door. “Go make sure we’re alone,” he says.

I walk out of the room with my head held high, prepared not to show any sign that anything’s amiss in case I do run into any of my father’s men, but I don’t. I do, however, take in every detail of my surrounding.

Just because my father’s dead doesn’t mean that Leon will let me anywhere near Rico. The FBI is still intent on taking down my entire family. There is no joyful outcome here.

“All clear,” I tell Leon. I scan the office for a cell phone but see nothing.

“I’ll call Fallon to clean up the body,” Leon says, his voice tight with control. I nod. It only makes sense he’d use his right-hand man for a job like this. “And you,” he says, his voice weary with resignation. “Call a meeting of all the men we have left.” When I look to him, his gun is pointed at me and there’s a coldness in his eyes that mimics my father’s.

“Rico is coming for you,” he says. “And when he does, we end him. You betrayed the family, Jasmine.” He shakes his head. Leon isn’t as ruthless as my father, but he’s unpredictable. “And I won’t go to jail over this. Your only chance of escaping with your life is to do exactly what I say.”

I roll my eyes. “Rico means nothing to me,” I lie with ease, having been well-trained to do so.

My brother cocks his head to the side and a corner of his lips quirks upward. “Say that again, Jasmine,” he says.

I’m not sure what he’s playing at. “Rico means nothing to me,” I tell him. “It was a very costly one-night stand.” I shrug a shoulder. “I screamed so I could get away. Not because I care.” The lie rends through me, and I hope I don’t flinch at the pain it causes.

Leon smiles and brings the phone in his pocket out, sliding his finger to the side. “That’ll do,” he says. “I’m sure Agent Rico is drying his tears now as we speak.”

He didn’t. Fuck. He didn’t.

Will Rico know I lied?

“You know the way this works,” Leon says, shutting his phone off and sliding it into his pocket. “You obey me now. But now that he’s gone, we split our profit fifty-fifty after expenses are doled out.” His attempt to be fair is laughable. With a frown, he hands me his phone. “Call them all. I want a meeting. Tonight. Baker’s Alley. Ten o’clock.”

It’s our favorite meeting place, a backroom in a French pastry shop my father owns. The front works well, and has limited hours, so late night meetings are convenient. My heart races with nerves as I make the phone calls. I intentionally lace my messages with French so that Leon doesn’t suspect the fourth call I make. I wait until he’s on the phone himself when I dial Rico.

At the sound of his deep baritone, I nearly drop the phone, my hand shakes that badly. “Petite Patisserie,” I whisper. “Dix heures.”

It will sound like any other message I’ve relayed to Leon’s distracted ears.

“Jasmine.” Rico’s voice is tight and hoarse, as if he’s been shouting my name on a search mission. Maybe he has. Tears spring to my eyes when I hear him, and it’s all I can do not to say anything more. I hang up the call with shaking hands while my brother continues his conversation, then quickly, before he notices a thing, delete the call log.

Now, I wait.

We eat in silence after the body’s removed. Fallon asks no questions and we give no answers. I’m surprised I have an appetite at all after what went down today, but apparently Rico’s trained me well. If I want to fight, I need my energy. Leon pours me a glass of wine, but I refrain, and take only water instead. I want absolute focus when we meet tonight.

“You know,” Leon says conversationally, as if we weren’t enemies and we didn’t just murder and hide the body of our father. “I always did suspect our mother never left of her own accord.”

“Did you?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “I was sure that she abandoned us.”

Leon shakes his head. “You were younger,” he said. “He influenced everything you thought. Every single night before you went to bed, when other parents were reading bedtime stories and tucking their children into bed, he reminded you that your mother left you and that you were left with him,” he says. I frown, and the memories flood back. “I was older and witnessed it go down. For years I allowed myself to believe it to be true, but it wasn’t until my adult years I began to question what he did.”

I nod mutely. I’m not sure what to say.

“I hate that so many years have passed,” he says. “Would she even remember us if we found her?”

I shake my head. “I have no idea.”

We finish our meal in silence, and as we make our way to the bakery, my stomach churns in anticipation. Will he come? Will I be able to escape? Will any harm come to him?

They can do anything they want to me. With the exception of death, there is no punishment or retribution I haven’t seen. I can handle whatever comes. But will they hurt Rico?

I greet everyone as they come, one at a time, and intentionally skirt the periphery of the room so I can plot my escape. Leon watches me but seems distracted, and I wonder if he is. It’s very likely. Is he watching me?

Ten minutes before we’re due to begin, I say loudly that I’m running to the ladies’ room. I walk to the bathroom on trembling legs. What do I do if he doesn’t come? What will happen if Leon knows the call I made? Will Rico know to find me here?

I walk with my head held high. I may not know what happens next, but I know one thing: I won’t go down without a fight.

At the entrance to the bathroom, I stifle a scream when someone grabs my arm, tugs me into a closet, and places a hand over my mouth before shutting the door. My body tenses with suppressed violence. My instinct is to defend myself, but the strong, woodsy smell of him fills my senses before I hear his voice in my ear.

“Be quiet, Jasmine.” I allow myself to slump back against him.

He’s here. He came for me. When he finally lets go of my mouth, I turn and burrow my head on his chest but lay my hand on the side of his cheek. Feeling him. Inhaling him. Letting him hold me.

“I lied,” is all I say.

“I know,” is all he needs to.