The Fight for Forever Read online

  “You think she’ll shoot him down?”

  I stare at Scarlett, loving how her gray eyes get even softer when she’s close to me. “You don’t?”

  She shrugs, and the oversize sweatshirt she’s wearing slips off her shoulder. “I don’t know.” She wraps her other arm around me. “But as long as he’s far away from us, I’m happy.”

  I lean in to kiss her lips, carefully, because of the cut near the corner of my mouth. “As long as you’re happy, ladybug, I’m happy. I fucking love you.”

  “I love you too. Now . . . are you ever going to tell me what your real last name was? I’ve been dying to ask, but there hasn’t really been a good time.”

  I grin. “You really want to know?”

  “Of course.”

  “It was Champion. Gabriel Champion.”

  Her mouth drops open, and she starts to giggle as she shakes her head. “Only you would want to upgrade to Legend.”

  I steal another kiss. “Just wait until I make you a Legend, ladybug.”

  Epilogue

  Scarlett

  “Are you sure you’re up to this? We don’t have to haul the picnic basket all the way out here. We can sit by the sidewalk,” I say to Gabriel as he leads me to a spot in Central Park on Monday morning.

  He’s black and blue, which pains me to see, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Especially not after he told me how much money he’d bet on himself, and with the odds, what he’d won.

  Legend will be his, free and clear, next week. Well, almost. He’s making Q a full partner.

  “Only so I don’t have to feel guilty about him working all the damned time.”

  But I know it’s more than that. Gabriel wants to share his good fortune with his best friend, and I’m fully in support of it.

  Bump asked yesterday if he could go back to Meryl’s center to see the kids, and that’s where we’re headed tomorrow.

  I had a nightmare after the fight, mostly about Lucy. When a ghostly Rolo entered my dream, I woke up from a dead sleep. Gabriel held me and promised it would get better, adding if it didn’t, he’d insist on taking me to see Kitty at the gentleman’s club since it worked for Bump. His joke did make me feel better, but I passed on the titty bar all the same.

  Instead, I made an appointment to go back to Dr. Grand’s office, but this time to see someone specializing in trauma. In the meantime, I’m writing in my gratitude journal twice a day, because I have even more to be grateful for now. I won’t take waking up in the morning for granted. A brush with death will do that for you.

  “Are you saying that because you want to get back to the store so you can help rearrange everything because Crey’s wife is coming?”

  Holly Wix called me last night, and she’s coming in on Wednesday for her first appointment at Curated. To say I’m nervous is an understatement.

  I whip my head around to look at him. “Miss a breakfast picnic with you to rearrange things? Never.”

  He chuckles as he sets the basket on the ground. “I almost believe that.”

  I come toward him and slide my arms around him, gingerly, because of the bruising. “You know there’s nothing I’d rather do than spend time with you. Always. Nothing will ever change that.”

  “Good, because this would be pretty awkward if you said otherwise.” Gabriel peels my arms away from him as I stare in confusion.

  “What do you mean?”

  His answer is to walk another dozen steps away from me and take a knee . . . on a rug?

  “Is that the rug from your office?” I stare at it in confusion, wondering how the hell I didn’t see it as we walked up.

  Gabriel’s lips curve into that incredible half smile of his as I close the distance between us.

  “How . . . what . . .” I can’t put two words together in a coherent fashion, so I go silent and wait for him to explain.

  “I was going to wait until we were done eating, but I can’t. I can’t wait another fucking second to ask you this question.”

  When he pulls a ring from his pocket, my jaw nearly hits the very carpet that Bump rolled me up in to kidnap me.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper.

  “I know we were never supposed to meet, but fate intervened. You brought me back to life, Scarlett. You showed me what I have and what I’ve done isn’t who I am. You’ve made me a better man in every respect.”

  “Oh my God, Gabriel.” Tears stream down my face as he smiles up at me with two black eyes.

  “I want to wake up beside you every morning. I want to leave you notes that you save and reread. I want to give you babies with golden hair and gray eyes, and live a messy life with you. Scarlett Lourdes Priest, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

  I drop to my knees in front of him, throwing my arms around his neck. “Yes. Absolutely, yes.”

  “Thank God,” he whispers against my hair. “Because we’ve got a hell of a future ahead of us, ladybug. I know it.”

  I nod against him before wiping at the tears. He reaches for my hand, and I finally see the ring as he slides it on my finger. It’s stunning.

  “When did you . . . How did you . . .”

  “I picked it out before the fight. Just needed the cash to buy it. I knew there was no way I could lose, because I couldn’t wait any longer to do this. Q went to the store last night to pick it up.” He glances down at the rug. “He and Bump helped me with this too, in case you’re wondering.”

  I laugh and stare down at the delicate band with its massive stone, the oriental rug beneath us, and then back into his shimmering blue eyes. “Just so you know, I would’ve said yes, even if you’d proposed in the bathroom with a piece of dental floss.”

  Gabriel winces as the smile stretches his face wide. “You deserve to be treated like a queen, and that’s exactly what you get.”

