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KINGPIN: Court University Book 2

Copyright © 2020 by Eden O’Neill

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or

transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without
written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person,

living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely
coincidental and not intended by the author.

Cover Art: RBA Designs

Editing: Straight on till Morningside
 Table of Contents

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Epilogue
 Chapter One

Billie

The elegant writing blurred beneath my fingertips, two names.

“You are cordially invited to…”
My teeth gnashed together reading over the calligraphy. All I
could do not to shred the wedding invitation in my hands. He’d done
it. My dad, a once respected man in our law-abiding community, had
finally done it. He was getting married.
And he was doing it with a woman half his age.
Clarise could very well be my sister at her age, and here Dad
was embarrassing himself, embarrassing me.
I slammed the mailbox closed, wanting to get out of the slush
and ice of the Midwest. I’d just hopped outside to put the trash out,
my legs beading in goosebump pimples as I hadn’t even thought to
put a coat on. My boots soaked, I stepped delicately over the salted
walk, then back into my new house. I’d barely been here three days,
and there were still boxes stacked around.
I warmed myself, tossing that invite on the kitchen counter
before kicking off my snow boots. The weather had been gratefully
clear outside when I moved in, but it was still cold enough where
the snow wouldn’t be melting anytime soon. At least my landlord
had thought to shovel and salt the walk before I moved in, one of
his good tidings in hopes I’d actually buy the place and not just rent.
This was a possibility if I liked it, but I hadn’t wanted to make any
permanent decisions since I was just a grad student. I’d just needed
to get out of my apartment and was totally over roommates this
term, too old for it and no patience.
I pushed back my frizzy red hair and made it into the living
room, my boyfriend Sinclair on the couch watching some sport. He’d
been pretty much a permanent fixture on the red leather love seat
all day, how he got when he watched sports. Seeing me, he smiled
with his beer in his hand, reaching a hand out and securing my hip.
He guided me over to sit with him, and though I wasn’t interested—I
loathed any kind of sport—I was happy for the attention. He got
really lovey when comfortable, and I liked that, squeezing up beside
him under his muscular arm. He hadn’t brought clothes tonight, but
I hoped he’d stay. I needed to get off something fierce. It might
loosen me up and get me out of my head a little.
Hoping for some of that ease now, I took Sinclair’s beer,
chugging the yeasty liquid down in a big gulp. He chuckled,
watching me before taking it back, and shaking his head, he got
back into his game. His hand gripped my hip again, rubbing it. “You
just go outside?”
“Mmhmm,” I said, stealing a swig of his beer again. I chugged
it down, then gave it back, and after eyeing the empty bottle,
Sinclair slid it on my coffee table.
He lounged back. “I could have gotten you your own, you
know?” He jostled, dashing his well-trimmed eyebrows at me. Dark
hair and smoldering features, he was a partner now at Huntington,
Huntington, and Brewer, his family’s law firm. He’d worked hard to
get there too, not much older than me at twenty-eight. Of course, it
helped that it was his family’s firm. My boyfriend was legacy. He
pinched at my hip. “And since when do you drink anything other
than margaritas?”
“Since my dad decided to marry a woman half his age. Excuse
me.” I got up to get my own beer, getting another one for him too. I
came back with the invite, tossing it on the coffee table, and Sinclair
extended his long reach to study it.
“I see,” he said, flicking the thing back where it was before
settling himself back into the couch. I returned under his arm after
he cracked opened both beers. He drew off his. “You’re still going,
though, right?”
I was sure he expected me to, the two of us always two
minds about the issue. After all, how many men in his family had
trophy wives like my dad? The whole thing was commonplace and
not unusual to him at all.
But it was for me, and it wasn’t just the fact that my dad
decided to marry one of his colleagues, the woman working at his
office when they met. It was the fact that he’d lied about it, cheated
on my mom and threw away an over-twenty-year marriage to do it.
That’s what grated me about the whole thing, not Clarise’s age.
Annoyed by how much Sinclair wasn’t bothered about the
whole thing, I started to get up, but he dragged me back, bigger
than me and far more muscular. Sinclair wasn’t a huge man. He had
more of a runner’s physique and had done cross country when he
went to Woodcreek University. That was his alma mater and where I
currently went for my graduate degree. He frowned. “Don’t be
upset.”
“But why should I go?” I pouted. “He left Mom and me.”
“It’s not about who left who.” He warmed my arm. “It’s about
you being the bigger person in the situation. Not to mention people
would talk and you don’t want them talking.”
Ah, the Coventry family image. He was right, of course,
people did talk and in both our circles. The Huntingtons tried to
avoid scandal just as much as we did, but since my mom and me
were already in the thick of it with my dad’s crap, what did I care.
And why should I be the bigger person? Dad hurt me, not the other
way around. True, he had tried to reach out in the past, but I hadn’t
made it easy. Eventually, he realized it was a losing game. Especially
after I went to college on the West Coast and put distance between
us. Coming home to the Midwest for graduate school hadn’t changed
much even though I was back. I imagined it wouldn’t until I was
ready to make that happen.
Sinclair folded a hand over my shoulder before bowing my
head to kiss the top. We’d dated all throughout his time in law
school, our essential meeting at a bar during one of my holiday
breaks back home. I didn’t think things would last after that
considering we were long distance for a time, but we had. He smiled
at me. “I know it sucks. You know my dad left my mom too.”
This was true, but I also knew it ended up working out in the
end. His dad had come back. My dad… no, he wasn’t coming back.
That wasn’t his way. I thought at first he had just gone for some
hot, young tail, but that wasn’t the case when I saw the two of them
together. It was like he couldn’t see beyond her.
 Like he loved her.
“You know I’ll be there by your side, right? At the wedding
and supporting you?” Sinclair assured, and when he flashed that
handsome grin of his at me, it was hard to stay mad for too long. He
shook me. “You’ll get through this, and like said, I’ll be with you.”
I appreciated that, appreciated him. My body warming, I
crawled from the couch and into his lap, my boyfriend chuckling as
he was forced to put his arms around me to keep me from falling off
the couch.
I kissed his neck, his hand playing with my T-shirt. I wasn’t
wearing a bra so my nipples were on fire against the hard panes of
his chest.
“Billie…” he husked, a gravelly sigh in his voice. I reached
down, going for the remote. I started to turn off his sports, but
that’s when he grabbed my hand. He eyed me. “What do you think
you’re doing?”
“I thought it was obvious.” And sucking on his neck, I
straddled him. “I’m clearly trying to have sex with my boyfriend.”
“Mmhmm.” He chuckled again, but my kisses should not be
eliciting chuckles. They should be turning him the hell on, but for
whatever reason, he was trying to watch the game over my
shoulder. Undeterred, I kissed his neck harder, rolling my hips
against him, but he pulled me back. He frowned. “You know I’m too
old to be coming into work with a hickey on my neck.”
I frowned now. “No, you’re not, and if anything, that’ll just tell
your colleagues you got game and please your girlfriend.”
“Or,” he stated, sliding me off his lap entirely. “My brothers
will never let me live it down, and my father and uncles will give me
shit the entire day. They might not even let me deal with clients, and
I wouldn’t blame them. It’s not professional.”
“So having private sex with your girlfriend at her house is not
professional?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. I just mean there’s a time
and place.”
If at home with just him and me wasn’t that place, then I
didn’t know what was. Scoffing, I got up from the couch, deciding to
go to bed.
A heavy sigh instantly could be heard from behind me.
“Where are you going?”
“Bed,” I called from my bedroom. “I got stuff to do tomorrow
too. Classes?” In fact, my first day back. On top of being a student, I
was a teaching assistant. I’d have classes as well, priorities just like
him.
The less than dulcet sounds of a sports announcer coming
from my living room could be heard again before another sigh.
“You’re going to be funny about this, right? There’s not much longer
on the game. I can come in after? Stay the night?”
Since he didn’t really do that, always pulling an early night to
go to work the next day, I sat with the decision. Literally sitting on
my bed.
“You’re thinking about it,” came in from the next room, a clear
smile in his voice. He had me, and he knew it. “I’ll make it worth
your while.”
“You better,” I cut, only a little pout before getting changed
into a bed shirt and shorts and climbing into bed. His deep chuckle
could be heard from the living room as I did, and shaking my head, I
lay on the pillow. I waited, my thoughts lulling over my day
tomorrow. I tried not to think about the whole situation with my dad
and I did well, the soft sounds of the television gently playing in the
next room drowning my thoughts out. I closed my eyes but decided
to do so only for a moment. Sinclair said he’d be in soon, and he
wasn’t getting out of his promise.
 Chapter Two

