Chapter Eighteen

T he square around the Barrière d'Enfer was pitch black under the cloudy night sky, but Nicolas's footsteps remained steady and determined as he crossed toward the entrance to the catacombs.

As a member of the same gang as Lenoir and Estienne, he'd been down there many times. The catacombs had once been quarries and had lain abandoned for years, a boon for smugglers, a discreet way to travel from one neighborhood to another undetected—if you knew your way around the sprawling maze of galleries carved in the stone. And if you didn't, you'd be lost forever in the dark.

The place had always fascinated Estienne. He'd wanted to turn the left bank's network of tunnels into his empire, and in a sense he had. His headquarters lay above an opening to the north, and he controlled the southernmost entrance at the Barrière d'Enfer, as well.

Which was why he wanted Nicolas here. Once inside the catacombs, it was much harder to get out.

Two thugs waited by the entrance. They uncovered their lantern to look Nicolas over.

"Nicolas Lefevre," he said. "Your master's waiting for me."

One of them spit out a wad of tobacco and put his hand to the pistol stuck in his belt. "Spread your arms."

Nicolas retrieved his knife from his pocket and handed it over. "Here, I'll save you the trouble."

"Still have to do it. A man can have more than one knife."

Nicolas extended his arms, and the man patted him down. He wasn't surprised, or distressed, or worried. Nothing . Nothing left in his mind but intense, moment-by-moment concentration on the job at hand.

"Come on."

The man took the lantern and led him down stone steps. They made their way through a winding, torch-lit gallery, past a cove where other men were opening crates and examining their contents. They continued between the piles of bones lining the walls.

None of it scared Nicolas. A skull was far less shocking than a severed head, and bones were just bones. The dead didn't kill or injure or rape. Only the living could.

The man stopped and nodded him forward. "Through here."

Nicolas entered a large room. A surge of nausea ripped through his stomach. Before him, stood his worst nightmare come to life.

Estienne held Violette against him, one arm wrapped around her waist. Her wrists were tied. He held a long, thin blade at his side. Grinning like a ghoul.

The same way he'd held Laurine. The same knife. Dragging Nicolas back to that night a decade ago, in a ramshackle room in one of the tenements of Palais Royal. He'd tried to defend Laurine, tried to convince Lenoir he shouldn't, couldn't let Estienne have her just because he was the leader of their gang. Lenoir was supposed to protect his girl, not hand her over in an absurd display of loyalty.

Have mercy, I beg of you. Please, Jacques… Nicolas… Don't let him do this…

He'd challenged Estienne to a fight. And Estienne had beaten him bloody before ordering the other boys to tie him up.

Nicolas froze. Then Violette's gaze met his—pale as frost, brimming with fear, but something else shone there as well. Something soft and deep that reached inside his chest and wrenched at his heart.

Emotion came rushing back to him like a tidal wave. Horror and rage and disgust. And a fierce, furious love for the woman standing a few meters from him, so strong that it ignited the darkness within to a blazing inferno.

It pulled him back to the present. He wasn't the helpless boy he'd been in that room, bruised and bound and forced to watch as the Boneman raped Laurine again and again. He was stronger, and he burned with more than the simple need for justice and vengeance.

Violette had done this to him. Mended the gaping wound he'd tried to ignore for years, and made him complete.

She had to live. This was the only thing that mattered. She had to live.

Energy jolted through his body with the need to smash and tear and crush. No matter if that whoreson was armed. No matter if he himself would die. He would take Estienne down with him, and Violette would be free.

"So kind of you to accept my invitation," Estienne said. "How long has it been, Lefevre?"

He lifted his chin and crossed his arms. "Not long enough. And it'll be a very short reunion."

"Why, you're hurting my feelings, old friend."

Estienne raised the blade to Violette's jugular. Every hair on Nicolas's body stood on end, his nerves on alert. He won't kill her now. He's using her as bait. He needs something from you.

"I thought you might want to reminisce. Talk about the good times we had when we were boys."

He shook his head. "Haven't you heard, Marcel? This is a new century. The past is over and done with. Soon no one will remember your misdeeds or even your name. You'll be nothing more than another pile of bones."

Estienne's smile vanished, and his gaze hardened. Cold, black, ruthless. He pressed the blade harder, drawing a pearl of blood, and Violette's mouth parted in a whimper.

For a fleeting moment, Nicolas locked eyes with her. I'm here. We'll find a way.

"You should do well to remember the past, old friend. You forgot the lesson I taught you last time we met and look where you are now." Estienne sighed. "I shall simply have to teach you again."

Nicolas's limbs shook with contained fury. Not now. Wait . Think .

"It seems using Lenoir's girl wasn't effective in teaching you your place," he added. "Perhaps if I get between this little bitch's legs, you'll finally learn to heel."

Violette squeezed her eyes shut. "Please don't hurt me," she nearly sobbed. "I'll do whatever you want."

"There now, I just want to have a bit of fun, that's all. And make sure Lefevre can behave himself. You're like a pretty little leash for my new dog."

A strangled cry emerged from her throat, and she slumped against Estienne, as if losing consciousness. Estienne snickered with glee.

" Aristo girls. Doesn't take much to make them swoon, does it? Bah, a few weeks in a brothel, and she'll—"

A violent jerk of her head and Violette's skull met Estienne's nose with a loud crack. His words died on a yowl, and his hold on her slackened. She rolled to the ground.

