The Butcher of the Bay 2 Read online

  I shrug. "You weren't born and raised here. Mounties are bred different, there's something in the water here."

  Roxas shrugs and grabs the list, rereading the whole thing to himself again. “So what’s the plan to get Alcatron? How the fuck are you going to find him now when you couldn’t before?”

  I smirk at him, gesturing to the bartender for another bottle because this one is done for. “I’m the Butcher of the Bay. There’s enough people out there who want to be on my good side for giving me the information I want and nothing will get them there faster than helping with this shit.”

  Harbin grimaces and raises his glass in a mock salute. “Well, let’s get them fucking dead then shall we, boys?”

  Chapter Ten

  Odie

  My body holds aches and twinges everywhere but I’ve never felt so happy, so at peace, as I do now.

  Johnny Illium is a sex god.

  I knew he was a man of war, a man who spills blood and wreaks vengeance, but I never thought he’d be able to toe the line between violence and pleasure like that. To be honest, I had never even thought such a thing existed.

  I had felt the pent up energy in him, the need for things that I can not offer him, so I pushed him to leave me for the night, even though I’m feeling a little unsure of how to feel about being here alone once more.

  Will I be scared? Jumping at any little noise?

  I don’t. I feel an easing in my chest the moment he begins to get ready to go out for the night, like having him here is a crutch that I don’t need. It’s not that I don’t love him, I do more than I’ve ever loved before, but the apartment is more to me than just his presence.

  It’s my solace, my quiet and safe space. My sunrises and the smell of my bread baking. It’s the text messages from mon Monstre while he’s out working to let me know he’s safe and thinking of me. It’s everything that is right in my world and there’s no way I can leave here. Not right now.

  My head still hurts if I try to turn the TV on or look at my phone. He tries to talk me into staying in bed while he is gone but frustration begins to climb up my spine at laying down for so long.

  So I go searching for my paints.

  I might be once again damaged by the things that have been done to me but I'm not broken. I'm not that hollow shell of a girl I was the first time I arrived at the apartment. I get to watch the sunset out of the large window again before Illi goes out for the night. I sit on the small rug with a cup of coffee clutched in my hands and right before he leaves mon Monstre joins me, sitting behind me and pulling me back so I'm tucked up on his chest.

  "I'm okay, mon Monstre. I'm alive and I'm happy.” I murmur, and he grunts under his breath at me.

  "Baby girl, you're the strongest woman I've ever met. I've never been prouder than when I saw what you did to that rapist cunt. I'm not worried about your mind, I'm worried about your concussion. I can't have you in pain, baby. I start thinking about bleeding the whole fucking Bay dry for you when I see you wincing. I shouldn’t have been so rough with you but I can’t fucking regret it.“

  I chuckle, softly so I don't do exactly that. "I'm going to paint today. I'm going to spend the entire night here doing what I love while you work. Nothing would make me happier than having you last night and then spending my day doing this."

  His chest rumbles, the noise entirely satisfied, and he kisses my shoulder. "Take the day, baby girl. Take as long as you need to rest up. Paint me something."

  When he finally leaves, his leather jacket tucked over his weapons but in no way hiding them from the world, I finish my cup as the sky finally changes from the beautiful pinks and oranges and into the inky darkness of the night.

  I could paint that for him.

  I could paint our reunion sky, the one that means so much to us both, but that feels... futile. Silly, and unproductive.

  I know what I should paint, I know what would help us both the most, but can I be brave enough to do it? Could I paint the faces ingrained into my soul, give them life again on my canvas? Would bleeding myself out in the oils help rid myself of their stain or would I send myself spiraling, down so deep even mon Monstre couldn't find me?

  I'm brave now.

  I'm not broken and I won't be frightened by the memories of men who are already dead, their foreheads marked with targets they cannot see but must know somewhere in their souls that the Butcher is coming for them.

  I find the biggest canvas in my supplies. I'd planned for it to be a portrait of mon Monstre and myself, something to hang in our bedroom as a testament to us but this feels important. I cannot be the smiling beauty on the arm of her man with this stain. I must purge it from me and be done with that part of my life.

  Their deaths might be the last act Illi needs but me? I need to paint it out.

  I may burn this canvas when I'm done.

  I start to squeeze out oils onto my palette, mixing and fussing with them until the colors are right. I don't know if I take hours or minutes but it feels as though I'm putting it off. Playing with this instead of the real work that needs to be done.

  Finally, I grab a pencil and start to sketch the outlines out. I start on Javier, one of Alcatron’s men. He'd visited me only twice, both times bragging that he'd won me in a bet. He'd been rough with me, pinching and slapping, but he was the least painful and the least sadistic of the men.

  Once the outlines are good enough I take a break, drinking some water with shaking hands. I check the clock and my phone but there’s still hours until mon Monstre is due home. I could continue with it. I eat a little bit of bread and cheese, staring at the pencil lines like maybe they will fill in and the man himself will step out of the painting. Can I handle the oils being added? Am I strong enough?

  Maybe I’m not, but I want to be.

