PART 1: VINCENT – Chapter 16

CONTAINS CONTENT:

Mild innuendos.

Austin thanked her for the coffee and left shortly afterward, no funny business. Marielle went to her bathroom and briefly considered checking for cameras. After a glance around the room, she chuckled. He wouldn’t do that. No way. He was desperate and obvious, but sick in that way wasn’t in the profile.

She sank into a piping hot bubble bath with a glass of red wine and tried her hardest to let the events of the last few days go. However, try as she might, she simply could not. The savage look in Vincent’s eyes as he had thrown her to the mattress and held the golden pistol to her forehead kept repeating over and over again, making her restless and fitful. For a moment, she wished Austin would come back, just to be with her and keep her head straight.

Right, she thought sardonically, like Austin would keep my head straight.

As the water slowly grew tepid, she held both men in her hands in her mind’s eye. This wasn’t a contest—she had no interest in whatever Austin was trying to get her to do. From what he’d said and shown her, he wanted her body and nothing else.

She held Vincent out on a golden platter in her mind’s eye, and he looked up at her as she briefly dangled him like a marionette. She didn’t know what he wanted, and her last interaction with him had left her shaken to say the least.

She slid deeper into the water and rested there for a few moments before drying off and going to bed. It was early, but sleep found her quickly, and she welcomed it. The last twenty-four hours had felt like a nightmare, one that just wouldn’t end even though Hazal was no longer nearby.

In her dreams, Austin and Vincent tried to kill each other, and each time one gained the upper hand, the other broke free. Then it started all over again. 

Marielle fought in her sleep, kicking, tossing, and turning. “No,” she whispered. “No…” 

Vincent had Austin down, and was going to slit his throat. Then Austin rolled and managed to pin the other man, and with a sardonic grin, he brought the knife in his hand down on Vincent’s chest.

Despite the dreams, Marielle woke up, remembering she was supposed to make Austin soufflé sometime soon. Today? She called Valorant to make sure he was there—although she had no idea why he wouldn’t be—and confirmed with Tala that he was.

Halfway in a haze, she brushed her teeth, noting that her hair was getting too long—she’d need to cut it soon. She quickly braided it and dabbed a little makeup on before slipping into some jeans and a plain white T-shirt. She couldn’t believe she’d slept most of the day and the entire night. It must have been the emotional drain of the memories.

Then she went to Valorant, towing her bag full of enough ingredients to make soufflés. Thanks for the money, Vincent, she thought. She could easily cover the cost of these expensive little morsels.

Once there, she noted an appointment with Tayane later, and went to the kitchen to unload everything into the fridge. 

“Oh my gosh! Like, whoa… Are you cooking today?” Mateo said from behind her, his voice full of excitement.

She turned to him. Wingman was hanging on his shoulder, staring at her. “Hey. Yeah, I thought I would. There isn’t enough for everyone to have one, but we can cut them in half or something.”

“Nah, man. If you’re cooking, I’ll be stealing one all for myself.”

She chuckled, looking over the things left in the fridge with a fingertip to her chin. “Actually, there are some extra eggs here, plus a few other things… I might be able to make extra.”

“Please do,” Mateo said. Wingman garbled something, and Mateo nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.” He looked at Marielle. “Sorry, you wouldn’t understand.”

She waved him away with her hand. 

Austin wandered in, talking into an earpiece. “Uh-huh… Yeah, I said I’d take care of it… Well, you’re going to have to give me some time to figure that all out. Yeah, there are papers on my desk… Hold on.” He turned to Marielle and smiled. “Are you going to make me food?”

She smiled back. “Yeah, I didn’t forget.”

“We’ll talk later.” He gave her forearm a light touch, then went right back to the phone call. “I’ll sign off on all of it… I promise, it is what it looks like.” He got a bottle of water from the fridge, and then left.

Deciding to make the food a little later, Marielle headed down the hall to the elevator. Vincent was strong on her mind—she wanted to see him and understand him, not to mention asking him about what had happened yesterday. She was beginning to feel like she’d hurt him by running out. No, she knew she had. He was resilient, so he was probably fine, but that didn’t mean she felt okay about the entire thing. It was unclear how one was supposed to react in a situation like that, but certainly running out was not on the list of appropriate responses.