Nicolas launched himself at Estienne. "Stay back!" he shouted to Violette, who scrambled away as she best she could with her hands tied.

Estienne clamped his hand over his nose, blood gushing between his fingers, but his gaze immediately focused on Nicolas. He whipped his blade in front of him and released his nose to reveal the bottom half of his face slick and red.

"I'll gut you like a fucking pig." He slashed his blade again. "I'll gouge your fucking eyes out and shove them down that whore's throat."

Devil take it, he was fast. Faster than Nicolas remembered. And the length of his arms increased his reach. Nicolas couldn't even get close enough for a proper kick without risking a cut to the chest.

Slash .

Nicolas stepped back, again, again. Losing ground, unable to attack.

Think. Use it to your advantage.

He curled in on himself and bent his arms into a shield. Estienne grinned. The bastard knew he was winning.

Or thought so, at least. Nicolas's legs hit a pile of bones, and he fell back. Estienne lunged at him. His fingers curled around the first thing they touched and pulled. A bone. He swung it. Hard. Right into Estienne's temple.

Crack .

Estienne roared in pain and dropped his knife. Now . Nicolas jumped to his feet and rammed his fists into Estienne's gut.

Knuckles slammed into his jaw. Pain exploded in front of his eyes. The merciless punch of someone who had fought to the death in the streets.

He didn't let up. Couldn't. Violette . He couldn't fail her. Chest, ribs, a kick to the gut, one to the knee. Estienne lurched back, but the bastard's reach was too bloody long. One foot planted, and he sprang once more on the attack…

Estienne's hands wrapped around Nicolas's neck, his long fingers wringing his windpipe like an iron vise. He gasped for air, but none came, and a flood of alarm engulfed him. Black spots threatened his vision. From the corner of his eye, movement. Violette . Staggering to her feet.

A flash of silver on the ground.

Of course.

He let his entire body slacken and crumple.

Estienne squeezed tighter, mouth twisted in a vicious smile. "See you in hell, old friend."

Nicolas turned his head. Violette kicked the knife in his direction, and it skidded across the ground. Estienne released his grip, and his weight crushed Nicolas as he grabbed for the weapon. But Nicolas's arm was already outstretched.

His fingers curled about the handle, grip sure, and he thrust the blade upward. It sunk into flesh and muscle and bone. Plunged in to the hilt. A stream of hot blood soaked his shirt. Estienne's chest rattled in a dreadful gurgle, and his body slumped forward.

Nicolas heaved the lifeless body away and it rolled into the pile of bones. Estienne's empty eyes stared up at the stone ceiling.

"You first, old friend," he panted, then worked the knife loose before rushing to Violette.

*

Violette stumbled toward Nicolas. His breathing came in harsh puffs. A bloody welt stood out on his cheekbone, a large crimson stain on his chest—but not his, thank God. He was alive. Alive , while the Boneman lay dead. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

He reached for her forearm and sawed at the rope until it fell away, freeing her wrists. She wrapped her arms around him. Solid and warm and there . By God, she would never let him go again.

He stroked her hair soothingly and kissed the top of her head. "I'm here. All is well, my love. It's over now. All is well."

Reality struck her again. The Boneman might be dead, but they were still stuck in his lair. "His men… They'll come after us. They must have heard."

"Undoubtedly. But I warrant the Boneman told them not to intervene. It would have shown weakness to ask for help in fighting one man." He smiled. "He didn't count on fighting a second opponent though."

"But how will we get out?"

"Don't worry, this isn't my first time in the catacombs. I know other ways out."

He took her hand and grabbed one of the torches on the wall, then nodded toward a dark, narrow tunnel leading out of the room. Pure instinct nailed her feet to the ground.

"Nicolas… If we get lost…"

"We won't." He squeezed her hand. "Do you trust me?"

Of course. She trusted him with her life, several times over. She nodded, and they started off.

The tunnel twisted on and on. Nicolas never hesitated, only stopping a few times to read strange inscriptions carved into the walls by torchlight before continuing. He never let go of her, and Violette only focused on the warmth of his palm against hers, the sureness of his step.

He had pulled her out of the darkness before. He would do it again.

But she was tired, so very tired. The path beneath their trudging feet had been running somewhat upward for what felt like an eternity. How long would the torch last? What if it started to peter out?

"We're almost there," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "Just around this corner…"

Indeed, the gallery turned a sharp left. Up ahead, a square of blue. Relief overwhelmed her with such force that her legs nearly gave out.

"You go first, love," Nicolas said, and led her to a small stone ledge.

She stepped onto it and hoisted herself through the opening into a muddy alley. Nicolas was right behind her. He threw the torch on the wet ground and took off his coat to drape it over her shoulders.

"Ah, I never thought I'd be so glad to be cold," he sighed.

"Where are we?"

He nodded toward the spire of a church that peeked over the rooftops. "Behind Saint-Germain-des-Près. Come along."

They walked through the winding streets. The sky was turning a paler shade of blue. They passed by shop keepers and laborers and craftsmen who barely spared a glance at their grimy attire, arriving at the banks of the Seine just as the sun rose.

Nicolas's arm wrapped around her waist, and he held her tightly. "See? The Palais Royal is just across the river. We'll be home soon."

The sunlight rippled on the gray water. And for the first time, she saw just how beautiful it was.