Page 30 of Thirst
Brien circled behind his desk and dropped into his chair. “Yeah, her intel has been solid. But she had to give you something to gain your trust. How useful has that intel really been?”
“We couldn’t have taken down Fleur’s lair without it.”
“True—and yet, Lemaire wasn’t there that night. How do we know Nazaire didn’t tip him off? Maybe he wanted Fleur out of the picture. The three of them were splitting the profit for that blood-slave ring. Take Fleur out of the equation and suddenly he and Lemaire get a bigger cut—and Nazaire’s hands stay clean.”
I eyed him, jaw working. “Maybe you’re right. But whatever she did was because of Nazaire’s orders. He’s the one you want, not her.”
Brien made a sound—half grunt, half warning—that said I was only seeing the part I wanted to see. “What I’m wondering is just how deep your involvement with this woman goes.”
“About that…” I leaned against the door, deliberately loose, like I wasn’t dropping another bombshell. “I offered her sanctuary—here, on the island.”
“You did what?” His whole body went rigid. “Yeah, it sucks she was punished for letting us escape, but you only have her word for that. And?—”
“She turned me down flat,” I cut in. “Says she’s no blood-rat.”
“Yeah?” He blinked. “Well, good for her.”
“But the way I see it,” I continued, “she has a right to our protection. She’s stuck her neck out for us twice now. And Nazaire treats her like shit—locks her up, orders her around.” Doesn’t let her make her fucking art. “She’s treated more like a thrall than his?—”
“Daughter?” Brien finished helpfully.
I hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah.” I wasn’t breaking my promise; he’d obviously figured out my contact’s identity. “If she—Nyx—changes her mind, we owe it to her to take her in.”
“And give Nazaire the high ground? I can just picture how he’ll spin it.”
“You didn’t see how it was in Paris. Nazaire has always kept her on a tight leash, but now she doesn’t go anywhere without a bodyguard. And she seemed different—on edge. Afraid, even. She’s good at hiding it, but—” I swallowed. “We know Nazaire’s an abusive, controlling sonuvabitch. I just figured Nyx was an exception, that the fact that she was his own spawn means something to the man.”
I should’ve realized it before now. Should’ve recognized the signs.
The way she jumped to please him but was never good enough. The fact that she was rarely seen in public without Nazaire or one of his men nearby.
She couldn’t even claim her paintings as her own. She was a fucking world-class artist, and no one knew it. Why was that?
A sick feeling gathered in my gut.
I knew what it was like to be under someone’s thumb. To never be good enough. To swallow your tears because crying only makes it worse.
“Something doesn’t smell right,” I told Brien. “What if he’s starting to suspect she’s helping us? If he gets any proof, I’m not sure what he’ll do to her.” I blew out a breath. “You may as well know—I told her if she changed her mind, the offer was open.”
“Hades.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t have run it by me first?”
I frowned, silently cursing that promise I’d made Nyx not to out her as The Haunt. Brien owned three of her paintings—hell, he’d been one of her earliest supporters—and I couldn’t give him the one truth that might’ve tipped the scales in her favor.
“There wasn’t time. I had to make a decision then and there.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I have a bad feeling about this, Bri. Like time is running out for her. Nazaire isn’t stupid. He may know more than she thinks.”
“You’re not some damned white knight,” he said between his teeth. “The last thing I want is to hand that SOB a legitimate excuse to come after us. This way, when we finally take him down, Dussault can’t claim he didn’t bring it on himself. Let it go, Cain.”
“I have to,” I said. “Like I said, she turned me down.”
But if she came to me for sanctuary, all bets were off. I’d be damned before I’d let her twist in the wind.
She wasn’t the only one with honor.
Or that’s what I told myself. The truth was more complicated: that primitive thing in me couldn’t let this go. Couldn’t let her go.
Like I’d told her—we weren’t done.
“What about here on the island?” I retook my seat. “Everything okay?”
