by Maria Luis
But I’d be damned if he ruined my chance to catch Nat unaware.
Snagging a length of velvet cord off a shelf, I spun Kevan around and wrapped the rope around his wrists. Once I’d tied him off like he was Thanksgiving dinner, I sat him down on the floor—back to the wall.
His eyes were fluttering, breathing uneven. Groans were pitiful.
I’d dealt with worse, and I had no doubt that he’d live.
Dropping to my haunches, I quickly dug through his pockets for the building keys. They were hooked to his belt, and five second later, they were hooked to mine.
I shut the door behind me on my way out, locking it from the outside.
With a quick glance from right to left, I moved toward the back of the room, heading for the long hallway that’d lead me to the Basement. No one said a word as I brushed past them, my head down. They were too busy drinking, too drunk on the sight of almost-naked women twirling on the poles throughout the room.
Shoulder to the General Storage Closet door, I flipped through each key individually until I found the perfect match. Inserted it into the lock, twisted the metal door handle, and quietly entered the darkened room.
At this time of night, the Basement would just be rearing up to go. The gambling tables would be popping though the stages would still be quiet and unused. Which meant that Nat would be circulating each table as she observed her den, watching for weaknesses in the players, instructing the house to make certain moves.
I took the steps up to the second floor, two at a time.
By the time the night was over, Nat would rethink ever trying to eviscerate me—or using Avery to do so.
My heart thudded at the thought of how I’d left her. I’d sensed her disappointment in me. Hated the desperation she’d voiced in wanting me to step back, to rethink, to not act impulsively.
She didn’t understand.
Jay Foley may have tried to kill her once, but my neck had been positioned under the guillotine by too many people over the years. I was done with the threats. I was done with stepping back and keeping my head down and trying to stay away.
If they wanted to dance, then I’d fucking dance them right into their graves.
My eyes adjusted to the dark slant to the room, its seductive shadows rippling like water along the walls and the floor. Only two of the almost ten stages were open so far: a female masturbating on one, and then a couple fucking on the other.
I turned away, clinically skimming my gaze as I searched for a glimpse of Nat. Hand on the butt of my gun at my hip, I hunched my shoulders and sank deeper into the shadows along the wall. She’d be here, I knew she’d be here.
And if I had any luck, Hampton would be here too.
I’d given him the benefit of the doubt the night at the shack in bumfuck nowhere. A benefit that had bitten me in the ass when I’d turned my back and given him room to play.
That was my fault.
My mistake, but one I wouldn’t make again.
I tracked each figure that entered my periphery, and then—
“Bingo,” I muttered beneath my breath.
There was only one woman who’d be dolled up in a gold dress that shimmered and glowed like that. Like a beacon of falsehood, she threw her head back with a tinkling laugh, her hand pressed to a man’s shoulder as he sat at one of the tables.
Limbs loose, I waited. It was part of the hunt, the waiting. Couldn’t move too soon for fear of giving myself away.
Two minutes later, a man appeared at her side and bent to whisper in her ear.
Her laughter died. Giving a brief nod at the man, she made her exaggerated goodbyes at the table, and then followed the newcomer away from the gambling. They bypassed the rooms where I’d owned Avery’s pleasure, and then breezed past a doorway just left of the bar.
Her offices.
Time to go.
I trailed them at a safe distance, and either the guy bartending was new and didn’t recognize my face or he didn’t give a damn because, just like Nat and the stranger, I breezed past the bar, too.
Flexing my fingers, I angled my body to hug the walls.
It’d be too easy to pull out my firearm now and unload a round the moment I saw either her or Hampton—but I was a civilized bastard, as much as was possible, anyway, and I only listened for the distinct sound of their voices.
Stepped down the hallway.
Paused. Listened.
Kept going.
“I’m glad you were able to meet me. It’s been so very long, and I have such an interesting bit of information to tell you.”
Here we go. Back to the wall, just beside the door, I strained to hear the response—tried to gather how many people might be beyond the closed door.
“It has been, Natalie. Quite long.” There was a small pause, and then the masculine voice added, “Wasn’t expecting to find Quinn here with you.”
Feminine laughter drifted out into the hall. “Quinn’s loyalty has been on my side for a very long time, sir. Since the end of my marriage, at least.”
“How fascinating.”
My eyes slammed shut as I recognized that voice—Jay Foley. My deadbeat, socialite of a father.
