Delta: A Spy Novel

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Okay, I’m super, super sorry that it took me this long to upload. I’m terrified to look at the last time I did, because I’m pretty sure I won’t like it. But I’m sorry. I’ve been working on “The Odds” because I love “The Hunger Games” and felt a huge urge to write a fan fiction. Please go check out that story while you wait for me to update again. Hopefully it’ll be quicker this time because I’m on Easter break. Hallelujah, Christ has risen! :D Well, hopefully I can write loads this week so I’ll try to update rapidly. Thank you for waiting patiently (or not so much) and not killing me! I’m terribly sorry it took this long; I had a bad case of writer’s block.

Thank you loads! Happy Easter to you all and I hope you have a great Easter season! <3 vb123321

Chapter Twenty-Nine

♥            Astrid         ♥

So now we could find out the truth. If this man was capable of telling it.

Decrioux’s hands were folded behind his back, and he regained his pacing, for so long that I began to feel restless, wondering what he had in mind. Jay, seemingly reading my mind, immediately sent me a look, obviously pleading with me to remain silent, and Pierre was sending me a similar one.

Stopping suddenly, Decrioux snapped around to face us, and I was slightly startled at the change that had taken over him. His face was noticeably darker, eyebrows arched a little higher, eyes burning feverishly. For the first time, I was more than a little afraid for my life.

“I am going to assume that you know my father was the rich owner of a real estate agency.” Once again, not a question. “And as his only heir, I managed to inherit all of his fortune when he passed away. Sadly, his wife wasn’t around to gain it.” That sadistic smile twisted over his otherwise handsome face again.

Okay, that was one mystery covered up. He had definitely killed the wife, then. But why was he telling us all this so willingly, even if he did plan to kill us as well?

“Was he actually your father?” Pierre asked, sounding dubious. “This Decrioux guy?” I felt a flash of annoyance at his hypocrisy, but couldn’t deny that I, too, had been wondering that.

“Mmm…” Decrioux tapped a finger against his chin mysteriously. “That’s the question. Was he?” He shrugged slowly, grinning more widely. “I’ll be honest with you: no, he wasn’t. Since, as dear Charlie said, I am going to kill you anyway, you may as well be fully acquainted with me. I was born Michael Cloying, but have been known as Louis Decrioux for the past fourteen years. Longer, perhaps,” he said, nodding at me, “than you have been alive.”

“I’m sixteen,” I grumbled, but he was continuing.

“Call me what you wish,” he shrugged airily. “You won’t be calling anyone anything for much longer at any rate. And so, young Louis Decrioux, the long-lost son of dear Alphonse, will be lost forever, I’m afraid. He had a slight accident regarding a steamship some years ago. He’ll never know the difference.”

I frowned. So he had been lying all along – hardly surprisingly, really. But what did this have to do with being a drug-dealer? Couldn’t he be one without being the son of some famous rich person?