Billie

My house vibrating basically blasted me awake later that night, the

room pitch black and a body next to mine.
Groaning, I realized I had slept a lot longer than I meant to,
and turning, I noticed Sinclair, hugged up on the opposite side of my
bed. He’d fallen asleep too, shirtless and on the other side of my
queen bed.
I growled. Had he even tried to wake me up? Shaking my
head but too annoyed to do anything about it, I rolled over and
curled back up on my end. House music charged through my
bedroom like I was in the actual club, and gnashing my teeth, I
tossed the blankets off my body. My nearest neighbor was across
the street, but apparently that wasn’t far enough away to keep their
music out of my bedroom.
I shot up, immediately pressing myself up against the blinds
and peering through the window. The nicest property on the block
stared back at me, a multi-level, modern style with pewter brick
walls and crystal-clear windows. The entire structure had them, a
looking glass of colorful lights that strobed across the street and the
snow-covered lawn. People were out there too, young people
smoking and bearing the cold to do it, and I rolled my eyes. These
people would have a party in the middle of January like the day
before classes began. Never too soon for undergrads apparently. At
least, I assumed that’s who they were.
I hopped back on the bed, nudging Sinclair, and all I got was
a pillow plopping over his head. He’d obviously heard the music too
but was attempting to ignore it. I nudged him again. “Sinclair?”
“What?”
“You don’t hear that?”
“Of course, I hear it.” His voice muffled, he ripped the pillow
off. “Try to ignore it and go back to sleep.”
 Ignore that? I could feel that base in my heart. I nudged him
again and he groaned.
“Billie. Stop. I gotta work in the morning.”
He’d made that clear when I’d asked, quite reasonably, to be
fucked before bed and he’d decided to simply stay the night and
ignore me. Frowning, I hopped off the bed, grabbing a pair of socks.
Sinclair growled. “What are you doing?”
I jumped into my socks, basically half awake. By then, Sinclair
sat up on his elbows. I cut him a look. “About to go do something
about my neighbors since you won’t.”
If he wanted to try to sleep through that racket, fine, but I
wasn’t a heavy sleeper nor did I feel I should try. We were both
living in this neighborhood and some respect needed to be had.
Especially on my neighbor’s end, since outside of my own graduate
classes, I was a teaching assistant. I couldn’t afford to lose out on
valuable sleep, and upon getting on my socks, I stormed out of the
bedroom. By the door, I got my snow boots on. I was so angry I
didn’t even bother to backtrack and put a bra on or anything. I
simply grabbed my white fleece off the coat rack and opened the
door. The chill hit my limbs like a son of a bitch, but I worked the
fleece on, then shot out into it. At least, I would have if not for
Sinclair.
Tugging me back in, he had nothing but his boxers on, what I
assumed he’d chosen to sleep in since he hadn’t brought any clothes
to stay over. I assumed eventually, he’d keep some stuff here, but
since he didn’t have anything now, that’s what he was wearing. He
had his clothes in his arms, giving me a look of death as he pulled
me back inside and closed the door.
“I’m going. Fuck,” he cursed, completely disheveled. He
wasn’t one to lose his temper but being pulled out of his sleep to
wrangle me, he wasn’t too happy. He jumped into his jeans like I did
into my socks, working a shirt over of his chiseled frame before
grabbing his coat. He shot arms through it before opening the door,
and before he could stop me, I followed behind him. I only had on
my fleece, a T-shirt underneath, and a pair of sleep shorts so I was
damn cold as I sprinted after him. With the heavy music, Sinclair
didn’t notice my trailing strides, but the moment I sidled up to him
across the street on my neighbor’s big ole lawn, his eyes widened.
He got me by the arm again, tugging me a little too hard to
the point where it hurt. “What the hell are you doing? I told you I
was going to handle this.”
I jerked my arm away, letting him have that one since he was
angry and clearly irritated by the situation at hand. I shrugged. “I
figured you could use backup.”
Eyes lifted toward the heavens, his fingers shoved into his
hair before he shot a finger across the street. “Go back in the house.
I got this.”
“You’re right. You do. But you’re going to have me too.” My
teeth chattering, I really wasn’t trying to continue this debate, and I
think the only reason he did raise his hands at me was because I
was half naked in the snow. Clearly washing his hands of me, he
left, and I stalked him all the way past the folks puffing weed on the
lawn up the steps to the house. Truth be told, I would have rented
this property myself had it been available. It was sleek and beautiful,
but I signed a lease late and it’d already been taken.
Hands shoved into his jacket pockets, Sinclair faced me. “If
you’re here, you keep quiet. I told you I have this handled.”
His warning unusual, I stood there as he rapped against the
door. I thought it weird he was knocking. Clearly, these people were
having a party, but I guessed formality and all that. There were
enough people smoking on the lawn for us to blend in, but I
supposed I wouldn’t just want people waltzing into my house. The
door breezed open and a wash of alcohol and more weed cut right
over me, as well as the guy’s scent who opened the door. A
fragrance, woodsy and nature-esque, breezed right over me, a guy
who could only be described as a demigod filling the entirety of the
door frame.
“Can I help you?” he asked, flicking a toothpick to the side of
his mouth. Dark hair and even darker eyes, he pulled his gaze over
the two of us, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans that housed
thighs the size of tree trunks and a shirt he left open for all to see.
He had a freakin’ twelve pack. This guy was huge, and he clearly,
had no idea why Sinclair and I were standing on his front stoop.
Sinclair wet his lips. “Yes, um. Across the street. Um…” He
must have been frazzled like me because he waved his hands a little.
He pointed at me. “She lives across the street.”
“Okay.” Ebony dark eyes flicked over to me. He took his
toothpick out. “What do you want?”
I started to say something, but apparently Sinclair got his wits
back. He dampened his lips again at the guy before staring at me.
“She, Billie, my girlfriend, is your new neighbor.”
Apparently curious now, the demigod lounged against the
door. He tossed the toothpick outside, then tipped his chin at me.
“You here to say hi or…”
“Not exactly.” Sinclair held me back again, and I didn’t
understand why. His hand cuffed my arm. “There’s a little bit of a
noise issue here.”
“A noise issue?”
Sinclair nodded, but I noticed he did swallow after. It was like
this guy was seriously bothering the shit out of him for some reason.
Sinclair rubbed my arm, and when my teeth started clacking,
Demigod pushed off the door frame.
“Why don’t, uh, y’all come inside?” he requested, scrubbing
into his lengthy, dark hair. It was like waxy blades. His gaze
circulating over my naked legs and furry UGG boots, the guy grinned
a little. “Get out of the cold or whatever. Name’s Niko, and as you
can see, we’re having a little party inside. The least I can do for the
noise.”
That sounding actually really good right now considering the
cold, I started to walk in, but Sinclair tugged me back a little. I
removed my arm. “What’s your deal?”
But Sinclair was only looking at Niko, his gaze traveling over
to me while the demigod waited. He eyed me. “We should just go.
We already said what we had to say—”
“In or out, folks?” Niko widened the door, and though he
appeared abrasive when he first opened it, he obviously was having
a good time here watching us. His smirk was more than wide, and
whatever challenge I saw there, I decided to take.
“Just for a few moments,” I told Sinclair, sliding past him
before cutting in front of Niko. He smelled good and so obviously
knew that, the delight in his eyes as peered over me and to my
boyfriend.
Niko put his hand out. “And you’re…”
“Sinclair,” he said, his shake hard and smile more than stiff.
He hadn’t even graced Niko with the look he reserved for clients
before coming inside, rubbing his arms. “Sinclair Huntington.”
“Well, Sinclair Huntington…” Niko flicked a finger at me.
“Billie, my new neighbor. Welcome to Never Never Land.”
And never have I ever seen such a display, people, college
students I assumed, bumping and grinding in little to no clothing.
Many were just as half naked as Niko, women letting men pour
booze into their mouths while colorful lights flickered and glistened
off the crystal chandeliers and walls. I felt like I was in some
bachelor pad off the beach, not in a college neighborhood in the
Midwest.
“Nice place,” I stated. Though a bit uncivilized. I sneered as
some guy drank shots off a girls tits who lay on the middle of a table
