29
WILL HAUNT ME
“Enough. Stop singing those horrible songs.” François brushes imaginary dust from his silk shirt with black gloved hands.
Fastidious bastard. “Better?” I train my face into an innocent mask when he lifts his head to me. I never even see him move before my face explodes in pain with an audible crunch. Startled agony rips out of me. Tears stream unchecked from my rapidly swelling eyes and my whole face aches. I wonder how much more than my nose is broken.
He flexes the hand he punched me with and grins. “Oh, I like the spirited ones. Oui, Libby. Much better. I can hardly wait to play more.” He turns to Jeffrey. “Put her in your stockade and we will talk about the weapons I promised. And the money you still owe me.” He pivots and glides to a small cabin near the front gat
