Creole Kingpin Read online

  “Trey! You find him yet?” I shout to the empty space.

  His disembodied voice comes from a few rooms over. “Hold on, I’m taking a shit. Give me two minutes.”

  “Eager to put this one to bed, man?” Jules asks from the kitchen as he tosses the remains of his protein shake into the trash. “You know it takes time.”

  Crossing my arms, I argue. “Time? If someone stabbed your woman and she had to fucking kill him to protect herself, wouldn’t you want to know everything? Would you be wasting time?”

  “Maybe if I knew for certain she was my woman.”

  Jules and I have gone toe-to-toe dozens of times over the years, but he knows damn well what my intentions are.

  Narrowing my eyes, I glare at him. “You expect me to work miracles in one day?”

  He grins, not at all cowed by a scowl that would make other men piss themselves. “You? Fuck yes. I know what you’re capable of.”

  Instead of being annoyed, I laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Hell, I’ll go one step further, boss. I might even change my vote on dinner. I think she might show.”

  Considering he’d said no way in hell before our workout, I jerk my head back in surprise. “No shit?”

  Jules shrugs. “I don’t know why. I’ve just got this feeling.”

  I managed to put the thoughts of dinner out of my mind during our workout, but they’re back at the forefront now.

  I want to believe she’ll show up. I want to trust she’s at least curious enough about what I might have to say and why I’m back. But Magnolia Maison has never been the predictable type. She’s as Machiavellian as I am. She’s got angles and motives most people would never guess—just like me. I want to clear away all the bullshit between us and lay it all out. No games. No lies. Just the truth.

  “Let’s hope you’re right,” I tell Jules as Trey opens the door of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his shorts.

  “That john might need a priest.”

  I laugh and shake my head. “Jesus Christ, man. Really?”

  He waves a hand in the air as he makes his way over. “Maybe I should try your beet juice, because that shit was pure evil. Now, let me tell you what I found out while you two meatheads were pumping iron.”

  I straighten. “You got a name?”

  Trey shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “Then what do you have?”

  Trey returns to his seat, taps a few keys on the laptop, and spins it around to face me. “Not a fucking thing. He’s a ghost.”

  I bend over to look at the screen. “What am I looking at then?”

  “Prints that aren’t in any system. ID in his wallet was fake. Facial rec search is still going, but I’m telling you—this guy doesn’t exist.”

  “What the fuck,” I say quietly. “You mean . . .” I glance up at Trey to find him nodding.

  “Yeah. It’s like we made him disappear and covered all our tracks like the pros we fucking are, but we didn’t do this.” He scratches the back of his neck and crosses his arms.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jules says as he lumbers from the kitchen. “You’re saying someone else erased him?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Trey meets my eyes, his gaze dead serious. “Whoever this guy was, he didn’t want to be found. Which, in my estimation, makes him a hell of a lot more interesting than he was last night.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.

  Of course this can’t be simple. Nothing to do with Magnolia ever is.

  I tap the tabletop and then point at Trey. “Keep digging. There’s gotta be something. You know all the places people usually fuck up when they wipe someone. No one is as good as you, Trey. No one. Figure out who the fuck he is. That’s the only way we’re going to find out why he went after her and if there’s more coming.”

  Jules’s expression is somber, but for good reason. We all know the consequences of digging up graves, fake or not. The dead don’t like being found. And the living dead will kill to prevent it.

  “I don’t have a good feeling about this, man. Not at all.”

  At least our instincts are still working on the same wavelength. “Yeah, me neither.”

  Nineteen

  Magnolia

  The reading left me shaken. There’s no doubt about it. I was also left with a hell of a lot more questions than answers.

  And the one at the top of my mind? Do I meet Moses tonight or not?

  Celeste’s words follow me as I amble back to my new place. “Let him show you.”

  Easier said than done, because letting someone show you requires trust in its own right—and trust is one of the only luxuries my lifestyle hasn’t afforded me.

