The Token (#10): Shepard Read Free Page A

six chairs that line a curved bar.
    “I am hot. This place should be full of rain and gray clouds,” Shepard begins, purposefully distracting Roi from the original question, “yet it is a bright and sunny labyrinth of rude Americans and their ilk.”
    Roi twirls his finger like a flesh swizzle stick inside a low ball glass filled with fine whiskey and cubed ice. He acts as though he is waiting to meet a friend rather than preparing himself for the torture of a twenty-one-year-old mule of the French mob.
    “ You are American,” Roi comments in a low voice.
    Shepard lifts a shoulder, stretching the fitted linen-blend, button-down shirt he wears with the gesture. “I am French first.”
    Roi lifts his glass, a drink he fixed himself before noon. “Touché. To the Americans of worth—and those without.” The king chuckles as his bright azure eyes glitter at Shepard.
    He feels the warning in that gaze—the threat. Of course, he always has.
    Shepard feigns nonchalance, leaning back against the high-backed barstool that rims the beautifully carved and polished bar top. The waiting lounge is for those with enough money to own private jets and who possess sufficient idle time to enjoy such respite.
    He and Roi gaze at each other like silent chess pieces on top of a board of their own making.
    A guard bursts inside the room, shattering the unspoken standoff.
    “She is here.”
    Roi sets the glass down, and all coy pretense vanishes. “Tell the old man.”
    The guard moves toward the door where he entered.
    “Wait,” Roi calls out, and the guard turns.
    Shepard's heart seizes.
    “I will take a quick leak and be back to enjoy the festivities. She is dangerous, and my presence is required. ” Roi winks.
    The guard smirks. “What is one female against all of us?” His palm sweeps out to encompass another guard in the shadows, Roi, and himself.
    Much , I reply inside my head, but I say nothing.
    They chuckle together.
     
    *
     
    When the old man enters the lounge with his hand on Juliette's elbow, Shepard witnesses her animal instincts surface like dark ink in water.
    Juliette catches sight of Shepard and reacts instantly, taking measures to extract herself from the old man. He wrenches her elbow as she attempts to twist from his hold.
    Her lips flatten as she uses the same limb to jab his throat. That is easily done.
    Next Juliette works her way through the pair of guards. First, she silences the one who voiced that she was just a female .
    He hits the floor, soundly foot swept and now wearing a crêpe of ruined, bloodied flesh instead of a nose.
    Juliette takes down the next guard, and Shepard moves forward.
    He expects to take her easily, before Roi can return from the washroom. Instead, she fights him before he can speak. Explain.
    He kisses her, one last time—feeding off her mouth like a man who arrives at an oasis.
    Juliette bites him.
    Shepard rears back, and she hangs onto the flesh of his lower lip like a pit bull.
    He slaps her, though he has not harmed her in years.
    She flies backward, and pivoting, she sprints to the door.
    Blood trails down his jaw. No, he mouths—knowing Roi will enter where she attempts to exit.
    And he does, swinging open the door just as Juliette intercepts him. He doesn't check his swing or appear to hesitate about what level of violence to bring. He smashes his fist into her face.
    Juliette staggers backward—falling. But Shepard is there to catch her, though she bloodied him.
    Roi jerks her from his arms.
    Shepard allows this. He understands the timing must be perfect, but the waiting is the purest agony.
    While Juliette hangs on to consciousness by the slimmest thread, the cop from the Black Rose crashes inside the room like an enraged bull.
    “Thorn,” Juliette says in a slurred voice.
    The cop's eyes flick back to her after a quick survey of the lounge, his gaze briefly taking in the fallen men.
    Shepard sees much in their visual exchange.
    “You have no jurisdiction here,