Creole Kingpin

by Meghan March

  She pouts at me like I’m a poor gutter puppy. “Not interested, Moby. Now, get out of my doorway.”

  My smile can’t be held back now. “You’re a real piece of work. One hell of a woman, Magnolia.”

  She rolls her eyes and turns her rosy cheek to break our eye contact. “Whatever.”

  She tramps into the bathroom as I stand there, watching her as she closes the door. Surprisingly, she pauses when there’s an inch remaining and calls out, “You want to make yourself useful, blow up the air mattress. Blowing shit ain’t my thing.”

  The bathroom door closes, and a burst of laughter leaves my lungs.

  I told her the truth. She’s one hell of a woman.

  My woman.

  I just have to remind her, and then make sure she never forgets again.

  Twenty-Seven

  Magnolia

  I don’t know where Moses sleeps in my house, but he doesn’t push to sleep on the mattress he inflated. True to my word, I went to bed sated and slept like the dead. I refuse to admit my sleep was undisturbed because I knew he was watching over me.

  When I rise from the air mattress, there’s a crick in my neck, but I don’t have time to think about it because I hear something coming from downstairs.

  Voices. As in plural.

  I quickly throw on some loose shorts, a bra, and a tank top before heading down to see what the hell is going on.

  I stop short in my kitchen when I see Moses at the counter, wearing his slacks and a white undershirt, going over my punch list with Rocco.

  “You’ll have it all done today?”

  “Yes, sir. Absolutely. The cleaning crew can come tomorrow, and then she can have furniture delivered—” Rocco cuts off his statement when he sees me.

  Hands on my hips, I glower at the pair of men at my new marble island. “What the hell is going on?”

  Moses answers as if he’s been here all along, every day, throughout this renovation. “Rocco was just telling me he’ll be done this evening with the punch list and out of your hair.”

  I face Rocco, who is studying me and my casual look. “Already?”

  He glances down at the sheet of paper we made the list on, and then back up at me. “Yes, ma’am. Just give me today to have a few more guys come in, and we’ll be out of here for good.”

  “A few more guys?” I repeat the phrase because I know Rocco didn’t plan on using more help due to the labor expense. “Is that going to cost me more?”

  He shakes his head, catching Moses’s eyes, which are firmly drilled at him to answer the way he’s been instructed. “No. Not a penny more.” The look tells me there’s something I’m missing here, but Rocco excuses himself before I can ask more questions.

  Left alone in the kitchen with Moses, I cross my arms over my chest. “What did you say to him?”

  “What needed to be said to get you a house that’s livable.” He stretches his neck to one side and then the other. “Because I’m not sleeping across your doorway again. I’m too old for that shit, Mags.” He holds up an index finger to hammer home his point. “One long, miserable night was enough.”

  Scowling, I remind him, “No one asked you to.”

  I try to breeze through the kitchen, but Moses snags me around the waist with an arm and brings me to stand between his legs. Body heat radiates off him, soaking through my clothes and creating a flush up my chest.

  “You sleep okay?”

  As I smile up at him with all the sweetness I can manage, I pretend I’m not feeling a bit affected by his presence. Plus, since he slept like shit, I’m inclined to rub my semi-restful night in a little. A girl’s got to have her fun when she can. “Like a baby.”

  Heat flashes in his hypnotic eyes. “You enjoyed making me listen to you come in the shower, didn’t you?”

  My smile widens as I recall how I used the handheld sprayer I specifically had installed for that very purpose. I turned it to a pulsating setting, and all it took was a few thoughts about Moses to have me screaming—not that I’d ever admit to him what or who I was thinking about.

  “More than you’ll ever know.”

  “You’ve got a mean streak in you, woman.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “Damn right I do. Now, I’m going to get coffee.”

  “Perfect. I could use some.”

  When he releases me from his hold, I hate that I miss the warmth of his body almost instantly. I’ve never been at war with myself like this before.

  I want him. There’s no doubt about that. But I’m not ready to confess it. That would be handing him way too much power over me, and I’m not willing to do it.

  As I step toward the door, the chime on the gate rings, and I pause.

  “Who the hell could that be?” I mumble to myself, but my gaze collides with Moses’s. “One of your people?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Let me look.”

  He strides to the front of the house and looks through the shutters. I’m right behind him, because it’s my damn house.

  As soon as I peek, I wish I hadn’t.

  “Motherfucker,” I whisper, gritting my teeth when I see Detective Cavender standing on the sidewalk. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

  Moses shifts, his bulky shoulder brushing against my bare skin. “Who is it?”

  I gaze up into his green-gold eyes and fill him in. “A fucking cop. Detective Cavender. He’s investigating the elevator murder and already decided he likes me for it. I told him I wasn’t at my condo the night it happened. Wouldn’t give him an alibi. Wouldn’t let him search my place. I told him to come back with a warrant. He knows who I am and what I used to do.”

  Moses’s stare narrows on me. “How does he know about this place?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him with my palms pressed against my temples. “He shouldn’t. No one should. Fuck. This isn’t supposed to happen like this. Fuck.”

  “You trust me?” Moses asks.