like a buffet. She literally was the buffet. Covered completely in body
paint, she had tropical fruit and sushi decorating her body, people
pulling California rolls off her like that was normal.
Niko smirked. “Thanks. Appreciate it.” Then he pointed over
to Sinclair. “Sinclair, bro. Drink for you and your girl?”
“Sure.” Though something of a grumble left Sinclair’s lips as
Niko guided us through the circus and circus it was. There were
people everywhere and basically falling out the windows there were
so many. I couldn’t believe all this was going on across the street
from my rental, a modest cottage-style. We followed Niko’s wide
frame through and while he stalked, Sinclair grabbed me. “I asked
you to let me do the talking outside.”
He never asked. He told me. I shook my head. “I know, but
it’s not a big deal.”
“Actually, it is a big deal. You don’t know these people—”
 A collision, red wine completely covering my white fleece. A
girl had dropped it, a beautiful girl with dark hair in a red dress, and
the guy across from her joined the party too with his beer. Surprised,
he sloshed the contents of the mug all over me, completely
drenching me through to my T-shirt underneath. I knew because I
felt immediately sticky, freaking out.
Both parties involved stopped dancing around me.
“Oh, my gosh I’m so sorry!” The girl with the now empty wine
glass waved her arms wildly. Beside her, the guy with the empty
mug just stared. She hit him. “Knight! Get her a towel or
something.”
“Right. Towel.” He looked around, a blond girl under his arm.
“Okay. Don’t have a towel.” He frowned at the girl with the wine
glass. “You got a towel, December? You should look too. You
dropped the wine on her.”
“I don’t have a towel. Fuck!” She flailed again and beside her
was another guy, a blond one who was beautiful as fuck like
basically the rest of them. He had his arm around December’s waist,
and when she looked at him, he simply shrugged.
He shook his head. “I don’t have anything,” he said, then
looked at me. He put a hand out, patting the air. “We’ll figure this
out.”
“What’s to figure out? She’s covered in wine and booze.” The
girl with platinum blond hair under Knight’s arm tugged his shirt.
“Knight?”
He groaned. “I said I didn’t have anything.”
“Eh. What’s the hold up?” Niko swung back around, and at
this point, Sinclair had stripped his coat off and was attempting to
pat me dry with that. Niko’s eyebrows dashed up, a chuckle curling
his lips up. He shot a thumb back. “We got towels in the kitchen.”
At least someone had something, and groaning, I left Sinclair
and stalked away from the crew freaking out on me. The girls were
completely out of sorts while the two guys just stood there.
Meanwhile, my boyfriend was trailing after me, still trying to pat me
down with his coat, and chuckling, Niko led us on.
“I feel so bad. I didn’t even see her.”
 The dark-haired girl had said that, December as I recognized
her voice. I was more so focusing on getting dry and saving my
fleece at this point, and getting to the kitchen, Niko redirected
Sinclair and me to the bar there. He had an array of booze set up on
the counter and taking some club soda, he lifted it. “For the wine
stain?”
“Good idea,” Sinclair said, waving for my fleece, and though I
took it off, I exchanged it for his coat. I pressed it up to my beer-
soaked tits. Since I wasn’t wearing a bra on under my oversized shirt
on, I looked like I was going for a wet t-shirt contest. My shirt was
even white to boot.
Trying not to call attention to myself, I waited as Niko
grabbed a bunch of kitchen towels across the kitchen. He handed
them off to me, and with a muffled thanks, I took them before
tucking Sinclair’s coat between my legs and attempting to get some
of the beer off my shirt. The thing was soaked through so I
immediately went for the sink to at least try to get some of the beer
out. They had a sprayer there. I turned on the water, then grabbed
for it, but Niko launched for me.
“Wait. That doesn’t work—”
Soaked when the sprayer lost its complete mind and covered
my shirt. I fought with it, screaming while Niko took the initiative
and turned the thing off. If I was wet before I was submerged now,
my pink nipples basically on display, and Sinclair’s eyes widening, he
took my fleece and covered me.
“Okay. We need to go now,” he said, and at this point, Niko
was completely howling. He’d fought it before with stiff cheeks but
burst through with the nozzle in his hand.
“Don’t make her go, bro,” he chuckled, basically crying in
laughter. He slapped his leg before returning the sprayer to the sink.
“We’re, uh, working on getting that fixed. And your girl is completely
soaked, and it’s cold outside. I’ll get her something to wear before
you guys go back.”
“Please.”
Niko waved at him, and when I moved, Sinclair grabbed at
me. “You’re staying.”
 “Uh, no way am I getting dressed in this kitchen.” I snatched
the fleece, using it to cover myself before jerking my chin at Niko.
“I’m assuming you have a bathroom.”
“A few.” He smirked again before dashing his well-trimmed
eyebrows over at Sinclair. “You going to be good by yourself or do
you need to help her dress too?”
The jab had pissed me off but shot so much color into
Sinclair’s cheeks his nostrils actually flared. Growling, he stared. “No,
she doesn’t need me.”
And since I didn’t, I pulled his coat from between my legs and
handed it to him. He looked like he wanted to do anything but stand
there, but with what Niko said, I think we both were trying to prove
a point here. I told him I’d be okay before following Niko through his
Never Never Land and scaling up the stairs to the second level.
There was less foot traffic up here, a guy or girl or two making out
on the stairwell, but Niko stalked passed them like it wasn’t an issue.
It clearly wasn’t for him and heading down the hall, he stopped in
front of the first door.
“Just let me get a shirt out of my room real quick,” he started,
widened the door, but the moment he had, my eyes twitched wide.
There were three people already there on his bed, but the thing
was, I couldn’t see where any of them started or began.
Grunting, a guy fucked a girl on her knees while he himself
got impaled from behind by another guy. That guy had the other by
his hair and not only had none of them stopped upon Niko opening
the door, they grinned at him. The one fucking the guy jerked his
chin at him, and shaking his head, Niko closed the door.
“Suppose that room’s taken then,” he said, unfazed by the
orgy happening on his bed. Either that was very commonplace or he
was already well aware of it. I supposed he had answered the door
with his shirt open, and I idly wondered if he’d been a part of the
orgy before coming downstairs.
None of that any of my business, I strode on as the demigod
let go of his bedroom door and eased long strides down the hall.
Every casual step displayed his ripped back muscles through his
dress shirt and when he caught me looking, he winked at me.
 “See something you like?” he teased, stopping in front of a
door with his hand on the doorknob. “I mean, if your boyfriend
doesn’t mind….”
“In your dreams.” My arms hugging tight across my chest, I
got another one of his throaty chuckles as his head dropped back,
and he let so much smoke into the hallway I thought the room he’d
opened was on fire. As it turned out, the elegant array of scent was
distinctly weed, and I nearly choked on it as he waved me in.
“We’ll borrow one of Jay’s shirts,” he said, leaving me at the
door, and though I did follow him, I lost him in the cloud. I assumed
he went for a closet or something.
The room was thick with cannabis, and hugging my body
more, I waited for Niko inside only to find others already in the
room. I supposed the smoke had to come from somewhere, two
people on the couch rubbing on each other. They passed a joint
between them, the source of the apparent smoke. The guy also had
his shirt open while the girl rubbed on his chest, their high obviously
making them very friendly.
When they weren’t smoking they were breathing kisses on
each other’s throats, and I peered away, waiting for Niko while
dulcet sounds of hip hop beats thumped gently into the room. No
lyrics at all, the music weaved through the room like easy jazz, and I
took in the display, this room extravagant just like every other one in
the house so far.
Niko’s room had been pretty nice, but this one was about
twice the size, a king bed with silk sheets and a fireplace over in the
corner by the “friendly” couple. They barely looked at me as they
rolled smoke through the room, and I was about to backtrack and
wait for Niko outside when my arm was grabbed.
“About time,” rolled a deep voice. The owner tugged me, and
I was in his hands, the fleece instantly dropping from my fingers.
Half naked, this guy’s bronzed frame glistened from his
lounge pants up, the guy blond and husky in physique. He wore a
chrome ring, a chunky one right below one of his thick knuckles. He