  “Hey, stranger. Fancy seeing you again. Two days in a row.”

  The unfamiliar voice jerks me out of my head—back to the here and now—and to the All-American blond guy from yesterday.

  How did I not notice him? Jesus Christ. I’m usually a lot more aware of my surroundings, but Celeste’s reading and the past twenty-four hours have me all out of sorts.

  I wave at him but keep walking. But he doesn’t take the hint and jogs to catch up.

  “Thanks for the directions yesterday. Café Envie was great. Any other places I should try?”

  I pause and stare at a guy who absolutely can’t take a hint. “There’s a visitor center not far from here. They can help you out.”

  “Nah,” he says with a huff. “I don’t want touristy stuff. I’m a local now. I need to find the local hot spots.”

  Grinding my teeth, I glance behind me. “Yep, just as I thought. I forgot my neighborhood welcome wagon. Sorry. You’re going to have to find someone else to show you around town. I’m busy.”

  “What if I buy you dinner?”

  I’d like to buy him a fucking clue. “I’ve got my dinner covered. Good luck.”

  Then I clip along down the street, but something tells me not to go to my gate until he’s out of sight again. I don’t want this guy knocking on my door every other day, asking for restaurant recommendations, which dry cleaner to use, or if I have a preference of florists.

  “Maybe I’ll run into you again next week and change your mind. Have a good one, stranger!” he calls after me.

  I don’t acknowledge it. I don’t want to encourage the guy. I’ve never had a thing for Wonder bread, and that’s exactly what he is.

  Basic. Plain. Ordinary. No flavor. No panache.

  I’ll change my mind? In your dreams, you overconfident asshole.

  It pisses me off all the same that he’s just moved in around the corner. I pause and bend down like I’m shaking a rock out of my shoe, and he disappears from sight. Finally.

  As I unlock my gate, I’m filled with annoyance that my new sanctuary is already tainted. First by the blood last night, and now by a guy who doesn’t understand when his attention is completely unwanted. After the amount of money I’ve sunk into this place, it’s disappointing.

  Rocco is inside, working hard and singing off-key to Joan Jett.

  As soon as the door shuts behind me, I debate what to do next. I could start hanging my clothes up in the closet . . . but from Rocco’s belted-out notes, I can tell he’s upstairs, no doubt trying to get the master bedroom finished like I asked.

  He’s almost done. Just be patient, Mags. It’s all going to come together.

  The cards from my reading shuffle through my mind. Change is coming. Change that’s bigger than Rocco finishing the caulk work around the tub and knocking out the final items on the punch list.

  I step back outside and drop into a patio chair from the set I had delivered last week.

  You’re stronger than this, Magnolia. You can handle whatever’s coming. Have you stopped to wonder if it’s you that’ll be coming? That big hunk of Creole muscle is still looking mighty tasty.

  I jerk my head up and look around, as if trying to figure out where the hell that thought came from. Ho-It-All, clearly. Apparently, I named m
y contrary inner voice well, because she’s advocating for Moses now. And if he was the Devil card Celeste dealt me yesterday . . . who knows what’s coming next.

  Death.

  It’s a card that doesn’t usually frighten me, but after the last twenty-four hours, I’m not myself. Maybe I should meet Moses tonight. Hear what he has to say. Do what Celeste suggested . . . let him show me.

  As I take a minute to myself, sitting in a ray of sunshine, the damn Chariot card pops back into my head too.

  Make a decision. One way or the other.

  I have to choose. So I do.

  Without even letting Rocco know I was here, I slip out of my gate once again.

  If I’m going to face Moses, I need some shiny new armor first.

  “Do my eyes deceive me, or am I really seeing Magnolia Maison step into my shop?” Yve Titan, the wife of billionaire Lucas Titan, says to me as I cross the threshold of Dirty Dog, my favorite dress shop in the Quarter. In the last couple of years, she’s expanded, and her offerings have gotten even more unique and varied.