On the way to the elevator, she saw Barbara, Liam, and Sabine in the hall. “Well, he was right. Last known location: Bergen,” Liam was saying, lifting a paper above eye level and staring at the writing on it.

“What’s going on?” Marielle broke into the conversation.

“We did a search. Vincent was right. Chamber—his double—he’s around. Last known location was Bergen, but there was a sighting in Phoenix yesterday.” Liam lowered the photo and handed it to Marielle. 

“Arizona?” She looked it over. She wasn’t sure what she had expected to see, but the sight of a blurry Vincent surprised her. It was definitely him; he was even wearing the same suit.

“Yes,” Sabine replied.

“He’s nearby, then,” Marielle noted. “Do you think he’s making his way here?” 

“Who knows,” Liam growled.

“We are trying to track him down, keep tabs on him for now. He’s killed members of world governments before, Ms. Chaenes,” Barbara said, straightening her back. “Or at least, we suspect that he has.”

“We, huh? Hmm…” Marielle replied.

“Where were you off to?” Sabine asked.

Marielle turned to her, a bit shocked that she was asking a question that sounded genuine instead of dishing out a snarky, sarcastic, or venomous comment. “Oh, uh… Is he still in Room Ten?”

“As far as we know, hasn’t moved,” Liam replied.

“You do know that keeping him in there is silly, right? He can get out whenever he wants,” Marielle reminded them.

“I want to hear the rest of what he has to say, Ms. Chaenes,” Barbara explained. “Before I allow you to make any specific moves with him.”

Austin butted his way into the conversation from behind. “Hey,” he said to Marielle, then took his place among them, hands on his hips. 

“They spotted Chamber,” Marielle offered.

Austin swallowed. “In Arizona?”

“How’d you know?”

“That’s the part I heard,” he explained, thumbing over his shoulder to remind her that he had just been walking up.

She nodded. “I’m going to go talk to him, then I’m going to come back down here later and cook for everyone.”

Liam smiled at her warmly. Sabine looked a little less filled with hate than she normally did at the mention of her cooking. Marielle could only imagine that she missed it sometimes. There had been many family gatherings where Marielle had brought food for Morgan, Sabine, and Peter, and John and Arianna had often shown up as well. One year, Marielle had made Christmas dinner for all of them.

“Can I go see him?” Marielle pressed, looking from Barbara to Liam.

“You can. Efia is guarding the room, just so you know. She might be in one of her… states,” Liam cautioned.

Marielle bobbed her head and went to the elevator, leaving the others to talk. She took deep breaths the whole way up. When she reached Room Ten, she wasn’t surprised to find Efia floating above the ground in front of Vincent’s door, her legs crossed and head covered, appearing asleep.

Marielle knew not to disturb her, so she stood quietly in front of her until Efia realized she was there and opened her eyes. “I’m here to see him.”

Efia merely bowed her head once, motioning her in.

Marielle cleared her throat and knocked on the door. “Vincent?” she asked gently. 

She heard water running in the sink. It stopped, and moments later the door opened. Vincent stood there in his pants and shirt, which he was still in the process of buttoning. His hair was wet, and the smallest bit of white on his chin indicated that he’d been shaving. 

She smiled apologetically at him and leaned her head on the doorframe. “Hi.” 

He didn’t reply as he fastened the last few buttons up to his collarbone. The smell of aftershave and soap tickled her nostrils. He smelled so good. 

“May I come in?” 

He stood aside, gesturing with his hand, and she entered as he buttoned his left cuff. His tattoos shone. 

“You’re awfully quiet… It scares me,” she admitted, looking back over her shoulder to see his reaction.

He continued his buttoning on the other arm, then rolled both sleeves up to their usual spot and ran his fingers through his hair a few times so it stayed back from his face. It failed, and the tiniest tangle fell over his brow, making her attraction to him stronger. 