was also all broad shoulders but narrow at the waist and tall to the
point where his hands at my shoulders had me staring straight at his
chest. His smile coy, he had a square-cut jaw with just a bit of blond
stubble, his eyes blue and his blond hair trimmed short on the sides.
In fact, one side was actually shorter than the other, like at one
point he’d buzzed one of the sides and was growing it out. Now, the
longer side sat just above his ear, the majority of his length curling
over his eyes and rubbing my shoulders, he wet his lips at me.
“Now, let me get a look at you.”
And look he did, my nipples incredibly hard and piercing
through my drenched top. I started to cover them when he wrapped
those lengthy digits around my arms.
“Nah, don’t do that,” hummed deep from within his wide
chest. A breath and he tongued his mouth, his eyes flaring. “Don’t
want to waste that.”
“Excuse me?”
Ignoring me, he let go, causing me to sway and inadvertently
check out his ass as he walked away. This guy had a great ass and
one only made better-looking due to the fact that he clearly wasn’t
wearing anything on under his lounge pants. The waistband sat right
below two prominent back dimples, a curve to his firm ass I was
almost jealous of.
I wet my lips and immediately felt guilty for even looking, but
what the guy said next instantly pulled me out of my rogue thoughts
and caused me to stiffen.
He frowned once he turned around, probably because I
hadn’t done anything after what he’d said. I couldn’t have heard him
right, but then he came over to me. He touched my chin. “I said
take off your clothes, love.”
What. The. Hell.
By then, Niko had returned, a shirt in his beefy hands, but
stopped next to the blond staring over me. “What’s going on, bro?”
“Um, I’m thinking your girl is shy,” he said, tucking hands
under his chiseled arms. It only made his chest look that much more
defined, a smattering of blond hairs trailing across his muscled pecs.
I peered my way back up to his eyes, but the blond noticed my more
than wandering gaze. He grinned a little. “Or maybe I was wrong.
What’s the problem then, beautiful? You going to work that ass for
us tonight or what?”
My eyebrows had to have jumped the height of my forehead,
and by then, the friendly couple had given the blond their weed. He
smoked it, his perfect cheekbones hallowing before passing it to
Niko, and Niko, though he smoked the gift given to him, was clearly
at a loss for words.
“My girl, Jay?” he asked him, but then looked at me. “Are you
my girl?”
Okay, so I wasn’t anyone’s girl, but for whatever reason glee
took on a new form as Niko bumped his fist with the blond, Jay, then
retreated over to the coffee table. Niko quickly moved it out the way
before sinking himself down in a lounge chair near the friendly
couple. He tipped his chin back, getting all settled in, and I about
said something about that before hands came to my arms again.
“Now, just relax,” Blond, Jay, said, rubbing on me and fogging
my brain like a hot car’s windows in the middle of a snowstorm. I
didn’t know what it was about this guy’s touch, but for whatever
reason, it knocked me stupid at a mere feel of his rough palms. He
smiled his beautiful lips. “We just want a little show. We won’t touch
you. Not unless you want that too.”
A curled finger beneath my chin and he was letting me go. He
took a seat on the arm of Niko’s chair, but when I still didn’t do
anything, Jay shook his head. “I’m paying you by the hour, lovely,”
he said, then displayed the space in front of the couch. “Now, give
my friends and me my money’s worth.” A look and he peered at
Niko. “What’s with this stripper you hired?”
Holy shit.
“Stripper?” I asked, but then it all came together, them sitting
back for a show, this room filled with so much weed I thought I’d
choke where I stood. Then there was the smooth music and the
touchy-feely couple. What the hell? I frowned. “I’m not a stripper.”
“Right.” Blond chuckled, instantly grating me. Especially when
his friends joined in for a round. Taking the weed back from Niko, he
pointed it toward me. “Now, please. If you would take off your
clothes. I’m starting to lose my buzz.”
 On fire now, I growled in his direction. “I said I’m not a
stripper, asshole. You take off your clothes.”
Up in an instant, in my face in an instant and all humor in the
room left. His friends and everything stopped. Like a record had
been scratched except for the fact the hip hop beats still played. It
bumped with the heat in my chest, my body chest to chest with this
guy, Jay’s, muscled abdomen. Blond eyebrows narrowed hard.
“You’re not a stripper?”
“No.”
He stepped back, a smoke trail wafting as he waved a S
shape in front of me. “Dressed like that? Your wet tits all pink and
popping out and you’re not a stripper?”
Fire hot as I reared back. I had every intention of slapping
this asshole right in his goddamn face. If anything, to teach him
some manners, but he stopped the assault full stop when he caught
my hand and tugged me hard to his firm body…
And kissed me right on the mouth.
His lips fell down on mine with heat, aggression as if to prove
a point, and rendered speechless, my limbs submitted to his strong
hands. He gathered me up, the growl low in his throat as he tasted
my tongue and altered my senses. He tasted like weed, sin and sex,
and every other mind-dizzying thing. My nipples dragging down the
hard panes of his chest, it took me a second to get my thoughts
back, but the moment I had, I gut checked him so hard in his abs,
he growled.
I backed away, falling into another set of hands. Turned out,
they’d been my boyfriend’s because when I looked up, I saw nothing
but shock in Sinclair’s eyes. He had his coat on, obviously ready to
go and looking for me, and swiping up my fleece from the floor, I
covered myself. “Sinclair—”
“What’s going on?” So much tension in his eyes, the majority
of it on this guy Jay. Sinclair forced my arms through my fleece even
though it was wet with wine and beer. “You kiss my girl?”
Jay just stood there, and all humor, once again, had left the
room. It was like he commanded it, his hands shoved in his lounge
pants. “I guess I did.” He shrugged. “Though I will say, I thought
she was the stripper.”
More chuckles and clearly at Sinclair’s and my expense. My
fleece on, Sinclair’s hands stayed at my shoulders. “So a
misunderstanding then?”
“Yes, and apologies.” Jay put out a hand. “I’m Lance. Friends
call me LJ since the last name is Johnson.”
“I know who you are,” Sinclair stated, surprising the hell out
of me. His expression deadpan, he tucked his own hands under his
arms. “I went to undergrad, then law school at the university. Heard
about you around campus during my law program. I guess your
reputation precedes you.”
So they went to the same school, my school as of last fall. But
still, the campus was big enough where Sinclair knowing about this
guy might be unusual. But then again, maybe not. They might travel
in the same circles.
But judging by LJ’s sex and party den, I found that hard to
believe. Sinclair and I both traveled in a bit higher circles, ones with
class and not all this.
All LJ did was chuckle upon being presented with his past. He
cuffed his thick arms. “I guess so.”
At this point, I thought the guys would start clubbing each
other with the looks exchanged, but by then, Niko had stood and
appeared at LJ’s side. He rested an arm on his shoulder. “They came
over tonight talking about the noise. I invited them in to apologize.
They said they’re our new neighbors. At least, she is. I got kind of
confused at the whole stripper thing when that happened.”
Obviously, but he ran with it. A tried and true guy, and
sneering, I hugged my wet fleece.
LJ nodded at what Niko said with a smile. “Wish you’d told us
sooner…”
“Billie,” I cut, but he grinned.
“Billie. Could have avoided some confusion there,” he said to
me despite the fact I totally had told him. His smile hiked. “Apologies
to you and double about the noise. My roommate and I had no idea
you’d already moved in. We would have thought about that.”
 “Would you have?” I eyed him, my mouth still burning
annoyingly from his kiss. I hated it and even more so at the jump in
my throat when he canceled all the space between us.
He peered down at me with that stupid grin. “Of course. I’m
nothing if not mindful. You gotta give respect to get it.”
“And I agree.” Sinclair put space between us both. He
squeezed my arm. “And now that everybody knows who everybody
is, there’s no problems here.”
He’d said that like it was some kind of negotiation, like he was
in the boardroom dealing with clients and not my boyfriend standing
across from a complete and utter asshole.
LJ wet his lips in response but, in the end, nodded. “No
problems from me.”
Rubbing my arm, Sinclair looked at me. “You ready to go?”
More than, hugging into my boyfriend as he guided me
toward the door.
“Sorry for the misunderstanding, new neighbor,” LJ said
behind my back, a noticeable lightness dancing in his voice. “And
welcome to the neighborhood.”
 Chapter Three

