Creole Kingpin Read online

  “I only played chess with him because it reminded me of you, Moby. It’s the only time I ever let myself remember us.”

  I couldn’t have known how good it would feel to hear her say those words, because I never thought she would.

  A lump rises in my throat. “Sleep, mama. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  She reaches out, finds my fingers, and I squeeze hers back. It doesn’t take but another minute before she’s breathing deep and even again.

  I lie awake for as long as I can, savoring the moment. Until eventually, I succumb to a deep sleep, where my dreams are filled with laughter and sunshine, and dark-haired babies calling me Daddy and asking for their mama.

  It’s a good sleep. A real fucking good sleep.

  Forty-One

  Somewhere else in New Orleans

  “Please, just let me go. I gave you the money. I’ve got jewelry too. You can have it. All of it. Just take whatever you want and go. Please, just leave me alone.”

  She hasn’t stopped crying since I put her in her own trunk, drove back to her house, and tied her up to an ugly chair in the living room. I smile to myself because the blood that’s going to stain it won’t make it any uglier. It might even be an improvement.

  I sit down on the coffee table in front of her and watch her cringe as I knock off a vase. It shatters on the floor and her gaze follows it. If she wasn’t tied up, she would have jumped out of her seat to save it.

  She doesn’t realize her problems are just starting. Perra estúpida.

  “You are going to tell me what I want to know.”

  Wide-eyed, she jerks her head around to look at me. “What do you want to know?”

  I pull out the only picture of Ricky I have and hold it in front of her face. “You know him?”

  She squirms against the duct tape trapping her in the chair. “Why?”

  I pull a knife from my boot and test the sharpness on my thumb. Blood wells as the blade slices into it. I smear a red streak across her cheek. “I am the one asking the questions here. Another one out of you, and this will be your blood. Understand?”

  Tears stream down her face as she trembles, nodding her head so fast her teeth clack together.

  I hold the photo up again. “You know him?”

  “I don’t know him. I just saw him once. At a bar. When you called, I thought you were him.”

  I nod slowly. “Good. Who did you pay him to kill?”

  She goes sheet white. “How—” Correcting herself, she shuts her mouth and takes a deep breath. “Three people.”

  “Who?”

  She snuffles and nods. “My husband. His whore. And the madam.”

  I shake my head at her. I was right. Estúpida perra.

  “Names.”

  “Alberto Brandon. That’s my husband. His phone said the whore’s name was Naya.”

  “And the madam?”

  “Magnolia Maison. She owns the house they fuck in. I looked her up on the property tax records.” There’s snot rolling out of her sniveling nose. So pathetic.

  “And did this man,” I tap the picture, “call you to tell you that he had completed any of the kills?”

  She shakes her head. “No. I told you, I thought . . . I thought he might be dead because the police found a body—a man—in the madam’s condo building. I thought . . . maybe it was him. I thought maybe that bitch killed him.”

  Ice-cold rage fills my veins, but I don’t let it show. I learned long ago how to mask my feelings. That’s what working with the cartel teaches you. Never let them see your emotions on your face.

  I smile at her instead, hoping her blood runs just as cold as my rage. “Where is your husband?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in over a week.”

  “Good.”

  She looks hopeful all of a sudden. Puta perra.

  “Are you . . . are you going to cut me loose now?”

  “I told you not to ask questions.”

  My blade flashes, and she gurgles as I slit her throat. She’s dead in less than a minute. I wipe the blade on the chair and slide it back into my boot.

  Now I’m going to go find the woman who killed my brother. And she will not die so quickly. No, I will make that last a long, long time.

  Forty-Two

  Magnolia

  I wake up alone, but I know Moses slept next to me. I remember the heat from his body last night. The pillow still shows the indent from his head.

  I can’t believe I slept in the same bed with him for the first time in fifteen years, and we just . . . slept. That’s not happening again, I decide.

  Despite my anger last night, the words he spoke to Rhodes in that room at the club come rushing back into my head.

  “You willing to die for her? Because I am.”

  I was too pissed to really think about them until now. And one thing I know for certain—a man doesn’t say that about a woman he doesn’t care about. He doesn’t say it if he’s not all in.

  But why did he wait so damn long to come back? As soon as I ask the silent question, Ho-It-All is ready with an answer.

  Have you given him a chance to tell you? No, you’ve been throwing everything back in his face and shutting him down. Maybe try talking to the man. Like, an actual fucking conversation.

  I’m tempted to flip my inner voice the bird, but she’s right.

  Even though the old us only existed for a flicker of time—two weeks—it was the most real thing I’ve ever had in my life. Even my relationship with Rafe didn’t feel as real as those two weeks I spent with Moses.

  Maybe it’s because all Moses and I had to rely on during that crazy time was each other. Two perfect strangers, riding out the aftermath of an insane storm, bonding over a shared experience. I don’t care what anyone says. Until they’ve experienced what we went through, they can’t say dick about what we had together.

  And, God, I remember how we talked. Over the chessboard, especially. It was easy then, even if most of what I said was naive as hell when I think back on it now.