  I step back up to the canvas with a deep breath and dip my brush into the first color. I stare at it for too long but as soon as I lift it, it’s as though my inner switches off and the memory takes over me. I’m not scared but I feel possessed.

  I add the paint, layer after layer. Building the textures and the colors until the man staring back at me could jump off of the canvas and attack me all over again with how perfect the likeness is. I try not to think about him, to just paint what I see in my mind but it's impossible. I have to think about every single touch, every insult, every degradation. I have to think of it all to get him out and on the canvas.

  I don't notice the passing of time. It's only when I'm finished and look away from my work, blinking owlishly and attempting to remember where I am, that I find Illi on the couch watching me.

  He's already showered for the night, the sweatpants low on his hips and the tattoos on his chest splayed out proudly even as he scowls over at me. No, not at me. At my work.

  "Is that Alcatron?" He says, his voice dark and laced with violence.

  I shake my head. "It's Javier. One of the other men."

  He nods and rubs his chin, the frown still deep over his eyes. "Can you tell me about him? Tell me everything the painting doesn't. I need to know exactly what he was responsible for."

  I wipe my hands off on the cleaning rag and then join him on the couch. "I can talk about it. Are you sure you want to hear it though?"

  His jaw tightens and he gives me a curt nod. "I need to know he's dying the way his crimes deserve him to."

  I take his hand gently in mine, threading our fingers together and rubbing the scars on his knuckle with my thumb.

  Then I take a deep breath and tell him everything.

  Every last second of my time with Alcatron.

  When I’m done he kisses me deep and possessively, carrying me to bed even though I’m covered in paints. He doesn’t care about the mess, only that I’m here with him and pouring my trauma out for him to bear witness to.

  I wake the next morning lighter.

  Like purging him from my soul actually lessened the load he was weighing me down with. The smile on my lips is a relief. I’m not broken, I�
�m not what they did to me. I can heal and I can love again. I can paint out the horror and tell everything to that man who loves me and nothing about our relationship is broken by it. I can make love and take every inch of pleasure and pain from my beloved and enjoy it fully.

  I might not be whole, but someday I might be.

  My sleep is still not back to being fully restful, the demons still coming out to play with me at night. Mon Monstre is far too attuned to me, so there’s no chance of me sneaking out of bed to leave him alone to rest by himself. Instead he holds me, tells me stories of his life before we met and his plans for our future together.

  After a week of these early wake ups, I decide to do something about it.

  I can’t take some sort of medication, something to take the edge off, because of my concussion but I can get up and do something productive.

  I slip out of the bed the moment my eyes open and I have a shower, washing my hair and brushing my teeth until I’m as clean and presentable as I can possibly manage without makeup, a hairdryer, or clothes that aren’t sweatpants and sweatshirts.

  When I leave the bathroom, Illi is sitting up in the bed with his phone. He has that frown on his face that means he’s doing work, negotiating with someone over a job or checking for any new information. I don’t know how much work he’s doing that isn’t the list he’s made for me and my vengeance. I don’t ask him these things, I only listen when he has things he needs to talk about. It doesn’t feel like the way my parents had interacted, or the way Louis kept secrets from me during our secret trysts. I know if I ever wanted to know something about his life or his work, he’d tell me. No matter what it was, he’d tell me. Our bond is unbreakable, full or respect and trust, and most of all I know that his love for me would move mountains. My love for him would do the same.

  There’s some things I just don’t need to know.

  He doesn’t want to put anything else on my plate and I want all of my focus on my recovery. I want to be whole and well for him. I want him to wake up every morning and to be in love with the woman I am.

  He loved me at my worst and most broken.

  I want to give him my best.

  He glances over at where I’m paused in the doorway of the bathroom and his lips quirk upwards. “What’s going on in that brain of yours, baby girl? It’s early to be up and ready for painting, isn’t it?”

  I smile and tug at the sweatshirt, plucking it away from my body. “I think I need women's clothing. I need to feel normal again. Do you think we could go try some on today? If you’re not busy.“

  Mon Monstre nods and climbs out of the bed, walking over to cup my face in his hands and kissing me gently. “I’m never too busy for you, baby girl. You know that. Lemme grab a shower and then we can head out.”

  I smile sweetly at him, and then kiss him once more gently. Half an hour later I have breakfast cooked while he pours me a coffee, taking it over to the table and setting us up to eat together. Once I have the eggs piled onto the toast he takes both of the plates to carry them over for me.

  The care he shows for me is exquisite, all of the little things he does that together with his fierce, brutal protectiveness makes him the perfect man for me.

  When we finally make it out of the house he keeps my hand tucked in his, guiding me carefully out to the BMW and helping me in like a gentleman. Once he’s in the driver’s seat and the car is out of the road he takes my hand again. I rub his hand with my thumb, tracing over the tattoos he has there.

  I need to paint him again.

  The moment I’ve finished the others, the ones that are pouring out of me like a wave of poison being expelled from my soul, I’m painting mon Monstre again.

  His voice startles me out of my painting plans. “You better be thinking about me with that dreamy look in your eyes, baby girl.”

  When I glance over at him he’s grinning at me, a little lopsided and a whole lot of self-satisfaction. “Always, mon Monstre. I’m always thinking of you. I think I’m going to fill the apartment with paintings of you and all of your tattoos.”

