Defied

by Maria Luis

  Grabbing two plates from the cupboard next to the fridge, I tacked on, “And what are you going on about, anyway?”

  “A fancy party, that’s what I’m talking about.”

  Out of my periphery, I watched her toss an unsealed envelope on the counter. It slid to a slow stop inches from the pan. Curiosity weighing heavy, I moved the skillet off the hot burner to the back of the stove and then picked up the envelope.

  “Party’s set for tomorrow evening.”

  I lifted my gaze to my roommate’s face. “Since you already opened it, why not just tell me what it is?”

  “I’d hate to take away the fun from you.”

  I bit back a laugh. “You’ve already opened the damn thing up. I mean, the party bus has already left the scene.”

  “Good point.” Tugging the envelope from my grasp, Katie promptly pulled a cream-colored card from it, and then cleared her throat. “Tomorrow evening at seven on the dot”—she wiggled her brows playfully—“you’ve been invited to a party being held in support of the announcing of a new mayoral candidate for the upcoming election.” Pausing, Katie sucked in her bottom lip. Then, “Not going to lie, it’s a little weird that they’d send you an invitation like this on such short notice. Who do they think you are? And what the hell sort of clients have you been seeing in the square that you nabbed an invitation like this in the first place?”

  The kind who wanted me to play puppet to their puppeteer.

  Stomach dropping, I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter for stability’s sake. There was only one reason I’d be sent an invitation like that—and there was no doubt in my mind who’d sent it.

  “Give me the card,” I muttered, extending one arm.

  “You look like you just bit into a lemon.” The card was slapped into my waiting palm. “Newsflash, Ave, people die to get invited to stuff like this.”

  Yeah, that was my fear.

  That, and the fact that the event was less than twenty-four hours away.

  Twenty-four hours until I came face-to-face with Jay, my stepfather.

  Twenty-four hours until I finally laid to rest the retribution I’d been determined to dole out for years now.

  Forcing my gaze to the card, I skimmed the flowery prose of “winning back New Orleans” and the mention of “representing the people for the greater good.”

  Bullshit, bullshit, and more words.

  Politicians in the city were all one and the same in this city—dirty and corrupt to their core.

  Only, the name at the bottom of the card wasn’t Natalie Lauren, as expected. Nor was it Big Hampton.

  No, Jason Ambideaux was the man behind the invite.

  Nat’s ex-husband.

  Lincoln’s former boss.

  My bare toes curled into the linoleum flooring, and I swallowed, hard. Had . . . had Lincoln mentioned me to him in passing recently? Or maybe Nat had dropped some sort of info about me, even though I thought they no longer spoke to one another anymore?

  Maybe I was on Big Hampton’s radar; maybe I was on Nat’s.

  But Ambideaux, the man who’d ordered someone to carve Lincoln’s face? There was absolutely no reason for him to know me. Not to mention . . . how had he even known where to deliver the card? I wasn’t listed in any registry, and no one knew I lived here at the Sultan’s Palace aside from Pete, Lincoln, and Katie.

  But the apartment and rent were in Katie’s name, not mine—which meant that someone had to have told him where to send it. And that someone . . .

  My cheeks hollowed with a harsh exhale. Or maybe it was a broken laugh.

  I was so, so stupid. Still that naïve little idiot on the streets wanting to believe the good in everyone I met. And I’d trusted Katie—maybe not with who I was, but in every way that mattered, she was my family.

  My only family.

  Heart thundering, I dropped the card on the counter like it’d caught fire. Took a step back, and then yet another, until the cool expanse of the refrigerator was at my back. I wanted to run—to dart out the front door and down the stairwell, until the breath I drew into my lungs tasted like freedom. Freedom, and a new identity—the way I’d always done.

  Be brave.

  Be bold.

  Hands shaking at my sides, I curled my fingers in, clamping down on my thumbs. Kicking up my chin, I reined in the shock to grind out the words that needed to be said. “It’s weird that I received an invitation at all, considering the fact that I don’t know a Jason Ambideaux.”