  I distinctly remember telling him about the empire I was going to build. How it was the most important thing in the world. I’d just inherited the house from the old madam who got me off the streets and took me under her wing, and I wasn’t walking away and letting that go. Not when I just got my hands on it. Not for anyone.

  That was the other naive part. Thinking a house meant more than spending my life with someone who I knew, even after that short span of time, was unlike anyone else I’d ever met in my life. We were drawn together like magnets. It’s the only explanation I have.

  What would it have been like to wake up next to Moses every day for the last fifteen years? How different would life have been if I’d gone with him?

  I stop myself there.

  Doesn’t matter now. It’s all coulda, woulda, shoulda, and those thoughts are a waste of time and energy.

  What I have is right now, and I’m getting my ass out of bed to take advantage of it.

  With a final glance at Moses’s pillow, I roll off the comfortable mattress, take care of business in the bathroom, not even pausing to look in the mirror, and automatically grab my phone from where I left it on the nightstand before I go in search of him.

  My first stop is the kitchen because that’s where the long hallway leads, but instead of finding Moses there, I find Jules.

  I’m proud of myself for not losing my temper last night any more than I did, because facing him this morning would make me feel like an asshole. It’s a good reminder not to be a dick to people I’m going to have to see more than once. Which could literally be anyone.

  “Morning, Ms. Maison,” Jules says from where he stands near the center island of the open-concept kitchen and living room area.

  “Magnolia’s fine. Ms. Maison makes me sound like I’m fancier than I really am.”

  He pauses chopping whatever he’s got on the cutting board and takes me in. “You look pretty fancy to me. Ever
ything he’s said about you over the years is starting to make sense.”

  Instantly, I want to ask what Moses could have possibly said about me over the years, but I don’t. I’m stunned by the fact he talked about me at all, truthfully.

  Sensing my shock, Jules smiles, and there’s a kindness to it that’s undeniable. “Moses is out in the courtyard. You want coffee?”

  Coffee. My entire body practically moans at the thought. “I would love some.”

  He puts his knife down and wipes his hands as he gives me that easy smile. “I’ll bring some out to you. How do you take it?”

  “Black.” My standard retort, like my heart, is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it. Even in lightheartedness, the words seem wrong now somehow.

  Maybe because my heart isn’t what I thought it was. It’s changing. Coming to life again. Beating with anticipation about the thought of walking out the big glass doors to find the man who slept next to me, even after he was so mad he didn’t want to face me.

  I swallow, not knowing how this will go. But to Jules, I offer a quiet, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “My pleasure, Magnolia. And, by the way, it’s really good to finally meet you.”

  His statement makes me smile. I’m not used to men just being friendly and polite without wanting something in return. It’s refreshing.

  My entire body vibrates as I walk through the doors and out into the morning sunshine. The golden rays reflect off the crystal blue waters of the pool, but my attention goes directly to the man sitting at the table with his back to me.

  As I step onto the paver path through the grass, I see the newspaper in front of him and watch as he lifts a steaming cup of coffee to his lips.

  He’s wearing black basketball shorts and a ribbed tank top. And, good Lord, does he look good. He was a beautiful man before, and time has done nothing but hone his perfection.

  I haven’t given myself much of a chance to compare this new version of Moses to the old, but in the bright light of day, I can’t help but do exactly that. His muscles are bigger, and he’s definitely more built than before.

  There’s a maturity to him he didn’t have back then. The Moses of old wouldn’t have walked away from me last night to let his temper cool rather than going at it and saying things we didn’t mean. He’s still not willing to take shit from anyone, though, if how he handled Rhodes was any indication. Comfortable in his own skin and sexy as hell, that’s Moses.

  For a single moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if this was our life. Like, our real life. Moses up early while I sleep in. I come outside to him drinking coffee and reading the paper. I imagine coming up behind him and leaning over to press a kiss against one of those big, beautiful shoulders and saying, “Morning, Moby. Thanks for the extra shut-eye. I needed it after last night.” Because, of course, in our fantasy life, he’d work me over good every night, making sure I get what I need—and not just because he loves it when I scream his name when I come. But also because I do the same for him.

  God, with that vision in my head, I wish it were true.

  I wish I felt well-used this morning. I wish with every step I took, I could feel him between my legs. I miss him. All of him.

  “You okay?”

  Moses’s deep voice pulls me from my daydream, where I’m standing ten feet away, creeping like a pro. He turns his head, and I catch his sharply handsome profile.

  I still my shaky, sweaty hands by running them down my sides. “Yeah . . . uh, sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “Thinking about joining me?” He motions to the chair across from him. “Because you’re more than welcome.”

  “Thank you,” I say, pulling my shit together and crossing the remaining distance between me and the chair, but I pause with my hand on the back of it first. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  Before I can say more, Moses shakes his head. “You don’t have shit to be sorry for. You didn’t ask for this. You didn’t ask me to come back after fifteen years and barge into your life. I should apologize, but I can’t be sorry for it either.” He leans back and gazes up at me. “Hell, Mags. We’re both stubborn and hotheaded. We’re bound to fight.”

  He’s giving me an out, but deep down, I’m sure I can’t take it. I need to say what’s on my mind.