  I jerk my head back, totally uncertain of what he’s getting at. “Why?”

  “Because I know you didn’t buy this place in your name, and there’s no way a run-of-the-mill NOPD detective should know you own it with how well you’ve covered your tracks.”

  I want to ask him how the hell he knows all that, but I don’t. The chime rings again, and I hear Rocco coming down the stairs.

  “You need me to answer?”

  “No, we got this. Thanks, man,” Moses replies before the contractor gets too far down the steps.

  I’m starting to panic. Having him around does nothing for my focus, and time is running out. “Make your point, Moses.”

  “I’ll handle it, mama. Trust me.”

  I want to tell him I don’t trust him at all, but I can’t. What other option do I have? “Then fucking handle it, Moby. Get rid of him.”

  A grin lights up Moses’s features at my use of his old nickname again. “My pleasure.” He leans down and presses a hard kiss to my lips and heads for the door before I have a chance to say another word or take it back.

  That man . . . He’s already got me falling back into old habits before I’ve even decided if it’s what I want.

  What the hell am I going to do about him now?

  Twenty-Eight

  Moses

  I open the gate to face a man I would have pegged as a cop, regardless of whether Magnolia had told me he was one. His wrinkled suit, the way he stands, and the air of confidence that comes only from carrying a badge gives him away.

  “Good morning. Can I help you?” I ask as I open the gate.

  He tries to hide the surprise on his face when he sees me. He wasn’t expecting a man like me. Six-three, light-skinned, but definitely black somewhere in my Creole lineage, muscles with enough bulk to show I hit the gym regularly. Unlike the cop, I’ve got confidence ingrained in me that comes from knowing I will handle any fucking situation that might crop up. Including a detective making a house call to an address he shouldn’t know shit about.

  He measures m
e up and down. “Who are you?”

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that, considering you’re ringing my bell?”

  “Your bell?” He breaks eye contact, looking up and down the street before his narrowed gaze lands on my face again.

  “You were expecting someone else, I take it?”

  I have to give the cop some credit, he recovers from the surprise of me in a hurry. “Yes, actually. Sorry to disturb you. What did you say your name was again?”

  Grinning, I catch the old trick. “I didn’t. Just like you didn’t. But feel free to introduce yourself anytime. And if you want to tell me who you were looking for here, you can do that too.”

  The cop rocks back on the heels of his beat-up dress shoes that haven’t seen a shine in way too long. After a moment’s deliberation, he pulls his shield from the inner breast pocket of his suit and flashes it at me.

  “Detective Cavender. I’m looking for Magnolia Maison. You know her?”

  Yeah, I know her, man. I listened to her come last night, wishing I was buried inside that sweet pussy.

  I ignore his question and reply with one of my own. “And why are you looking for the woman here?”

  Cavender’s lips press into a hard line. “Can’t disclose that information. Police business.”

  This time, I chuckle. “Ahh . . . I get you. Well, either way, you won’t be talking to Ms. Maison today or anytime in the future.”

  The cop jerks his head back. “So you do know her.”

  “Sure do. She’s my woman.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my billfold. One flick of my thumb pulls out what I need. “And if you have any questions for her, you can call this gentleman right here. He’ll make sure you get the appropriate responses.”

  I hold out my lawyer’s business card to the cop, and he snatches it from my hand, looking down at it before staring back at me.

  “Who the hell are you?” He rocks from foot to foot, entitled and waiting.

  “Moses Buford Gaspard, and I’d appreciate you not bothering me at my residence again. Have a good day, Detective.”

  I shut the gate in his face.

  Twenty-Nine

  Magnolia

  I shouldn’t be turned on, but I am. Damn it. I overheard every word Moses said to the cop, and I was floored by how he dealt with the situation. He had my back. Protected me and shielded me. Handled Cavender like a boss.

  Goddamn it, why does Moses have to be so fucking capable?

  All my life, I’ve had to cope with shit alone. Every step of the way. If I wanted something to happen, I had to make it happen. If I had a problem, I had to solve it. Not since those two weeks fifteen years ago have I had someone I could lean on to share my burdens.

  And Moses didn’t think twice about it.

  First with Rocco, and now with Cavender. He’s stepping up without even being asked.

  Goddamn it all.

  Moses stands in the doorway, practically blocking out the sunlight because he’s a big bastard. I just stare at him, wondering how I’m supposed to feel right now, because I sure as hell don’t know.

  He claps his hands together as if dusting them off. “Done and done. What’s next?”

  “You gave him your name,” I blurt. “Why would you do that?”

  “So he’ll spend his time running me rather than trying to dig deeper into who really owns this house.”

  My eyes feel like they’re about to shoot from their sockets. “Isn’t that even worse?”

  That lazy grin stretches across his face. “Nah. I’m squeaky clean.”

  “But what about Biloxi?” He told me all those years ago about his many petty—and not so petty—crimes.

  “Mama. I told you what I do. You don’t think I’d handle my own shit first and clear out my history? I’m covered.”

  “And the lawyer? What’s he going to say?”