Billie

I basically shot out of Starbucks like a horse out of the starting gate,
running late that morning and lacking sleep. I’d finally fallen into it
around three-ish, but still woke up pissed and cranky. Sinclair had
gratefully had an early morning meeting so we hadn’t had to juggle
over shower time and working our way around my room. I hadn’t
much to say to him at all that morning anyway, more than annoyed
by how quite a few things were handled last night.
Visions of my cocky, arrogant as hell neighbor swarmed my
brain, but I had no time to think about it since I had to get my
professor coffee. He’d assigned me the task that morning via email,
and though I hadn’t worked with him before, only my second
semester as a teaching assistant, I had a feeling I was in for the
workload of my life. His syllabus was jam-packed, and though I was
one of three TAs for his film class, it was a sizable class. Almost one
hundred. Combined with how many students I had in my individual
recitation class, I’d be grading a lot of course work. That would be in
addition to anything Professor Douglas wanted his TAs to do—coffee
runs included. His other TAs, Davey and Griffin, sent me their orders
too on our group email since today’s coffee run was my day, so I
juggled about three coffees outside of my own. I peeled into campus
about fifteen minutes prior to the start of Professor Douglas’ class,
and groaning, I got the coffees, my bag, and purse before closing
my SUV with my hip.
Shuffling onto campus, I balanced the drink orders and my
stuff, trying not to slip and slide on the salted paths. I wore a skirt
today with my UGG boots, my red hair pinned up, and a nice
sweater on under my wool coat, and I wasn’t trying to flash anyone
on the slippery walks.
Woodcreek University itself was a moderately sized campus,
and it was my first year here as a graduate student. I’d done
undergrad on the coast, which was pretty much a party school, and
about twice the size. I’d blended in there and hadn’t really enjoyed
the whole getting lost amongst the numbers thing, hence my choice
to go to the Midwestern Ivy League today. The school also happened
to be closer to my mom, which wasn’t a bad thing. I’d decided to be
around for her more considering my parents’ divorce, and she’d
been overjoyed when I decided to come home.
I slid into Gretchen Hall with the coffees, cursing under my
breath that the halls were quieter than they should be. I knew I was
running late, but still had a couple minutes considering what my
car’s dash said. Even still, I was a teaching assistant and was
supposed to be early to class, not on time like the students.
I forced the door open with my hip, the auditorium wide and
filled with students. They were all talking amongst themselves, and
since there were so many, no one noticed when I came in.
At least no one that mattered.
Professor Douglas was off to the side of the podium with the
other TAs. I’d met Davey and Griffin for coffee over holiday break.
We thought it best we meet each other before term started, the pair
friendly enough but the typical uppity film students if I’d ever seen
them. Most would go on to teach like myself, film always a huge
thing in my life. I had busy parents, and I loved wrapping myself up
in a good comedy or romance. It was just my thing, always had
been, so when I’d decided to go to school to become a professor,
the first thing I’d decided to do was head for the film track. Again, it
was just my thing.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, despite the room being full of
chatty undergrads. I handed Griffin his coffee, black, and Davey her
iced mocha latte. I found this choice odd considering how cold it was
outside, but hey, to each their own. Quickly, I handed Professor
Douglas his espresso, and though he’d taken it, he frowned at me.
“I don’t have to tell you you’re late,” he said, clearly going
over things with the others. Hands in his pockets, he towered over
them while they held stacks of syllabi. A buzz in his pocket, and he
pulled out his cell phone, scratching his neck with a finger as he
read the front. “In any case, I just missed an important phone call.
I’m going to go take it quickly, and while I’m gone, I need you three
to hand out the syllabi. Let the students know I’ll return shortly.”
He was away with a huff after that, so very dramatic like film
and movie buffs could be. I dealt with a lot of them in undergrad,
my same major then.
Davey and Griffin both handed me some of their stack once I
discarded my coat and personal items, and after Davey let the class
know we were coming around, I informed them Professor Douglas
would be back in a few moments. I didn’t use the mic though it was
set up, and considering how all the students dove into the syllabus
the moment they were handed it, I figured they all knew what was
up. I was fairly good at projecting, and I took the back of the class
while Davey stayed up front and Griffin took one of the sides. We
figured we’d meet up in the middle eventually.
Right away, the class silenced, serious since this was college
and an Ivy League at that. Woodcreek University was one of the
best in the state and people got their money’s worth for that tuition.
Myself and the other TAs didn’t have to do much in regards to
keeping people silent. The students got right into reading over
everything, but some whispering in the back where I was did get my
attention. Everyone else was focused in on their task, but I was
paying attention to very soft but clear moans coming from the back
of the room. There was a girl up there with bright pink hair, a guy
basically on top of her, and she had a hand basically between his
legs. She rubbed on his junk, the girl doing the moaning as he
kissed on her neck. I couldn’t see the guy much since he had his
face buried in her neck, and everyone else around either seemed to
just be trying to ignore them or didn’t care.
Enraged, I stalked the last several feet up the steps to the,
err, um, couple, and tapping my foot, I crossed my arms. “Excuse
me?”
“You’re excused.” The guy hadn’t missed a beat as he folded
long fingers around the girl’s neck, and it’d been the ring to give me
pause, that chrome ring with some type of animal forged into the
metal.
 It’d been that same ring to touch my flesh, burn across my
cheek and body as he kissed me just last night. He’d made me
submit to him just like this girl, and upon clearing my throat loudly,
the blond asshole with a smart mouth and the body of a Grecian god
finally peeled away from his latest conquest to look up at me.
He looked like he’d basically just got done fucking, his tight,
baby tee disheveled and revealing a sliver of his golden abs. This girl
had gotten her work in all right, his spools of honey blond locks all
over the place and making an entirely too good-looking guy look
even more good-looking. The worst part was he knew it, lounging
his big body back in his stadium seat to see what all the hubbub was
about. The moment he saw me, those golden eyebrows twitched up,
and the second that arrogant smile of his returned, I knew he
definitely remembered me. His grin angled right. “You’re… erm, um,
Billie, right?”
He pointed a finger and everything, a real Einstein here, as he
managed to recall my name through the fog of weed and sex I was