  “Still, I need you to know I took a walk in your shoes, when you didn’t come to bed last night. I get it. Chess is special. It’s been special since the first game we played. I’d be pissed as hell if I walked in on what you did. I get it.” I trace the iron edge of the table. “I’ve always done what I had to do to survive. And sometimes, playing chess was the only thing getting me through. It made me feel good because it made me feel closer to you.”

  It should be easy, but I have to fight to look directly at Moses. His green eyes linger on my face, and there’s no anger or sharpness in them. There’s something else, something that fills me with warmth, even more than the heat of the sun on my skin.

  “Ah, mama. I get that. More than you probably imagine. We all do what we gotta do to survive, including me. I’ve been doing the same thing. Missing you like crazy.” He nods at the seat I’m standing beside. “Sit. Join me.”

  I lower myself into the chair, and his confession knocks loose more words I never expected I’d have the chance to say.

  “I’ve missed the hell out of you too, Moby. It didn’t even seem real sometimes, you know? Two weeks is nothing in the grand scheme of things, but you left a mark on me I couldn’t erase, no matter how hard I tried sometimes.”

  He reaches out to cover my hands with his. “I know. I didn’t want to wait fifteen years to come back to you either. Trust me, that was never the plan. But . . . sometimes, shit doesn’t work out the way we expect.”

  The air is sweeter this morning, and somehow it’s easier to breathe. Easier to let things go too. “Coulda, woulda, shouldas will haunt us if we let them. I’m not down with that.” I meet those expressive eyes of his again and ask him point-blank what’s on my mind. “So, what the hell do we do now?”

  He squeezes my fingers. “You tell me, Mags. What do you want?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” I ask, taking another deep breath to think about how I want to answer it. I don’t want to rush or make a mistake. I want to treat this like it’s special and fragile, because it’s new and means everything to me.

  Before I can speak, my phone buzzes on my lap, and I jump.

  “What?”

  I lift it with my free hand and show it to him. “My condo building manager. Sorry, wasn’t expecting any calls. It can wait.”

  He shakes his head. “Answer it. Could be important. You never know.”

  Even though I don’t want to, I tap the screen and accept the call. “Hello?”

  “Magnolia?”

  “Yeah, Carl. What do you need?” The condo isn’t home anymore, but it was a good steppingstone for me, and Carl was always helpful when I could get ahold of him.

  “I hate to interrupt your morning with bad news, but . . .”

  I sit up straighter in my chair, and Moses leans in to listen. I lower the cell and tap the button to put it on speakerphone so we can both hear whatever bad news Carl is about to deliver.

  Moses reaches out, snags my free hand, and squeezes.

  “But what?” I ask, giving the guy across from me a squeeze back.

  “Someone broke into your condo last night. Neighbor across the hall noticed the door open when she was leaving for work. She went to close it and saw some fucked-up shit, so she called me.”

  I can picture the older woman, mid-fifties, who lived across the hall, but she never made eye contact with me or said hello.

  “What kind of fucked-up shit?” Maybe a sex toy fell out of a box when the movers were there. Hell, they could have left the door open too. Shit happens.

  “Well, first, it’s basically empty—so I hope you already knew that.”

  Jules places a cup of cof
fee on the table for me, and Moses quietly thanks him before he goes back inside.

  “Yeah, I’m moving. I told you that. The sale is closing soon.”

  “Okay, good.” Carl sounds a bit more relieved. “Well, you should be able to get it all cleaned up before that.”

  “Cleaned up?” My tone jumps an octave, and Moses grips my hand tighter.

  “There is . . . something written on the wall. At first, I thought it was spray paint when I went up there . . . but I don’t think it’s spray paint.” He hesitates for a minute and then hacks, almost like he’s gagging. “Excuse me. I . . . I think it’s blood.”

  A chill tears through me, but somehow I manage to say, “I’ll be right there.”

  “That’d be good. Cops should be here any minute. I called them when I saw it.”

  “Thanks, Carl.” The hits just keep coming, and more than ever, I’m tired of always having to survive every day. Will there ever be a time when things are easy, and I don’t have to be on guard every second of every day?

  “Sorry, Magnolia. I wish this was a better call.”

  “Not your fault,” I say and hang up.

  As soon as the call ends, Moses is on his feet, pulling me out of my chair and against him. He wraps me in those strong arms and holds me as I shake.

  “It’s gonna be okay, mama. We’ll handle whatever comes together. You’re not alone in this. Not for a single fucking bit of it.”

  Hearing those words washes away the dread building inside me with a flood of relief. The twisting in the pit of my stomach calms enough that I don’t feel like I’m going to vomit on the table at the visual my head keeps creating. That’s when the answer to the question Moses asked before we were interrupted by the phone call hits me. I pull back a few inches so I can see his face.

  “That. That’s what I want, Moby. I want a partner. I want someone to stand by me while we weather the storms. Because my life seems to be filled with fucking storms.”

  He lowers his chin to press a kiss to my forehead. “That’s exactly what you got, mama. Whatever comes, we’ll take it together. Now, let’s go handle this shit. It could be hours before the cops come. If there’s anything left you want from your place, we’re getting it now.”