  Katie’s blue eyes went from my face to the glossy invitation. “Really? That’s definitely . . . unexpected, then.”

  “Unexpected” didn’t even cover it.

  As much as I wanted to manipulate her into a confession, I wanted answers more. And I didn’t believe, not even for a second, that Ambideaux’s invitation was just a casual, let’s get to know each other type of deal.

  Not from the way Lincoln had described him.

  One wrong move on my part and I’d have a damn J carved into my face, just like him.

  “Did he pay you off?” Bitterness dripped from every word, and my trembling hands were suddenly trembling for an entirely different reason. Betrayal. Anger. And the underlying layer of hypocrisy—because hadn’t I kept her in the dark, too? Hadn’t I staged our first meeting because of who she was?

  Jay Foley’s niece.

  My cousin by marriage.

  Family, for whatever worth that word even held.

  In silence, Katie grabbed the pan off the stove and made a show of dumping the eggs in the trashcan like the action was some sort of metaphor for our relationship. Straight down the trash it went.

  Patience wearing thin, I snapped, “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  After roughly dropping the pan in the sink, Katie’s hands went up to tighten the elastic band of her ponytail. “What is there to say? Here’s your invitation.” Her gaze cut to mine. “You’re throwing a bitch fit for absolutely no reason. Most people would be excited to party it up with the city’s elite.”

  Most people didn’t have to worry about staying in the shadows for reasons they still didn’t understand. And since it wasn’t like I could stroll up to my stepfather and pop the question—hey, why did you want to kill me so badly?—I was stuck in a permanent position of ignorance that kept me forever vulnerable.

  Suspicion crawled like spiders over my flesh, raising the tiny hairs on my arm. “Just answer the question, Katie. Where did you get the invitation? Because we both know that it wasn’t sitting in the mailbox for me downstairs.”

  Mouth tightening, she twisted away, presenting me with her back. “He saw you, you know.”

  My mouth went dry. Did she mean Ambideaux or Jay? Who would be the lesser threat?

  I wasn’t given the opportunity to voice the question. With a hand on the wall, her shoulders hunched, Katie’s voice practically seethed with tension. “Outside of the police precinct with Captain-fucking-America. You had him all over you, so the way I look at it, you brought this on yourself.”

  Because I’d finally wanted a man? Because I’d finally grown the nerve to let down my guard and let someone touch me? How in the world was that my fault? Hell, it seemed like something Katie would usually applaud me for.

  Only . . . “You’re not making any bit of sense. Who saw me and what the hell does that have to do with this?” I pointed at the card. “You’re speaking in riddles.”

  It was the wrong thing to say.

  Arms flying up in the air, Katie whirled around, her expression so hard, so unlike her, that if I could have backed up without climbing into the fridge itself, I would have.

  “Speak in riddles?” she hissed, storming toward me. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? You want to throw stones, then how about this? Ambideaux saw you that night, and then he saw you at the club with your precious sergeant.” Her gaze glittered with fury, and my shock must have registered on my face because she let out a caustic laugh. “Oh, yes, Laurel, he saw you with the good
sergeant’s hand down your pants. Then Ambideaux visited me at work. He wanted to know who you were, how long I’d known you. Maybe if you’d been forthcoming with me from the start I would have told him to fuck off. But, no, I wanted answers, and I found them.”

  Laurel.

  The fear was back, clogging my throat, turning my limbs to concrete, submersing me beneath the water.

  “Katie, I would have—”

  Her hand came up, cutting me off. “I gave you the opportunity to come clean after I went through your precious file cabinet and the rest you hid above the fridge. Was it wrong of me? I don’t even care. And though the blond hair might let you believe otherwise, I’m not an idiot. I sat on that damn couch and called you out and waited for you to say something.” She breathed out a laugh that sounded like tangible disappointment, and I couldn’t deny that I wanted to shrivel up where I stood. “But you only fed me another lie, which I should have expected. I mean, who don’t you lie to?”

