Rosa

Chapter 33

His voice sounded so soft and melodic.

Gentle.

Soothing.

Exactly as she remembered.

Yet, a soul-deep dread ran down her spine.

Rosa stared into the cold, blue eyes of the man who had, once upon a time, not so long ago, put her through hell and back, and a deadened feeling numbed her senses. She became emotionless, heartless, lifeless, sitting still as a statue between her two daunting jailers.

A survival mechanism, perhaps?

Unlike the paralyzing terror that had defeated Rosa in Moulin's hotel room, this fear felt far more removed from her person.

Time continued to flow.

Breaths dragged in and out of her lungs.

The sun was rising.

As their cab crept down the streets of Madrid, she became a passenger trapped inside her own horror movie, watching it play out in real time.

Despite his calm demeanor, Mesrine was going to skin her alive. She was sure of it.

With far more poise and composure than she actually possessed, Rosa demanded in a quiet murmur, "Comment m'as tu trouvé?"

How did you find me?

"Hugo," came Julien Mesrine's reply.

"Hugo... Granger?" she repeated with widening eyes.

The ugly blonde fuck she had tossed into the Atlantic with Cristiano?

"Oui. Hugo Granger était l'un de mes hommes. Avant, je présume, Massera l'a tué."

Yes. Hugo Granger was one of my men. Before Massera killed him.

He knew about Hugo's death?

"Fuck," Rosa muttered under her breath.

It appeared Mesrine hadn't changed much at all. He still had eyes and ears in every corner of the criminal underworld.

Mesrine coughed. "Quand Hugo t'a vu ce soir-là au club marseillais, il m'a tout de suite fait un rapport."

When Hugo saw you that night in the Marseille club, he reported back to me right away.

Rosa's expression darkened. "Je vois."

I see.

"J'ai toujours soupçonné que tu avais simulé ta mort il y a toutes ces années. Depuis, j'essaie de te traquer."

I always suspected that you had faked your death all those years ago. I have been trying to hunt you down ever since.

Rosa could only hum in distress as her mind began to wrap itself around the direness of her circumstances.

Was Mesrine planning to put her out of her misery soon?

It seemed likely. Maybe after he raped her a few times and knocked her around even more. He had always been a sadistic, vengeful monster, and, in his eyes, she was someone who had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

A defeated resignation sank in. It was followed by a wash of regret. After the way she had left things with Cristiano, he wouldn't come for her even if she didn't show up at the airport. She was going to die without ever seeing her 'mon beau' again.

Would he miss her once she was gone from this world?

Would he mourn her?

Just a little?