  Moses’s shoulders shake with unconcerned laughter. “He’ll tell Cavender to go fuck himself in the politest way a thousand-dollar-an-hour New York lawyer can. If they want more, they can get a fucking warrant, which no judge is going to give them based on only you living in a building where someone died. Especially since there’s nothing to tie it to you.”

  The massive man plucks a fallen eyelash off of my cheek and holds it in front of my lips to blow. When I don’t, he does, and then moves on like what happened outside was no big deal.

  “Now, how about that coffee? I could use a beignet.”

  Thirty

  Somewhere else in New Orleans

  I hate this dirty city, full of people who’d rather party than work.

  As I let myself into my brother’s apartment, I crack my neck, fully expecting to find him passed out with a hooker or two in his bed. That is how I found him last time he didn’t answer my texts or calls for two days.

  But that’s not what I find this time.

  I check every room. It’s a pigsty, not that I’m surprised. Pizza boxes, beer cans, and empty daiquiri cups litter the coffee table. The expensive TV sits silent in the corner, and there’s an inch of dust on the stereo system. It might be the housekeeper’s year off, but Ricky has no problem blowing money on anything he wants. That’s always been his problem. Mi hermano goes through money like water. He’s always asking for his deposit early, which is the other reason I’m here.

  He hasn’t asked, which tells me something’s not right.

  “Where are you, Ricardo?”

  Silence is the only answer, and it is not one I’m willing to accept.

  Ten minutes later, I have even more questions.

  Starting with how he has twenty-five thousand dollars in his safe. Idiot used his own fucking birthday as a combination too. Not that anyone else alive would be able to match him with that date.

  “Ricky . . . Ricky . . . Ricky . . . What the fuck have you been doing?”

  To prove a point, I take the cash and start for the door. Except one thing stops me—a piece of paper on the counter with a phone number written in Ricky’s sloppy handwriting. Next to it is a prepaid cell phone.

  I flip it open. The battery is dead, so I plug it into the charger attached to the wall and wait a few minutes to power it on. After it comes back to life, I scroll down to check the last dialed number. It’s the one on the sheet.

  Dumb fuck. Throw the fucking paper away then, imbécil. If Ricky’s dealing with some shady shit, I’m going to have to get involved. He’s the worst criminal I’ve ever known.

  I tap the number and wait for the call to connect. A woman answers on the third ring.

  “Jesus. I’ve been waiting a week. Is it done? Are they dead?”

  I am not a bad criminal. In fact, I am a very fucking good one.

  I take a single guess at exactly what my little brother has gotten himself into and reply to her. “Yes. I want the rest of the money.”

  “I want proof before I wire it.” The woman on the other end sounds like she’s got balls of brass and no respect, but then again, she was dealing with Ricky and not me.

  “Then you’ll have to meet me. Change of plans . . . no wire. Bring cash. I’ll text you a time and address. Don’t be late unless you want to end up like them.”

  “Hey,” she says, starting to protest, but I hang up.

  Fucking Ricky . . . trying to be a hit man like I used to be. I shake my head. Now I must find him, because something is not right.

  Thirty-One

  Magnolia

  I must be living in an alternate reality, because Moses is sitting across from me at a café. He looks comfortable as hell in his fitted undershirt with a steaming double shot of espresso in front of him and an empty plate that used to hold a mound of beignets that I never thought a man who looks like he’s carved from stone would eat. But he sure as hell didn’t waste any time putting them away.

  How is this even happening right now? I swear to God, I will never understand how the universe works.

  “What?” he asks as I stare at his mouth, which has a smudge of powdered sugar
smeared across it.

  I point to my own mouth to show him where it is.

  “You want me to kiss you? Right here? I can do that.”

  His chair slides across the tile floor as he leans over the table to come toward me. I throw my hands out to stop him, because I don’t need his candied lips adding even more confusion to my messed-up head.

  “Powdered sugar,” I blurt instead, but force myself to remove the panic from my voice. “Your mouth. Wipe it,” I say more calmly, picking up a napkin from the table and holding it out to him.

  His eyes sparkle like he’s amused as hell at how flustered I am at the thought of him kissing me. Asshole.

  I’m never flustered. And yet here we are, on this ass-backward day when the thought of a man kissing me has the power to make me act like a goddamned virgin and prize idiot.

  “Why don’t you come over here and get it for me, mama. After making me listen to what you did to yourself in the shower last night, it’s the least you could do.”

  If I still had the capability of blushing, I might, but I don’t because that part of me is long dead. I search for some of the sassiness I felt last night when I decided to torture him so I can kick this out-of-control sensation.

  Thankfully, it doesn’t take long at all.

  I reach out, dab my finger into the powdered sugar, and bring it to my lips, sucking the sweetness off and letting it melt in my mouth. I’m making a show of it for my sake, but just as much for his.

  Glancing up at Moses, I find his hooded, slowly blinking eyes on my lips, and I lick the smile off my sugary lips.

  That’s right. I’m in control here.

  I tilt my head to the side. “You deserved it for how you acted last night.”

  Mimicking my motion, he tilts his head in the opposite direction. “You brought up a threesome with my employee.” His voice is even and calm, but he’s quick to respond.