“It scares you?” he asked, putting his hands loosely into his pockets. She nodded. He shrugged both shoulders a bit. “Do I frighten you, Marielle?”

She swallowed and looked down between them as she turned to eye the bed. There was a clear dent in the fabric near where his head had been. He’d punched the mattress again, and she couldn’t help but wondering if this time it had had something to do with her flightiness yesterday. No… no, it was surely due to his nightmares and his wife. But what if…?

She sat down on the bed, his eyes following her every movement. “Yes?” she replied again, wanting to gauge his response.

Vincent was cool as ever, still and calm. He went to the desk and picked up his stud earrings, which he proceeded to put in. Everything he did was slow, measured. It made her nervous. Then he stood gazing at her, hands in his pockets again. 

“Ask me anything,” he said as he picked up his glasses, which had been sitting next to the studs, and put them on.

“We do this thing in training… Twenty-five—”

“Twenty-five questions. Twenty truths, five lies. I know,” he said with the ghost of a smile, and he sat in the same chair that she had the day before, facing her. He crossed his legs and leaned his temple onto his fingertips. Goodness, he was handsome. “Do you want to play that game, Marielle?”

She momentarily bit her bottom lip. His eyes flicked to that small motion, then back up. “I guess… I’m just trying to figure you out.”

“You don’t need to try. Just ask.”

She nodded, and took in a jerky breath as she backed up on the bed so she could lean against the wall and stretch her legs out. She couldn’t believe how unsteady she felt just because he was watching her. 

“Your tattoos.” He glanced down at the ones on his arms. “You said you did those to yourself? Tell me about it.”

He took a deep breath. “Ten years ago… I was nineteen. I had taken a job in the Philippines, and while I was there, I finally came across someone who bested me.” He rolled up his left sleeve a little farther, showing her a small scar just above the bend of his elbow: a bullet wound. “I survived, but realized that losing a gun was one of my biggest liabilities. So I made sure I always had a few, and a way to slow down prey.” He smirked. “Once the technology is implanted, it can never be removed.”

She played a little with her hair. “So this is you. You’re always going to be… Mr. Gold.”

“Oui.”

She licked her lips again. “How do you have so much money?”

“Murder.” 

The simple answer made her throat go dry. She paused for a few moments, thinking. “How much money do you actually have?” she asked with a dry smile.

“Several million.” She swallowed hard and looked down. “Don’t let that frighten you, Marielle.” 

“I’m not frightened, it’s just—”

“Overwhelming,” he finished for her. “I know.”

She nodded her agreement. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Black.”

This made her mouth tingle a little, but she wasn’t sure why. Maybe it wanted a kiss? Her hair was black. She combed the end of it out for a moment. “Are you really here to help us?”

He paused for a moment, as if trying to think of the correct words. “I’m here to help,” he assured her.

She wasn’t sure what to make of that response. He’d obviously omitted the “us” part. “Tell me something personal about you.”

Vincent took in a deep breath, his chest rising and falling steadily. No other part of his body language changed. He remained with his temple against his fingertips. “How personal?”

She looked down into her empty hands for a moment. “What was your wedding like?”

He paused thoughtfully, his gaze dark and steady. “Catholic church,” he began, “evening candlelight. She wore white. Pearl buttons down her back. She carried black roses with gold-painted leaves and a single pearl that hung around her neck.” A distant look crossed his eyes. “It was a signal to me. When we first started dating, we often had a hard time getting away alone, so I gave her the necklace and told her to wear it if she wanted to make love.” A soft smile. “She never took it off.” 

Marielle’s cheeks reddened and she looked away, an embarrassed smile spreading across her face.

“Her hair was… big curls falling over her shoulders. Her chest rose and fell as she met me at the front of the church, but her face glowed with… perfection. 

“At the reception, we ate braised duck with a tart cherry sauce.” Marielle smiled. It was a classic dish that she liked, too. “Someone bought us a toaster, and we thought that was funny and laughed about it all night. I don’t remember why, just that we did.” 