  Her pointed question landed like a sucker punch to my chest.

  Lying was my key to survival, but hearing it out loud was . . . oh, God, I couldn’t breathe.

  At my silence, my roommate snorted derisively. “That’s what I thought.”

  I needed to apologize. Hell, there was a lot that I needed to do to make amends with my only friend, but as I stood there, my brain working in overtime, I only whispered, “Jay Foley killed my mother. He’s the one who murdered her, the reason I’ve lived on the streets. You’ve got to understand that there are some facts I couldn’t tell you in fear that you’d tell him.”

  Fear ran my life.

  Ruled my emotions.

  And as Katie stared at me, her expression tight, I realized that my fear had also caused the death of my only friendship.

  “Call me unreasonable or a bitch,” she said in a thin voice, “but I’m gonna need space. And, ironically, I tried to warn you that running forever would land you in trouble.”

  She couldn’t be . . .

  Head pounding with panic, I muttered, “Twenty minutes ago you were demanding to go to this party with me, and now you’re, what? Kicking me out?”

  Katie snapped up the card from the counter and crumpled it up in one hand. “It’s called finally coming to my senses and knowing when to call it quits. Maybe if you haven’t totally fucked over your sergeant, he’ll take you in.”

  Like a stray seemed to be her unsaid implication, and the thought alone was like having steel injected in my bone marrow.

  I was completely aware of the fact that I’d lit the matchsticks for our imploding friendship. I’d approached her first. Warmed her up to me and broken down the walls until we hung out regularly and then we were picking out apartments together.

  She’d trusted me, and I’d betrayed that over and over again for years.

  You’re not so much of a saint after all, are you?

  My chest tightened at the truth. I could pretend all I wanted that every single one of my actions was justified, but at some point along the way I’d become unrecognizable even to myself.

  A woman so determined to right a wrong that I didn’t even blink at using others to put myself in a better place to manifest my own goals.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. It was an apology to Katie, yes, but also to myself. For letting my rage overrule everything else, including my common decency. “I just—” I broke off, unable to put into words how I’d waged war within myself for years. “I’m sorry.”

  Katie nodded, then turned her head, as though she didn’t want me to read her expression. “Don’t go to that party alone, Avery. That’s all I’m going to say. If you’re smart, just don’t go alone.” Stepping back, she spun on her heel and headed for the bedroom. Over her shoulder, she said, “You can let yourself out. And if it makes you sleep any better, no, I won’t tell my uncle about you. Your precious secret is safe with me—for whatever that’s worth to you.”

  She closed the bedroom door, and I heard the lock click shut.

  My palm closed over my mouth, and I bit down on my knuckle to keep from letting a sob break loose. I was strong, had always been strong, but never before had I wanted to admit defeat as much as I did now.

  Jay Foley had stripped me of my identity.

  But he wasn’t responsible for the way I’d stripped myself of who I was at heart.

  And, if I wanted to dig deep, I didn’t even know the answer to that question.

  Laurel.

  Samantha.

  Ruby.

  Avery.

  A figment of mashed identities, whose only purpose in life, for over a decade, had been to murder the man who’d had my momma killed.

  Beyond that, I was no one.

  And that, it seemed like, was the greatest loss of all.

  19

  Lincoln

  It wasn’t Avery’s face that greeted me after I’d spent five minutes banging my fist on her apartment door.

  No, it was her roommate’s.

  The blonde.

  I couldn’t remember her name—but there was no mistaking her bloodshot eyes or the way her coloring was all off. She looked like shit, and I had a feeling that I looked no better.

  Guilt could do that to a person.

  “If you’re looking for her, she’s not here.”

  I went rigid. “You mean, she’s at the square for work already?”