  “How’s it going, Yve?”

  She smiles broadly. “Oh, you know, just another day in paradise.” Yve moves like a dancer as she gracefully gestures to the fixtures holding scores of beautiful dresses. “To what do I owe the pleasure today? It’s been a while.”

  Yve and I struck up a friendship of sorts over the past few years since she took over the place and turned into one of the hottest boutiques in New Orleans. She and I don’t exactly come from similar backgrounds, but she’s no idiot or asshole, and I respect her drive. When she married Titan, she never had to work another day in her life, but she didn’t let that change her hustle. If anything, she’s even more ambitious now.

  “I need a dress. Something . . .” I pause, trying to decide exactly how to describe the reaction I want Moses to have. “Something to make a man ache.”

  Yve’s lips purse together in an intrigued pout. “Oh, girl. Please tell me you’re going to fill me in on this story while I find you exactly that.”

  “Maybe,” I say as I shrug like it’s no big thing. But one of Yve’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rises, and I have to wonder if she can see right through me.

  “I just got a shipment in from a brand-new vendor, and her pieces are to die for. No one has seen a single one yet. We’re almost finished steaming them in the back, but . . .”

  I sense where she’s going. “But you’ll let me have first dibs if I tell you who I’m wearing it for?” I ask, sure I’m on the right track.

  Her guilty grin makes her even more stunning. “Damn, you’re sharp. No wonder you’re one of my favorite customers.”

  “Mm-hmm. I can smell the bullshit from here, Yve. Show me the dresses, and I’ll think about telling you.”

  She studies me for a moment, her tongue tapping her teeth. “Fine. Only because I like you.”

  Yve leads me into the back, where one of her employees is adjusting a dress’s skirt with one hand while gripping the steamer handle in another.

  “Oh, that looks divine, Kayleigh,” Yve says. “Want to take the floor so I can show Magnolia our newest beauties?”

  The girl, probably in her mid-twenties, jerks her head around when Yve says my name. Her face is easily readable, and I find the proof of my infamy stamped on it. She definitely knows who I am.

  I used to find it amusing that my reputation preceded me wherever I went, but now . . . it’s getting old. As Kayleigh smiles my way, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have complete anonymity again. For no one to know who I am or what I’ve done. It’s the most indulgent thought I’ve had in a long time, but I don’t get to dwell on it long.

  “You’re gorgeous. Jesus. Wow.” Kayleigh blinks and lifts a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, that wasn’t exactly professional. It’s really nice to meet you.”

  She holds out her hand, and I shake it. You’d think I’m a celebrity from the awestruck look on her face.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  The girl smiles broadly at Yve. “If you need any help, let me know. Also, not that you need my two cents, but the aubergine dress with the boning would look so bomb on her.”

  “Ohhh . . .” Yve makes an excited sound and claps her hands as Kayleigh disappears out of the back room to man the store. “She is not wrong. And I’m pretty sure we have it in your size.”

  The fact that Yve remembers my size when I haven’t been here in a few months says a lot about the kind of shopkeeper she is.

  “Purple isn’t really my color—” The words coming out of my mouth die away as she pulls the most gorgeous dress off the rack and holds it out. “Damn. That’s a dress.”

  Even on the hanger, it looks stunning. The deep purple pencil dress is a perfect hourglass shape, sleeveless, and instead of being a V-neck, it curves down in front to a point. The skirt looks like it’ll hug my hips and thighs before stopping just above my knees. It’s classy as hell, but still sexy as fuck.

  I meet Yve’s gaze. “Seriously? You show me one dress and it’s perfect? Are you a witchy woman or something?”

  She winks at me. “I gotta give Kayleigh credit for this one, although I definitely would’ve shown it to you too. I have another one in red . . .”

  I shake my head. “No. Not red. Not for tonight. I’ll look like I’m trying too hard.”

  Her perfectly shaped eyebrow goes up again. “You’re not even going to give me a hint? Because this feels . . . different.”