  I shake my head. “Not a queen. A Legend.”

  THE END

  Are you ready to go back to New Orleans and the forbidden criminal underworld controlled by its ruthless king, Lachlan Mount? Good. Because I couldn’t stay away for another second. If you haven’t met Lachlan Mount yet, keep reading after the first chapter of Creole Kingpin, for a sneak peek of Ruthless King.

  The Anti-Heroes Collection wouldn’t be complete without this intense story of second chances and redemption. It is unforgettable. Keep reading for the first chapter of Creole Kingpin, coming March 10, 2020. You can preorder it now by tapping on the title. Whatever you thought about Magnolia before, I promise this story will suck you in and won’t let you go until the very last page.

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  Sneak Peek of Creole Kingpin

  Chapter 1

  Magnolia

  “One card. You know the drill. I’m feeling strong energy coming off you today, Magnolia.”

  I pause midstride between the Saint Louis Cathedral and Jackson Square as Madame Celeste waves me over to her rickety card table. She has a shop a few streets over, but she sets up out here more than I think an elderly woman should. But then again, what the hell do I know? It’s not like I could stop her anyway. Stubborn woman. I guess like recognizes like.

  “You’re only saying that because I didn’t stop to say hi. I’m in a hurry,” I tell her, my eyebrow popping up. Celeste and I go way back. She’s been a fixture in the Quarter for as long as I can remember.

  “There’s always time for what the cards have to say.”

  My heels click on the stone pavers as I close the distance to her table. “I have an appointment, Celeste. I can’t fuck around today.” When something gleams in her otherworldly pale blue eyes in response, I huff out a breath. “Fine. Two minutes. One card. But I can’t be late.”

  She holds out the deck, and I knock the top and shuffle qu
ickly.

  “Your life is about to change, chère.”

  My brow creases. “You haven’t even flipped over the card,” I say, giving her my best side-eye. Despite my words and the warm, sunny day, chills skitter up my spine, unleashing a raft of goose bumps along my exposed skin.

  Celeste smiles, revealing the gap between her two front teeth. “I don’t need the cards to feel the winds of change. You’ve been out of sorts for too long, Magnolia. The universe feels your energy and the questions you’ve been asking. Your answers are coming. All will be revealed.”

  I tip my head to the side and release another long breath of annoyance, but inside, I’m tense as hell. Celeste shouldn’t know this shit. And, really, I shouldn’t be buying into it. I’m a woman of the world, and no deck of cards is going to tell me what will happen in my life. I’m in control. That’s the way this works.

  Yet, here I sit.

  “You don’t need to give me the tourist song and dance, Celeste. Just flip the damn card.”

  “You feel it too,” she says, and her eyes seem to glow. There’s only one other person I’ve ever seen up close who had eyes that did the same trick, but they were a different color.

  And we don’t think about him. Not fucking ever.

  “Right now, all I feel is how much I don’t want to be late to this meeting I need to get to.”

  She winks at me and flips the card.

  The Devil.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Celeste.” I cut my gaze away from the card to her face. “You stop me and then flip over the Devil card?”

  There’s no hiding my discomfort in this moment. I scrub my hands up and down my arms to chase away the damn chill I shouldn’t be feeling in this sunlight.

  “You shuffled the deck, Magnolia. You brought the card up. You can deny it all you want, but you feel it too, don’t you? The unease that’s been dogging your every step? You’re letting everything that’s happened to you eat you alive, and it’s gotta stop.” The woman sits up straighter and pulls back her thin shoulders. “It’s time for change. You can’t keep going on the way you are. You gotta make a choice.”

  The twisting knot in place of where my stomach used to be tightens to the point of discomfort. I’ve been carrying the weight of shit my whole life. That’s nothing new to me. But Celeste is right. The last couple of years, shit’s been getting real heavy.

  Grief. Betrayal. Rage. Heartbreak.

  Celeste hit the nail on the head—just like always. All those feelings swirling inside me have been slowly eating me alive. A girl like me can shake off a lot, but even I can only handle so much. Shooting and killing a man the way I did . . . it’ll fuck you up.

  I stare into Celeste’s eerie eyes and force a smile to my crimson-painted lips. Bravado has always been one of my most valuable assets, a talent I can’t live without.

  “That’s enough, Celeste. I’m fine. Shit always works out in the end.”

  She shakes her turban-covered head slowly from side to side. “Change is coming whether you want it or not. I know you like to dance with the devil, but watch yourself, girl. He always demands his due.”

  The hair rises on the back of my neck as I stand up. “Take care of yourself, Celeste. I’ll see you later. I gotta go.”

  Her hand snakes out to grab my fingers, and I tense at her bony grip.

  “All I want is for you to find peace. Peace and love, chère. Now go, but watch yourself. Those winds of change are blowing strong. I feel it in my bones.”

  With those foreboding last words, Celeste releases my hand, and I flex my fingers to shake off her predictions. I back away from the table, turning in the direction I was headed, making my way through the crowd of tourists who’ve gathered in front of musicians playing a tuba, a trumpet, and a trombone. Static rushes in my ears, drowning out the sound of the brass playing “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

  With my arms wrapped tightly around my middle, I pick my way across the gray stones beneath my feet, careful not to catch a heel in the cracks.