Fuck.
He never traveled without security which meant that there were at least four people inside: Nat, Foley, the stranger Quinn, and at least one detail assigned to my asshole father. Give or take another one or two, just depending on how paranoid Foley felt this evening.
The situation wasn’t ideal.
Actually, it was far from ideal.
But I’d been in worse positions. Hell, the first and only time I’d ever met my father had been during one of the annual first-responder galas. I’d had no interest in going, but Delery wouldn’t have it—and it’d been with a shock of disbelief when the mayor walked up to me, out of nowhere, and said, “Heard through the grapevine that you’re my son.”
The introduction had been impersonal.
And the fleeting happiness that had entered my heart at being recognized—maybe even wanted—was extinguished in the very next second when the mayor cut a glance at me and muttered, “I’ve heard of you, of course, and what I’ve heard is disturbing. Man to man, I thought you should know who I am to you but”—he’d looked away—“I’ve got no interest in having a son, Mr. Asher, and particularly not one like you.”
Particularly not one like you.
If I’d been quick enough on my feet, and not reeling from shock, I would have gotten in his face. Told him that the only reason I was like me was due to the fact that I’d been dumped as a child. Maybe if I’d been shown love, hugged on occasion, told that I was more than “our little killer,” the mere mention of my name wouldn’t have disturbed him or anyone else.
I never learned who told him about me.
It could have been Ambideaux, my mother’s close childhood friend.
Could have been Nat, on a bender after the poker game gone wrong with her brother, and wanting me to hurt. Years had separated her brother’s death and when Foley had approached me, but she held grudges longer than even I did.
Back to the wall, I drew in air, filling my lungs, and debated my next steps.
There was no other way about it: I’d have to stroll in there like a casual son of a gun. Act like it was all part of my plan to be the odd number out.
Now or never.
25
Lincoln
Pursing my lips, I whistled like a damn lunatic and popped the door wide open with the toe of my combat boot.
Then slammed to a dramatic stop as I went faux wide-eyed at the lot of them in the room. “Hot damn,” I drawled with pure sarcasm, “I must have strolled into the wrong room.”
For a solid two seconds, there was pure silence.
And then everyone launched into motion: Nat leapt up from her seat and Foley dragged her back, while Nat’s lackey—Quinn—hurled himself toward me, the mayor’s detail in tow.
I ducked the swing of Quinn’s arm on instinct alone. Came up on
the other side, one hand clamping on his extended arm to swing him around by the elbow until I’d put him in Ambideaux’s favorite hold.
Wrists at his lower back. Knees buckling as I shoved my leg against the back of his thighs.
“Sorry to barge in,” I grunted as Foley’s detail came at me from the other side. I had a split second to feel guilty for doing what I was about to do but—fuck it. I swiveled Quinn to the left, positioning him before me like a shield at the last moment, and crack!
Quinn’s head whipped to the side from the blow of the pistol connecting with his face.
As I’d been taught growing up, an opportunity gained was never an opportunity wasted—I helped myself to the gun at his hip, and then let his shocked body fall to the floor. Stepped over him and announced, “Not exactly the family reunion most people dream about, but pretty par for the course for me.”
Foley’s security detail didn’t make it two steps before the mayor was barking out, “Everyone, stop!”
The detail froze.
I didn’t abide by the mayor’s orders and took the seat Quinn had vacated before trying to take me down. One ankle propped up on my opposite knee, I rested the butt of the gun on my thigh, pointing the mouth toward Nat.
“Why don’t you take a seat?” I murmured with a motion of a free hand at her empty chair. “We’ve got some shit to discuss.”
Her elegance had long since left the building and she came up spluttering. “I will not. Are you out of your mind? Why are you here?”
“Heard you wanted me dead. And I figured what better way to put the shit to bed than to nip it in the bud.” Idly, I stroked the polymer frame of Quinn’s Glock. At Nat’s wide-eyed glance at the gun, I quirked a brow. “You’ve always thought the worst of me, Nat. I’m not going to shoot you.”
When the stiff set to her shoulders loosened, I murmured, “Although, trust me, it’s tempting as fuck. Between you and your husband, I can’t catch a break.” A bitter laugh rolled through me like a shard of ice. “To think, at one point I’d considered y’all family.”
I’d meant it as a throwaway comment.