sure he’d partaken in after I left. I had to say I was impressed, but
at the present way too pissed off to give him props. He took me in
from my boots to my short skirt, wearing black tights this time since
it was cold. I wore a sweater set today, trying to be professional on
my first day, but the way he looked at me, one would have thought
I’d all out dressed for the club.
Appraising my entire body, he lounged back even deeper in
his chair and stamped out those big legs like he actually was about
to get a show, and I couldn’t believe this asshole.
“Right,” I cut, my tone more than gritted. Again, everyone
around was paying attention to their own little piece of the
classroom, and if someone did look, they made sure to cut right
back to their syllabus in front of them. I mean, that was good, I
guessed, but kind of weird. I shrugged. “And you and your, um,
friend…”
“Cherry,” he said, making her giggle. She pulled a manicured
finger down his chest and I thought for a moment there he might
have actually hired a stripper to come make out with him in his class
today. He dropped a thick arm across her shoulders. “I take it you’re
a TA.”
So he noticed the stack of syllabi in my hands, a real genius
this one. “Correct and it’s neither the time nor place for you both to
be doing that. This is a classroom. Not a brothel.”
My back straight, I felt a little empowered telling this guy off.
Especially considering how he’d embarrassed me and Sinclair last
night. My boyfriend wasn’t one to just be put in his place, and for
whatever reason, he let this asswipe talk to both of us the way he
had, even after LJ had kissed me. The whole thing was terrible, and
even worse once I recalled what Sinclair did say to me before finally
going to bed last night.
“Stay away from that guy if you know what’s good for you,”
he’d said, not offering much more after that. He’d shaken his head.
“He’s trouble, and believe me, you don’t want any more of that. I
mean, considering all that with your dad.”
He’d been right, of course. My dad completely betraying my
mom and me and making our whole family basically a laughing stock
amongst our friends. People didn’t get divorced in our circles, and if
they did, everyone knew and talked about it. People were well aware
of the Coventrys and their dirty laundry.
Again, Sinclair hadn’t offered many more words after that and
the thing with LJ I was going to let go. I figured he was a problem
nothing but some good earplugs couldn’t correct, but if he was in
this class, I figured better to nip this disrespect right in the bud.
He didn’t say anything after what I said, eerily silent with his
arm around his girl, but I figured he’d gotten the point since he had
ears and appeared to have more than two brain cells. I tossed two
syllabi his way, one for him and one for his friend on their lap desks.
I turned but shifted back following a throat clear.
“You gonna pick that up?” LJ asked, removing his arm from
his Cherry. Blue eyes shifted down and I noticed the syllabi I placed
on his desk was now on the carpeted floor.
My eyes narrowed. “You dropped that.”
“I didn’t.” And then he lifted a hand. “And I got about a dozen
witnesses that saw you throw it at me. It fell to the ground…”
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Etait-il onze heures? Etait-il minuit? Elle crut entendre des pas, dehors,
devant le perron. Elle écouta quelques moments.
—Je me suis trompée... D’ailleurs, qu’importe?
Et, tout à coup, au pied de sa fenêtre, une voix qui tâchait de ne pas trop
se faire entendre:
—Maman!... c’est moi!... Viens m’ouvrir!
Etait-ce une hallucination de son cerveau malade à force de souffrance?
Tout doucement, elle ouvrit sa fenêtre, poussa la persienne. En bas, dans
le faible clair de lune, une silhouette immobile, la tête levée vers la croisée
éclairée.
—Laurent?... appela-t-elle d’une voix étouffée, c’est toi?
—Oui, c’est moi. Viens m’ouvrir!... J’ai à te parler.
Allait-elle avoir peur, peur de son fils?
Elle répondit, affaiblie dans tout son corps par l’émotion:
—Je descends! Attends-moi!
Et comme elle glissait dans les escaliers, une bougie à la main, comme
elle s’énervait à tirer sans bruit les barres de la porte, l’espoir, une dernière
fois, envahit son cœur incorrigible.
«Peut-être qu’il vient... qu’il vient me dire qu’il me pardonne...»
La porte était ouverte. Dans la lueur remuante de la bougie, il apparut,
grand, pâle, les yeux immenses, les boucles noires de sa tête sans chapeau
dérangées comme par un coup de vent—le vent de la course qu’il venait de
faire en auto, sans doute. Et, tout de suite, à son haleine, à l’on ne sait
encore quoi qu’elle devina dans l’ombre: «Il est ivre!...» pensa-t-elle.
—Allons au petit salon... dit-il.
Elle le précédait, éclairant leur marche indécise.
Ils ne s’assirent ni l’un ni l’autre. La bougie répandait sa petite lumière
et ses grandes ombres à travers les meubles. Le silence de la demeure
endormie était écrasant.
Il se tenait devant elle, sauvage et viril, ses belles mâchoires légèrement
bleuies par la barbe rasée. Un grand foulard de trois couleurs pendait le
long de ses habits bien ajustés.
—Il me faut dix mille francs... dit-il sans attendre. Tu vas me les donner.
 Malgré ses yeux qui l’hypnotisaient, qui la clouaient sur place, elle eut la
force d’articuler:
—Non, Laurent.
—Non?...
Il avait fait un pas, avançant sur elle. Elle vit qu’il titubait un peu.
—Tu es ivre!... prononça-t-elle avec un dégoût immense.
—Ça se peut!... ricana-t-il. Mais ça ne m’empêche pas de savoir ce que
je veux!
Et, tout à coup, sa colère éclata, rauque, étouffée par le souci de ne pas
éveiller la maison.
—Tu vas me les donner, tu entends?... sans ça... sans ça je mettrai le feu,
je tuerai, je ferai n’importe quoi! N’importe quoi!...
Fût-ce l’horreur? Fût-ce la terreur? Elle ouvrit grande la bouche; et
Laurent vit qu’elle allait crier.
—Ne crie pas!... gronda-t-il en la saisissant brutalement au bras, ou
bien...
Elle ne voulut pas entendre le reste de cette parole inadmissible.
—Laurent!... Laurent... tais-toi!... Je vais te donner ce que tu demandes...
Un chèque que tu pourras toucher au chef-lieu. Seulement, écoute...
écoute!... Il faut que tu t’en ailles, dès demain, avec tes amis. Tu ne peux
pas me déshonorer plus longtemps! Il paraît que tu...
—C’est bon!... coupa-t-il. Va me chercher le chèque! Après, nous
verrons!
Elle reprit la bougie, et, le laissant dans l’obscurité, furtive, dramatique,
elle sortit du salon en courant.
*
**
Le lendemain, à la surprise de tout le pays, le manoir de la route de
Fleurbois était vide. La bande avait dû repartir avant le lever du jour, car
personne n’avait rien vu.
Mᵐᵉ Carmin, alitée, couvait le secret de sa nuit. Nul ne saurait jamais ce
qui s’était passé entre elle et son fils. Elle savait, maintenant, que sa ruine
était certaine. Laurent, en deux ans, avait dévoré l’argent gagné dans sa
course Paris-Lisbonne.
 —Il me prendra jusqu’à mon dernier sou!
Cela, c’était le cri de l’avarice. Il y en avait un autre, bien plus
abominable:
—Il me tuera un jour!...
Elle ajoutait en fermant les yeux:
—... Si je ne meurs pas de chagrin avant...
Au bout de trois jours elle put se lever, chancelante et défaite. Les
servantes la soignaient, le cœur saignant devant cette crucifixion. Et l’oncle
Jacques aussi la soignait, qui, rabroué par le curé, n’osait plus rien dire.