He spoke quickly at times and slowly at others, as though savoring the memories on his tongue as he formed the words. “I took her to Turin for our honeymoon. I made her wait until we got there and got settled to touch her again. It drove her mad… and she loved every moment of it.”

Again, Marielle’s cheeks reddened. “Yeah,” she said, tucking her lip in for a moment, “that’s pretty personal.”

He smiled. “Good enough?”

She waited a beat. “What was her name?” He closed his eyes, tears obviously forming. She wanted to draw the words back into her mouth. “Okay, we can try that one again another time.”

“Merci,” he breathed, opening his eyes again… and she was struck for the first time in her life at how much the French word sounded like “mercy” in English. Mercy, please, Marielle. Don’t make me say her name.

A brief pause. “What’s your biggest fear?”

He thought for a moment. “I have none anymore. They’ve all come to pass.”

She knew this. His fear was losing his wife. Marielle took a sad, aching breath and let it out. “What did you dream of being when you grew up?”

A pensive smile. “A racecar driver.”

She grinned at that answer, trying to imagine a little Vincent behind the wheel of a plastic red car, vrooming around the street or his living room. “Do you like surprises?”

“Oui.”

“Besides French… What’s your favorite type of food?”

He looked momentarily confused. It might have been a language barrier issue, she wasn’t sure. “Cuisine?”

“Yeah.”

“Italian.” He swallowed as though salivating a little. “Marinated zucchini with hazelnuts and ricotta.”

She beamed. That sounded good. “When did you learn that Santa Claus wasn’t real?”

“Père Noël en francais… J’avais cinq ans.”

She smiled at the way he dipped right back into French, loving the way he spoke it. His voice was naturally deep and husky, and it drove her mad to hear him speak. “What makes you feel sexy?”

He never moved, nor did his expression change. “Right now? You.”

Her entire body collapsed in on itself internally. “Vincent…” She bit her lip, daring the question she’d been holding back. “Are we… dating in the other dimension?”

He smirked, but softly. “No, we are not currently dating.”

“Currently…? Like… is there a plan to?” she asked. He went silent, and the look on his face indicated he was enjoying watching her try not to squirm. “Okay, keep your secrets.” Her eyes widened as a more bizarre thought came to her mind. “Am I with Austin?”

Vincent shook his head. “No, you are not with Austin.”

“Poor Austin,” she snickered.

He grew serious again. “Oui.” He brushed his lips with the pads of his index and middle fingers. Did his lips want a kiss from her as much as hers wanted a kiss from him?

“What’s the craziest thing your wife ever dared you to do?”

He beamed, a look of embarrassment coming over his expression. “We were in Morrin… The clock had just struck midnight. She dared me to go out into the middle of the street, take off all of my clothes, and run back to her.”

Marielle’s eyes widened. “Did you do it?”

His mouth curled up with delight and embarrassment. “Oui.”

Both of them chuckled. “Which of your five senses do you enjoy the most?”

He took a deep breath as if this was a difficult one to answer. He seemed to reach an initial response, but thought about it a moment and changed his mind, then possibly changed it a second time. “Sight.”

“What were the two runners-up?”

“Sound.” He smirked in a way she was certain he meant to be subtly salacious. “And taste.”

Again, she tried her best not to squirm. She forced herself to change topics. “If you came with a warning label, what would it say?” 

“Don’t trust me.”

She evaded his gaze. This answer both terrified and excited her. Don’t trust him to do what? When she had explored him with her mind that first night, the thing that had made the most sense to her was that there had been times when he’d tricked people that he planned to kill into trusting him, which made sense and made her feel cold and uncertain.

She rolled her head back to him. “Who do you trust?” He’d already answered this in the courtyard a few days ago, but she wanted to see if his answer had stayed the same.

“Myself.”

She wondered if he heard the pounding of her heart. “What occupies most of your thoughts?”

“Right now?” Vincent paused, exhaling, and his palm found its way over his mouth as if he were trying to cover his answer. “You.” He still didn’t break eye contact with her.

