Discretion (The Dumonts, #1)(71)

He shakes his head no. Then he blinks, as if snapping out of a trance, and looks at Seraphine. “You’re bleeding,” he says, horror rising in his throat.

“I’m fine,” she says. “It’s just a bit of glass.”

“Pull over, right here,” I tell Seraphine, and she pulls off onto a narrow road that curves through a wooded park, stopping on the gravel on the side.

Except there’s no relief.

The car feels claustrophobic.

I climb out of the other door, the one that isn’t smashed in, and get to my feet. I only manage a few steps before I’m putting my hands on my thighs and trying to breathe.

None of this makes sense.

Who was that man?

Why was he trying to fucking kill us?

Why?

In broad daylight, without a care in the world, as if he could never get caught?

And why did he stop, just like that?

It’s like whoever was on the phone told him to quit.

I take a deep breath, trying to put it all together, trying to figure out our course of action.

We have to report this to the police.

We have to go to the hospital.

We have to figure this out before it gets buried.

I walk back to the car and open Blaise’s door.

He looks up at me with pained eyes, but whether it’s from actual pain, being scared, or something else, I don’t know.

“What did your father want? Why was he calling you?”

“I don’t know,” he says softly. “I told him . . . I told him I was with you, and he sounded so shocked. He hung up . . .”

I don’t want to say my next words. “And right after that, the driver behind us got a call. You saw that. And you saw him quit. Just like that.”

He swallows uneasily. “What are you saying?”

“He’s saying that you weren’t supposed to be in the car,” Seraphine says quietly as she gets out of the car, taking a few steps and leaning on the hood. “That’s what it means.”

“Are you saying my father orchestrated that? That he just tried to kill us all?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know he was trying to kill us. Maybe just scare us.”

“He was trying to get rid of me,” Seraphine says. “Perhaps poison was too subtle for him. Perhaps he has experience with it. You know, I never wanted to accuse your father, Blaise. I always assumed it was a Pascal thing to do, to kill someone, to get rid of them, considering who he knows and hangs out with. But now . . . now maybe your father is just as fucking sick as I feared he was, to murder his own brother. To try to off his niece next.”

“You’re not making sense,” Blaise says, but there’s something in his eyes that’s telling me it all does make sense to him. It’s just he doesn’t want to believe it.

“It’s quite the coincidence,” I tell him, “if that’s what you want to believe. But I can tell you know the truth. We have all the reasons, Blaise.”

“No,” he says. “No, they would never go that far. I mean, they’ve done some fucked-up shit, believe me. They’ve done things . . . things to you, Olivier. But not to Seraphine, not to Ludovic. This doesn’t fit. They’re bad, but they aren’t this bad.”

“What do you mean they’ve done things to me?” I ask him.

His eyes dart to Seraphine, and she frowns. He looks back at me. “You know.”

And I do know.

So Blaise knew about the blackmailing too.

“Were you always in on it?” I manage to say, feeling anger swirling up through me. “Did you always know? All this time? All these years?”

A ripple of fear goes through his eyes, then shame.

His head hangs just a little lower. “Only recently. I’m always the last to know.”

“Know what?” Seraphine asks.

“Why don’t you tell her?” Blaise asks. “Why don’t you tell your sister what you did. And what it’s cost everyone.” He pauses, a smug look coming across his face. “You like to pretend that you’re so good and noble and loyal, but instead, you’re just a fraud. No better than the rest of us. Just a dirty, lying son of a bitch who doesn’t even have the guts to admit he’s—”

I don’t even think.

My arm swings back, and my fist comes forward, and I punch Blaise right in the nose.

His head goes flying and smacks against the doorframe of the car with a metallic thunk. Blood trickles from his nose as he covers it with his hand, yelping in pain.

“Olivier!” Seraphine yells at me.

But I don’t care. He’s had it coming for a very long time, and it takes all I have to not punch him again. The rage is burning through me at a terrifying rate.

“You’re an asshole,” he growls at me.

“And you’ve been an accessory to fucking blackmail.” I sneer at him. “Do you know how you’ve ruined my life? Do you know the pain you helped cause?”

“Olivier, please, what are you talking about? Blaise, what blackmail?”

He shrugs. “Olivier slept with Marine,” he says tiredly. Seraphine gasps, and I can’t believe it’s finally coming out. “Ten years ago. My father found out and made a bargain with Olivier. Actually, several bargains,” he says and then glances up at me, wincing through the pain. “One was that you would feel the same as you had made Pascal feel . . . Tell me, if you think that driver was after you, where do you think he might go next?”