  “It is. Moses—” I cut off what I was about to say, shocked I revealed his name to her. I haven’t even told Keira about him.

  And why is that, Mags? Ho-It-All chimes in, and I shut the inner voice down.

  At my side, the quiet chime of a text message comes from my purse.

  “Moses,” Yve says with interest underlying her tone and a smile on her face. “Now that’s a strong name for a man. I can’t say I know anyone in this town with it. Or should I?”

  She’s fishing, and I don’t know why I take the bait, but I do. Maybe because I just need to tell someone about him.

  “He’s not from here. We met right after Katrina. He helped me. It was . . . different. Like you said.”

  Her lips form a perfect O. “And he’s in town? And you’re meeting with him? Wearing this dress?”

  I throw my shoulders back, feeling some of my gall return. “If I feel like it. I’m still not sure if I’ll go.”

  “Oh, girl. You’ll go. We always do. You have to let me know how it goes. I’ll be dying for news if you don’t.”

  My thumb swipes across the smooth material of the dress, and I ignore another chime from my bag. “There may not be anything to tell.”

  “I refuse to believe that. Any man who gets your attention is bound to be something remarkable.”

  I lift my gaze to her once more. “Why do you say that?”

  Yve’s lips press together for a beat, like she’s trying to decide how to answer delicately. Finally, she does. “Because you’ve seen a lot. I imagine men aren’t much of a mystery to you anymore. But you seem intrigued, and I have to believe that means something.”

  “Might be something. Might not be. I’ll let you know.”

  Thirty minutes later, I leave with the eggplant-purple dress and new lingerie to wear beneath it.

  I should have known better than to buy the lingerie, because now all I can think about is watching Moses’s dick harden enough to hammer nails when he sees it.

  It takes everything I have to remind myself that I don’t want anything to do with his dick.

  I’m also lying to myself.

  Fuck.

  Almost forgetting, I pull my cell from my bag, hoping it’s not another problem. I silently pray my girls are okay, Norma and Bernadette don’t need me, and that the sky isn’t falling in the Mississippi tonight.

  * * *

  Rhodes: I’m in town if you want to play. Let me know when would be good for you.

  Rhodes: Also, I plan on dominating. So be prepar
ed.

  * * *

  A small smile spreads across my lips. If things fall through or go south with the sexy ghost from my past, at least I’ll have a backup plan.

  Twenty

  Moses

  The waiter brings me another three fingers of whiskey, and I thank him. Swirling the liquor in the glass, I check the time. Quarter to ten. I’ve been here almost two hours, sitting at the table by myself, nursing glass after glass of the best damn whiskey I’ve ever tasted.

  Magnolia’s not coming, and if I thought she might, I should have known better.

  She’s the most maddening woman I’ve ever met, but also the most fascinating. And yet . . . a smile stretches across my face because I’m a perverse motherfucker. Maybe even a masochist.

  Did I really expect her to fall into my arms as soon as she saw me? Fuck no.

  I didn’t just come back for Magnolia. I came back for the fight that would come with winning her. Nothing worth having ever comes easy, especially a good woman.

  And the best woman I’ve ever met is worth more than a little strife.

  I take another sip of whiskey, appreciating the subtle differences in flavor of this vintage compared to the last ones, and think about my next move. Normally, I’ve got things planned a half dozen moves or more ahead, just like I’d play chess, but not with Mags. She’s a special situation, one that requires thinking on the fly and creativity.

  Maybe if I . . .

  My thoughts trail off as the door opens and the most gorgeous sight of my life walks in.

  I’m on my feet, but I don’t even remember standing. Christ Jesus. My hands curl into fists to stop me from crossing the room and yanking her against me. Holy fuck.

  Her dress doesn’t show much skin, but the purple material hugs her every luscious curve and reveals just enough of her cleavage to make me hard on the spot like some kid without any control over my reactions.