She felt herself go rigid, and knew her body language was displaying obvious signs of how his words affected her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to hold it together and force her heartrate to slow. “If you had to compare yourself to an animal… what would it be?”

His eyes made a half-circle upwards. “Renard.” He shook his head, realizing he had used the French word. “Eh… fox.” That made total sense: sly, handsome, sneaky… deadly.

“Who knows you the best?” She figured she knew his answer but wanted to hear it anyway.

“My wife did.”

This hurt her chest. She paused briefly. “How many languages do you speak?”

He was obviously counting. “Four. English, French, Russian, and German.” 

“Have you ever been captured and tortured?” She tried to hide an embarrassed smile as she realized that was a stupid question. “I mean, besides here.”

He was silent as if remembering. “Oui.”

Her heart hurt for him. Then another morbid question crossed her mind. “Have you ever captured and tortured someone?”

He swallowed hard. “Oui.”

Her heart pounded again. He was torturing her now. “Is there anything you would change about yourself if you could?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t exactly like the shape of my nose,” he admitted, and it was the first time he’d seemed bashful since she’d known him.

“How old are you?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. She was shocked she hadn’t thought to ask this earlier.

A soft smile came and left quickly. “Twenty-nine.”

Marielle paused for a moment, assessing everything he’d said and feeling her skin grow hot when she thought over his earlier answer. “Right now? You.”

She eventually forced a fake smile at him. “I didn’t detect any lies.”

He finally shifted a little. “Because I didn’t lie to you, Marielle. I didn’t want to.” 

She fought squirming again. “Do you want to ask me anything?”

He shook his head. “I know you pretty well.”

“Oh, you do?” she asked flirtatiously.

He smiled softly. “Oui.” There was a pause in their conversation. “Marielle?” 

She looked at him, her eyes trying to hide the anticipation of what he might say next, and he straightened a little in his chair. 

“I am so sorry about yesterday. That was a trained response. It’s saved my life once or twice. If I had known you were approaching me, I would have responded differently.”

She swallowed. Dare she ask the question on her mind? Was he trying to make her ask these questions? “How would you have responded?” she whispered.

He slid off the chair and onto his knees, which she hadn’t expected at all. For a moment, her first instinct was actually to run. He inched to the bed and leaned on it. “I would have asked if you wanted to be held, Marielle,” he whispered back. She went numb, her heart pounding. “Or at least, if you wanted to lay with me.”

She was pretty sure she was melting. It was hot, yes… She kept wondering where that damn AC was that supposedly kept this building cooled down. She couldn’t feel her limbs, and yet she felt everything all at once, right down to the ends of her hair. Even the tips of her fingers and toes ached, and she was having a difficult time taking slow, steady breaths. Then he made it worse. 

“Would you like to lay with me now, Marielle?” he asked.

And almost without hesitation, both lay on the mattress facing each other, leaving just enough “space for Jesus,” as her mother used to tease. Marielle forced herself to swallow, and it felt like sand going down. 

“Is this the part where you get me to trust you, and then slit my throat when I least expect it?” she asked in a shaky whisper. 

He shook his head and reached over, closing some of the gap between them as he lifted his right hand and tucked her hair behind her ear. As he drew his hand away from her face, his fingers skimmed to the ends of her hair, where he pinched some of it between them and played with it. He never stopped. “This is how last night would have gone. Je me serais contenté de te regarder.”

She glanced down, but his eyes remained trained on her face. “Tu me regardes maintenant.”

“Oui,” he breathed. “C’est mon intention.”

She was fully aware of how hard she was breathing and how much her chest was moving up and down, but his eyes remained fixed upon her face. His fingertips still pinched and rubbed the ends of her hair. He wasn’t even touching her specifically, but she was in a hazy, dreamlike state which she knew could easily slip into—

Someone knocked on the door. Reluctantly, Vincent stood, straightened his tie, and went to answer it.

Marielle jumped into the chair and seated herself as professionally as she could, knowing that after what had just occurred, every expression she tried on would be awkward. 

Vincent opened the door, one hand behind his back. 

It was Liam. “We want the rest, soldier.”

Vincent gave him a nod.