  It was way too early in the evening for her to be reading cards. Hell, it wasn’t even 6 p.m., which meant the gates of Jackson Square weren’t even locked for the night yet.

  The blonde lifted her chin. “No.” She shook her head, then quickly averted her gaze to stare at my right shoulder. “I mean, I don’t know.”

  There was something in her tone . . . something that didn’t sit well with me, and even though I knew it was inherently wrong to scare her, I set my palm on the doorframe anyway. Used the size of my body to intimidate her.

  I’d never said that I was anything less than a callous asshole.

  My voice was low, hard, when I said, “I read liars for a living, and I know when someone’s trying to bullshit me. So, let’s try this again—where is she? And we both know Avery’s not the sort to go somewhere without saying something first.”

  If she had been, she would have left this damn city years ago.

  Like me, she had unfinished business.

  And she has me.

  Christ, I couldn’t go there right now. Not until I’d unloaded everything I had to tell her about the case—and not until I confessed about the night I’d been sent to kill her. I had to come clean, even if it meant she’d never want anything to do with me again.

  Avery’s roommate folded her arms around her middle. Then, softly, she whispered, “I asked her to leave.”

  Ice slid down my spine, and my nails scraped the doorframe as my hand balled into a fist. “Why?”

  “She . . .” Lifting one hand, she ran it over the bridge of her nose and drew in a deep, shaky breath. “That’s between me and her. I shouldn’t have—” Shoulders squaring off, she met my gaze and I could read the worry in her blue eyes. The blatant regret.

  Join the party—there’s more than enough room.

  Clearing her throat, she muttered, “She turned off her phone. I’ve tried calling. I’ve been waiting here in case she . . . That doesn’t matter. I’m rambling, and I doubt you give a shit.”

  If it had to do with Avery, I cared. More than I wanted to admit, and honestly more than I liked. She’d wormed her way into my life, staking her claim and making me believe in shit I’d always assumed was a bunch of bull.

  “Where would she go?” I couldn’t quite hide the urgency in my voice, and the blonde noticed.

  Her shoulders twitched and the smallest smile tipped up her lips. “Shit, you like her.”

  I wasn’t having this conversation. Pushing off the doorframe, I made a solid effort to wipe any trace of kindness from my expression. “No bullshit,” I bit out, “where would she go? If she’s not here, what
’s the most likely place?”

  Shifting her weight, Avery’s roommate dropped her hands to her sides. “She left yesterday. I don’t . . . I don’t know where she slept, but she’s resourceful. Probably the most resourceful person I’ve ever met.”

  A visual of Avery sleeping on the street hit me like a fist to the face, and it was a testament to my self-control that I didn’t let loose the rage sweeping over me. My periphery blurred. Heart rate went into overtime.

  I stepped back, half fearful that I’d react physically.

  Do something I’d always regret.

  As a teenager, I’d obsessed over studies—was human nature learned or genetic? Were the things that I did, the way I acted, a reflection of learned actions over time or something I’d inherited from my parents and their parents before them?

  The way I looked at it, I was fucked either way.

  I’d been taught to kill, taught to react with violence and anger. No one had ever shown me a kind hand, a loving touch.

  But as I stared at the miserable-looking woman before me, I rejected both cases, learned and genetic.

  Only opened my mouth and rasped, “I need one place you can think of—just one.”

  I’d go from there.

  I’d tear this entire city apart until she either turned her damn phone back on or I found her—whichever came first.

  The blonde wet her lips, like she was nervous to be standing near me. Then, “Flambeaux. The corner store over by St. Phillip. She’s . . . she’s friends with the owners.”

  It would have to be enough.

  One curt nod later and I was taking the steps two at a time—but the roommate’s voice stopped me just before I opened the door.

  “Captain America,” she called out, and I glanced up the stairwell. “When you find her, tell her that . . . tell her that I’m sorry. I overreacted and I just—it’s not home without her here.”

  I had my own groveling to do, without adding someone else’s into the mix.