Il y avait cinq jours qu’elle était sur pied quand la nouvelle lui fut
apportée. Les trois autos étaient revenues au manoir. Laurent et ses amis
étaient là de nouveau.
Alors, vaincue, ayant fait appeler l’abbé Lost et son frère:
—Je suis décidée, leur dit-elle. Je ne peux plus rester ici. Demain je
commence mes bagages et j’écris à mon notaire pour mettre le château en
vente.
 XV

DERNIER DU NOM

Après avoir pris cette détermination qu’elle savait inébranlable, Mᵐᵉ

Carmin se sentit l’âme comme assainie.
Partir!
Pour ne se donner pas le temps de s’appesantir sur des pensées
profondément amères, elle se mit tout de suite à l’œuvre et passa le reste de
la journée à ranger ses papiers.
Jacques de Bonnevie, consterné, restait près d’elle, la suppliant de
renoncer à son projet. Mais elle ne l’écoutait même pas.
Quand ils eurent dîné tous deux, elle passa dans le petit salon pour y
commencer la correspondance que comportait son départ. Son frère l’avait
suivie, la tête basse.
—Et moi?... répétait-il, et moi?... Qu’est-ce que je deviens, dans tout
ça?... Et l’abbé?... Ce n’est pas possible que tu nous lâches comme ça,
voyons!...
Absorbée, elle écrivait, sans lui répondre, sans le regarder.
—Alors, bonsoir!... dit-il enfin. Je vais me coucher.
—Jacques, répondit-elle d’un air singulier, je te demande, au contraire,
de rester près de moi...
Il ne comprit pas. Il ne pouvait pas deviner qu’elle avait peur, peur de
son fils-nocturne.
—Bien... fit-il. Alors je vais dormir... Si j’avais su, j’aurais apporté mes
papiers.
Il sommeillait, elle écrivait.
Contractée dans l’effort de rester lucide et froide, elle établissait le calcul
de tout ce que Laurent lui avait coûté, depuis la balafre de Clémentine
jusqu’aux dix mille francs extorqués six jours plus tôt. Ensuite, elle faisait
l’énumération de ses biens, leur rapport exact, puis supputait le prix auquel
elle allait vendre son château. Les chiffres s’alignaient sur le papier, vivants
comme des êtres pour cette Normandie regardante.
 Elle venait de faire la preuve d’une longue addition, et trempait sa plume
pour continuer ses calculs. Quatre fort grands coups dans la porte d’entrée
la firent sursauter, lui arrachant un cri d’épouvante.
Jacques avait bondi.
Mᵐᵉ Carmin joignit les mains. Ses dents claquaient.
—N’ouvrons pas... chuchota-t-elle, c’est Laurent!
—Laurent?... A cette heure-ci?...
Là-dessus, les coups redoublèrent. Et, pour leur ébahissement terrifié,
des cris de femme percèrent la nuit.
—Au secours!... Au secours!... Ouvrez! Ouvrez!
On entendit le remue-ménage des domestiques, en haut. François, le
jardinier, parut à la porte du salon, une bougie dans une main, son fusil dans
l’autre, puis les trois servantes affolées.
—Madame... Madame... On a regardé par la fenêtre... Il y a un clair
magnifique. On a vu. C’est une femme toute seule, qu’a des cheveux dans
le dos... Tenez!... la voilà qui recommence!...
—Allons ouvrir!... dit Jacques de Bonnevie, livide.
Le fusil braqué, le jardinier marchait devant. Mais ce fut Jacques qui, la
porte ouverte, parla.
—Qui êtes-vous?... Qu’est-ce que vous voulez?...
—Oh! m’sieurs et dames, ne me tuez pas!...
L’inconnue reculait, les mains suppliantes. Elle bredouilla rapidement,
en proie à l’effroi:
—J’ai fini par trouver votre château. J’étais passée devant en auto... Il
faut que vous veniez vite, vite!... Ils se sont tous battus, là-bas... Il y en a un
de tué à coups de bouteille, et Laurent...
Un sanglot l’interrompit. Les doigts aux joues, elle reprit:
—Laurent a un coup de couteau dans le ventre! Il va mourir!
Elle se remit à crier, délirante, en répétant:
—Il va mourir!... Il va mourir!...
Mᵐᵉ de Bonnevie ne sut pas comment elle se trouvait dehors, secouant
cette femme aux épaules.
—Qu’est-ce que vous dites?... Qu’est-ce que vous dites?...
 Un mélange de chypre et d’alcool l’inondait d’une odeur canaille. Les
cheveux défaits de l’autre s’entortillaient autour de ses mains.
—Je suis Fifi, hoquetait la malheureuse, amie de Laurent!... J’ai tout vu.
Je vous dis qu’il va mourir si vous ne venez pas le sauver tout de suite!...
Que se passa-t-il? A qui revint l’initiative de la chose. Quelques
moments plus tard, le tonneau roulait sur la route illuminée de lune, au
galop du cheval fouetté par Jacques. Mᵐᵉ de Bonnevie, à côté de lui, la fille
cramponnée derrière avec le jardinier, personne ne disait plus un mot.
Tout était allumé dans le manoir. Mais le silence y régnait.
—Oh!... rugit la fille en entrant. Ils sont tous partis! Ah! les...
Elle n’essayait même pas d’atténuer les ordures que vomissait son
indignation.
Hagarde, encore fardée malgré les larmes qui la barbouillaient, à demi-
dévêtue, elle montrait, aux lumières, un visage d’environ trente ans, joues
molles entre les mèches teintes au henné, petites narines ouvertes, bouche
sensuelle, avec de magnifiques yeux bleus, largement bistrés par le vice et
le koh’l.
Dans la maison subitement vide, abandonnés au fond de la salle à
manger, il n’y avait plus que le cadavre et le blessé, l’un sous la table et
l’autre dans un coin, chacun entouré de sa petite mare de sang.
Le désordre de la nappe, chavirée avec sa vaisselle, les chaises brisées,
les bouteilles de champagne cassées, disaient la bataille après la fête,
éloquence tragique.
Mᵐᵉ Carmin s’était ruée dès le seuil. A genoux près de Laurent évanoui,
lui soulevant la tête, elle sentit deux autres mains, brûlantes et douces,
mêlées aux siennes. Fifi, la fille, était à côté d’elle, à genoux comme elle.
—Vite!... Vite, François, reprenez la voiture, allez chercher le médecin à
la ville!
—Surtout, ne le soulevons pas!... murmurait l’oncle Jacques, penché sur
le blessé.
—Ah! si seulement je savais conduire l’auto!... se lamenta Fifi. Ils lui
ont laissé la sienne. Je l’ai vue en entrant dans la cour.
Une crise de passion la jeta sur Laurent, dont elle se mit à baiser la
bouche avec fureur.
 —Mon Laurent!... Ils me l’ont tué!... Ah! je t’aime! Je t’aime!... Depuis
trois ans il me battait, il me faisait tout!... Ça m’était égal! C’était mon
homme! Moi qui pourrais être sa mère, il n’avait qu’à me regarder avec ses
yeux qui font peur, je lui obéissais. Tout le monde lui obéissait, d’abord!
C’était un chef, celui-là! Quand il vous regardait un homme, il en faisait un
chien. Quand il vous regardait une femme... Ah! les garces!... Elles le
voulaient toutes. Et si généreux! Il donnait tout ce qu’il avait! Et peur de
rien!... De rien!... Pas plus des flics que des autres bandes! Il réussissait tous
ses coups! Il était toujours le plus fort! Il fallait le voir se battre!... Et quand
il chantait, avec sa voix qui vous chavirait!... Et ils t’ont arrangé comme ça,
toi! Toi!... Laurent! Laurent!... C’est ta Fifi!... Ta Fifi pour la vie, tu sais
bien!... Laurent, mon gosse, ouvre-les, tes grandes châsses qui vous
décarcassent, qui vous font obéir, même quand on ne veut pas!...
Un frisson parcourut tout le corps de Mᵐᵉ Carmin de Bonnevie. Elle le
savait bien, elle, qu’ils faisaient obéir, les yeux de Laurent, même quand on
ne voulait pas.
Une sorte de rage la soulevait, d’entendre les cris d’amour de cette
prostituée qui était «l’amie de Laurent», alors qu’elle, la mère, n’avait
jamais rien eu de lui que haine et mépris. Apprendre par celle-là tout ce
qu’elle n’avait pas su! «Il chantait donc toujours?... Il avait donc retrouvé sa
belle voix?...» Et la jalousie qui la tordait, en cette minute, l’empêchait
même de comprendre quelles révélations sur l’existence mystérieuse de son