  He pulls a face and I laugh at him. “Baby girl, that sounds like a nightmare. My ugly mug everywhere, I’ll be walking around with my eyes shut.”

  I frown at him, reaching out to stroke his face with my hand. “I know nightmares well. This face is not one of them and you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. I can’t help but want to paint you.”

  He shrugs and turns the car down another road until we’re in the downtown area of the Bay. It’s busy, even this late in the afternoon.

  “Paint some of us together. If I’m going to be covering the walls, you better be too.”

  It’s my turn to pull a face. There’s no way I want to paint myself, not at all and he chuckles under his breath at me, saying “See? Not so fun, is it? Besides, you’re the beautiful one. If anyone is going up there it’s you, baby girl.”

  He parks and gets out before I can argue with him. There’s no point even trying but I think he underestimates how much I adore looking at him. That the idea of covering the walls with his likeness is my idea of perfection.

  He opens the door for me and then tucks me into his side as we walk. I have no idea of what fashion is like here in the States and none of the clothing stores we pass look familiar at all. Not that I did a whole lot of shopping back home but I would walk through every new town my father moved us to and look through the windows with longing.

  I always wanted to fit in and feel normal, whatever that is.

  “Let’s try this one, baby girl. I want to see you in that dress.” Illi points one out and the white dress in the front is very beautiful. It has a red sash around the waist that would look beautiful with a red lipstick.

  There are many clothes in the store I would like. Too many, I hesitate to grab anything because it’s all too much money. I didn’t put up too much of a fight about the art supplies because painting and drawing is a part of my soul but to spend this kind of money on clothes?

  Mon Monstre looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman on Earth while I stand in front of my easel in his sweatpants and covered in paint.

  What’s the point of beautiful, expensive clothing?

  “If you don’t start grabbing things you like, I’ll do it for you and you might not like what I pick out. There’s lingerie in here too but I’ve got that under control.”

  I look up to find Illi with a basket already overflowing with lace. I sigh and shrug. “Where would I wear jeans? Where would I ever need to go?”

  He grabs the pair from my hands and tucks them into the basket. “Baby, you can go where the fuck you wanna go. Don’t think about it so hard, just pick what you like and we’ll figure out the rest later.”

  I insist on trying them on first and I grab a few other items to try along with them.

  The jeans feel weird.

  I can't actually remember the last time I'd worn a pair. Definitely back in France but even then my father had hated them, telling me no self respecting woman would wear them. I'd found a pair at a small market, second hand and fitting me like a glove, and I'd hidden them from him. Louis had told me I looked beautiful in them, the curves of my ass an inviting sight for such a man.

  I buy them.

  I buy dozens of shirts and skirts, some sweaters and a good winter coat. I'm not sure the Bay ever really gets cold but the lines of the coat suit my shape and I feel good in it.

  Mon Monstre hands over cash to the girl at the store, her hands shaking just a little as she takes it from him. I think she would rather throw herself into oncoming traffic than take money from the infamous Butcher.

  He smirks at her as he tucks me under his arm, kissing the top of my head as though we are a normal couple, loved up and out on a date, and I wrap an arm around his waist.

  Chapter Eleven

  Illi

  I put the word out that I need information on the Alcatron and Mecedo cartels. I know that someone somewhere will hear something and
it’ll get back to me. The prices I set for the information are fucking high, enough to feed a family for years, and everyone knows I’m good for it.

  The only problem is it means I have to hang around in my usual haunts until someone comes forward.

  I have no real interest in going to the Dive and fighting but everyone knows I’m usually there on a Friday night, always in the cage destroying some new comer, so I text Harbin and Roxas to tell them to meet me there and I leave my girl with a plate of breakfast and a new canvas to work on.

  I can’t look at her current paintings without needing to kill someone. I need their blood on my hands and my chest, spattering over me as I rip their hearts out with my bare hands.

  Soon.

  My girl kisses me long and sweet when I leave, her tongue dancing against mine and tempting me to just say ‘fuck it’ and spend the whole night with her silky thighs wrapped around me. Fuck, I can’t but I’m addicted to the feel of her, the taste of her on my tongue as she comes and gushes all over me, the vise-like grip of her pussy on my cock as I pump my come deep into her.

  I need to get my mind on my night, and out of the pleasures her body gives me.

  The night is clear and cool as I drive over to the Dive, the Mustang purring to perfection underneath me. The parking lot is packed, a busy night ahead and even though my jaw clenches at the prospect, I remind myself that more people means more chances for the information I need.

  The entire place definitely shows signs of the explosion that took place here thanks to the Demons.

  The walls have been fixed with old planks of wood and sheets of rusted metal, making the place look even fucking worse. There's still scorch marks everywhere, on the floor and the bar, but the place is packed anyway, no one in the Bay really gives a fuck about a little bit of bomb fallout.

  I shoulder my way through the crowd, ignoring the shouts and jeers once the regulars see me coming. I'm not here to fight tonight, not for the usual reasons. I have shit to get done, a list to check off and hearts to collect for my girl.