  What the hell was that about? Change is coming whether I want it or not? As if that’s news. It’s the one thing I can always count on—shit changes.

  Someone slams into me from the side, and my purse strap yanks against my shoulder.

  “Not today, motherfucker,” I bite out as my grip tightens. I lock eyes on a kid who looks like he’s about sixteen and should definitely be in school. Then again, around that age, I wasn’t either.

  His eyes go wide before practically bulging out of his head when he gets a good look at me. I know I’m attractive. I have a body built for sin and a face to match.

  My silky dark hair flutters in the breeze as I tilt my head at him. “You hear me? Not today.”

  The kid’s head bobbles like one of those toys on a dashboard, and as if by magic, his hand releases my purse strap. “S-sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

  I spear him with a don’t-fuck-with-me glare. “Right. And I was born yesterday.”

  He licks his lips and drops his gaze to my tits before backing away slowly. “You’re fucking hot.” At least this, he says to my face.

  “Get your ass off the streets before you get picked up for all the shit you’ve done.”

  He nods, but it’s unlikely my words will change a damn thing. The sorry excuse for a petty thief breaks eye contact after another beat before trotting away through the crowd. Probably off to find an unsuspecting victim.

  At least it wasn’t me.

  You can’t save them all, Mags. You can’t save them all.

  With that truth echoing in my brain, I start marching again, my focus on getting to this meeting before I’m actually late. Tardiness isn’t something Mount tolerates, even from his wife’s best friend. Him marrying Keira has definitely made my life easier, but it’s clear where my bread is buttered, and I show proper respect. No one wants to wake the beast that man can be, especially not me. I’m all about self-preservation.

  As I move to cross the street, dodging pedestrians, something catches my attention through the plate glass window of a building on the other side. An eerie greenish-gold gaze collides with mine.

  Not. Possible.

  Blinking, I spin around in the middle of the street, then rush toward the window to get a better look.

  It can’t be him. Not now. Not after all this time. That’d be like conjuring a damned ghost.

  A small crowd of tourists blocks me as they gather around three boys drumming on five-gallon buckets, but I sidestep them to stare through the glass. Those haunting eyes I thought I saw? They’re gone. And the seat where I thought I saw them? Empty. Again.

  It’s not the first time I’ve thought I saw the man those eyes belong to, but I’m always wrong.

  He isn’t coming back for you, and he never was. You’ve had fifteen years to get that through your damn head.

  You’d think I’d learn. But old habits die hard, especially my habit of looking for him in every face I see.

  “Change is coming.” Madame Celeste’s words filter through my head as I stand on the sidewalk, staring at people eating brunch in the restaurant.

  The scent of rich spices wafts around me, and I swear I hear his voice.

  “Some things don’t happen twice in a lifetime, Magnolia. You’re one of them.”

  Those words are from the past.

  Fifteen years ago, I let myself forget who and what I was, and I made the ultimate mistake.

  I fell in love.

  Then he left and never came back. My heart has been black ever since.

  Maybe Celeste is right. Maybe the devil is coming for me. Too bad it won’t be the one I still dream about during my weakest moments.

  * * *

  You do not want to miss the rest of this story. Preorder Creole Kingpin by tapping on the title, and it will be delivered to your ereader on March 10, 2020. It’s time to go back to New Orleans. I hope you’re ready. If you haven’t met Lachlan Mount yet, keep reading for a taste o
f Ruthless King. The complete Mount Trilogy is available now for your binging pleasure.

  Sneak Peek of Ruthless King

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  New Orleans belongs to me.

  You don’t know my name, but I control everything you see—and all the things you don’t. My reach knows no bounds, and my demands are always met.

  I don’t need to lend money to a failing family distillery, but it amuses me to have them in my debt. To have her in my debt.

  She doesn’t know she caught my attention.

  She should have been more careful.

  I’m going to own her. Consume her. Maybe even keep her.

  It’s time to collect what I’m owed.

  Keira Kilgore, you’re now the property of Lachlan Mount.

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  Ruthless King is available for purchase by tapping on the title.

  * * *

  Chapter One

  Keira

  Are those footsteps?

  I freeze outside the door to my locked office and stare at the handle like it’s tainted with anthrax.

  My employees wouldn’t dare. They know my office is off-limits. And my parents are seven hundred miles away in Florida, living it up as retirees on the monthly payments I send them from the dismal profits of the distillery. It’s barely hanging on, even after four generations of clinging to life making Irish whiskey in New Orleans.

  This basement isn’t haunted. This basement isn’t haunted.

  I repeat that truth like a chant until my heart slows to a semi-normal pace. My dead husband’s ghost better not be inside, or heaven help me, I’ll kill Brett again myself.

  Summoning the same iron will it has taken to dig this company out of the trenches, I grasp the handle, yank the door open, and fling myself inside, attempting the element of surprise. Or false courage. Or . . . something.