fils ressortaient des propos incohérents de la créature de mauvaise vie.
Cependant, debout à côté des deux femmes à genoux, l’oncle Jacques,
lui, hochait lentement la tête.
*
**
On ne put le transporter qu’à l’aube. Sorti de son évanouissement, il
gémissait, prononçait des mots sans suite.
Un premier pansement, fait sur place par le médecin, avait arrêté le sang.
—Je crois qu’il s’en tirera, Madame... Attendons le chirurgien du chef-
lieu. Ma dépêche sera mise à la première heure...
Après les constatations des gendarmes, le cortège s’était mis en route,
Laurent à demi couché dans la voiture, les autres à pied.
Fifi suivait aussi, mais elle n’entra pas au château, chassée par le regard
des domestiques.
 Quand Laurent fut allongé dans le lit qu’on avait en hâte improvisé dans
un coin du petit salon, il ne tarda pas à recouvrer tout à fait ses sens; et ses
premières paroles furent une série d’injures et de menaces épouvantables. Il
continuait le rythme de la rixe.
Ayant enfin compris, reconnu les lieux et les gens, il fit un geste brusque
pour se relever. Toutes les mains l’avaient ensemble recouché.
—Laurent!... sanglota Mᵐᵉ de Bonnevie, c’est moi, ta maman... Tu es
blessé, mon chéri!... Tu veux bien que je te soigne, dis?...
Il la toisa d’un regard tel qu’elle recula. L’abbé Lost s’était approché.
—Laurent!... Tu me reconnais bien, n’est-ce pas?...
—F...-moi la paix, tous!... vociféra-t-il en essayant des bonds sous les
mains qui le maintenaient. Ce n’est pas vous tous que je veux! C’est Fifi
que je veux! Où est-elle, la charogne?... Pourquoi n’est-elle pas là?... Je la
veux, vous entendez?... Je ne veux qu’elle! Elle toute seule!...
Et comme, frappée à mort, se laissant tomber assise sur une chaise, la
mère songea, les dents serrées: «Il l’aime!»
—Allez chercher cette fille!... ordonna le médecin. Il va se faire mourir,
s’il continue à s’agiter!
Ce fut silencieusement et comme écrasée de honte qu’elle entra dans ce
château, dans ce salon familial, elle, la fille du ruisseau, que la présence du
prêtre obligeait à courber la tête. Elle s’était rajustée de son mieux, avait
tordu ses cheveux teints, lourdement, sur sa nuque. Et sa robe décolletée et
mouillée de vin et de sang, son parfum vicieux, son fard, scandalisaient les
fauteuils de tapisserie criarde, ouvrage lent des heures provinciales, exécuté
par des mains dévotes.
—C’est toi, Fifi?...
Presque bas, elle répondit:
—C’est moi, Laurent.
—Viens ici. Où étais-tu, chameau?
Il esquissa le geste de la gifle. Puis, comme elle s’agenouillait à son
chevet, il dit:
—Donne-moi à boire!...
Et ce fut elle, désormais, elle seule qui le soigna.
 Il y eut une visite de la police, en vue d’un interrogatoire. Mais comme
le blessé, hurlant, éclatait en injures, le médecin s’interposa:
—Vous reviendrez plus tard...
Ce fut enfin le chirurgien, vers quatre heures du soir.
Dans la salle à manger, tous attendaient, glacés. Fifi seule dut rester avec
les deux docteurs, Laurent l’ayant exigé.
—L’opération n’est pas possible, dit le chirurgien en sortant du petit
salon. Mon collègue vous expliquera. Ma présence n’est plus utile.
A Jacques de Bonnevie et à l’abbé, qui le reconduisaient, il confia,
baissant la voix:
—Il est perdu. Il n’en a plus que pour quelques heures...
Cependant, Mᵐᵉ Carmin, assise à l’écart dans la salle à manger,
repoussée là par les yeux de son fils, semblait plongée dans des réflexions
obscures. Devinait-elle, avec son instinct de mère, ce que le chirurgien
venait d’apprendre aux autres? L’heure du dernier déchirement approchait,
après toutes les tortures de sa vie crucifiée. Laurent allait mourir, mourir
sans lui avoir pardonné, sans l’avoir jamais aimée. Incapable d’aimer? Non,
puisque cette fille était près de lui.
Comme le tuteur et l’abbé revenaient lentement, se dirigeant vers elle
avec un visage qui cherchait comment lui dire la vérité:
—Je sais... murmura-t-elle simplement.
Ils furent effrayés de son calme.
L’abbé commençait:
—Il faut que j’essaie... le pauvre enfant!... Que j’essaie de le confesser...
Mᵐᵉ de Bonnevie l’interrompit.
—Attendez un instant, monsieur l’abbé.
Surpris, ils la suivirent. Elle entra dans le petit salon; et, sans oser
s’approcher du lit, distante et solennelle:
—Ecoute, Laurent! Je veux que tu comprennes enfin quelle tendresse
j’ai pour toi. Puisque tu aimes tant ta compagne...
Elle ravala péniblement le sanglot de son amour maternel et de son
orgueil d’honnête femme, à jamais humiliés.
—Puisque tu aimes tant ta compagne, eh bien! moi, ta mère, je te donne
mon consentement. Cela peut se faire ici, tout de suite, étant donné ton
état... Voilà! Epouse-la, Laurent! Et je l’aimerai bien à cause de toi.
Elle était plus pâle que le mourant. Les yeux fermés, appuyée au mur,
elle attendit le mot qu’il allait dire; le mot qu’il ne pouvait pas ne pas dire
pour reconnaître le sacrifice suprême qu’elle lui faisait.
La fille, à genoux, les mains sur les yeux, s’était mise à pleurer.
Laurent avait tourné brusquement la tête. Il regarda sa mère. Du fond des
mystères de la mémoire, du fond de son enfance déjà lointaine,
dédaigneusement, impérialement, sur le ton même qu’avait eu jadis l’oncle
Jacques, lors de la scène au pavillon:
—Un Carmine Buonavita, dit-il, n’épouse pas une catin!
*
**
Il mourut au crépuscule, après une agonie violente comme toute sa
courte existence.
Enfin calme et pour toujours, visage admirable sculpté par la mort, front
étrange de faune, mains croisées sur un chapelet ironique, on eût dit qu’il
allait, d’un instant à l’autre, se redresser pour quelque flot d’insultes, pour
quelque geste d’énergumène.
A sa droite et à sa gauche, deux bougies brûlaient. Sourdement, les
sanglots de la mère et de la maîtresse rythmaient le parfait silence du soir.
Et comme, debout au pied du lit, l’abbé Lost, consterné, murmurait des
prières pour ce mort qu’il n’avait pas pu confesser, Jacques de Bonnevie se
pencha vers son oreille:
—J’espère bien, prononça-t-il, que, sur sa tombe, on écrira la vérité.
Le prêtre s’était retourné, surpris. A voix basse, l’historien prononça
lentement, les yeux fixés sur le cadavre:
—Lorenzo Carmine Buonavita, dernier du nom, chef de Grande
Compagnie.

FIN
 TABLE DES CHAPITRES
Pages
I. — La rencontre dans le parc 5
II. — Apprivoisement 19
III. — La belle découverte 35
IV. — A boire! 45
V. — Angoisses 55
VI. — L’épouvante 67
VII. — Un frisson dans la nuit 81
VIII. — Une lettre 91
IX. — Mater dolorosa 103
X. — Lorenzo 119
XI. — Le maître 135
XII. — Le scandale 151
XIII. — Des jours 173
XIV. — La Grande Compagnie 199
XV. — Dernier du nom 219

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return the medium with your written explanation. The person or entity
that provided you with the defective work may elect to provide a
replacement copy in lieu of a refund. If you received the work
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give you a second opportunity to receive the work electronically in
lieu of a refund. If the second copy is also defective, you may
demand a refund in writing without further opportunities to fix the
problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth in
paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED,
INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF
MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied

warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
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