There was not a chance in hell I could have predicted the way her red-painted lips twisted in a sneer. The florescent lights caught on the shimmer and glimmer of her gold-sequined dress, making her look like the modern-day equivalent of a disco ball.
“I am not your mother,” she hissed, chin jutting forward, eyes narrowed into slits. “You were a leech on my marriage, always there, always existing. But no matter how much Jason kept you around, you were never a son to me.”
It wasn’t anything I hadn’t heard before—Nat had never been good at concealing her feelings for me, and I’d long ago built steel armor to protect myself from her vicious tongue. To be likened to a leech, though? Christ, something had crawled up her ass and died today.
Stroking the Glock, just to keep her off-balance and twitchy, I met her gaze. “I don’t know who you’re trying to shock right now, Nat. You hate me. That isn’t anything I didn’t already know—that I haven’t known for years.” I couldn’t help glancing at Foley, just to catch his impression of this showdown, especially since he already found me disturbing.
Being this close to him, though . . . fuck, I wished that I had all those testimonies to lock him up for good.
You could have had Avery’s.
Maybe. But I’d let my thirst for vengeance and violence override her offer. Even now, I couldn’t deny the pulse of anger that sharpened my vision and vibrated just under my skin. It was the anger that pressed the words off my tongue: “And it’s not as if I don’t have experiences with mothers hating me. I get enough of that shit with my biological one, so I don’t need you—”
Jay Foley’s deep laugh interrupted me.
I stared at him the way I hadn’t done when I’d first walked in—the salt and pepper hair, the dark eyes, the strong jawline. The New Orleans media had once likened him to George Clooney, and I could see it easily. Dressed in a crisp, gray suit, there was an air about him that was deceptively friendly. Easygoing.
It was all too easy to see why all those females had fallen victim to his charms.
As for me, I was too much of a jaded bastard to do anything but stare impassively at him, my thumb coming to rest on the trigger guard. He may have knocked up my mother, but he was as much of a father to me as any other stranger I’d met along the way in my life.
“Care to share what’s so funny with the class, Mr. Mayor?”
With his thumb, he swiped at his right eye. “It’s heartless of me to laugh, of course.”
My grip tightened on the Glock. “There’s no press here for you to put on the gentlemanly act. Whatever you’ve got on your mind, just fucking say it.”
His dark eyes swung to Nat, whose brow was once again unpuckered. She smiled, just a little, and there was something in her expression . . . something about the way she turned to me with clear eyes and that smirk . . .
Blood chilling, I growled, “Someone want to get on with the program?”
The mayor shook his head like he was utterly flabbergasted. “How does he not know?” he asked the room, not making eye contact with any one of us. “Jesus, this is rich. How does he not know?”
Energy spiked down my spine, and I rose from the chair. I kept Quinn’s gun in front of my hips, clasped between my two hands in caution. “What the fuck don’t I know?”
“Your mother is dead.”
Four words from my father’s mouth, and I staggered back. Victoria Meriden hadn’t loved me, hadn’t ever shown me even a smidgeon of affection, but she was still my mother. Still the woman who’d brought me into this world.
Pain slipped over me, needling my skin like the sharp tips of a blade, over and over until I’d been torn open. Gaping wounds. Bleeding profusely.
“How?” I worked out hoarsely, my gaze volleying between Nat and Foley. “When did you find out? Did Jason”—I swallowed, hating the vulnerability in my voice—“tell you?” I looked to Nat. “Is that what happened? He told you?”
Not even a hint of pity lined her features when she stared at me, not saying a word. If I’d wanted to throttle her before, it was nothing compared to the rage that seeped into my marrow now.
“Someone answer me—when did she die?” My voice boomed through the room. I spun around to face Quinn, who was now hauled up against the wall, touching a palm to his cheek. Foley’s detail was next to him, standing guard.
She couldn’t be dead. Yeah, she’d had medical complications over the years. The car accident had robbed so much from her—the use of her legs, her mind, it seemed, which included her memories of me. But Ambideaux had more money than God, and he kept her lifelines steady. That was our deal. Had always been our deal.
I worked for him, and he ensured that my mother—
My legs wavered under my weight. No. No, he wouldn’t have . . . I was going to be sick. Right here, right now, I was going to lose the contents of my stomach in a way that I’d only ever done three times in my life.
The night I’d committed my first murder and brought the body to the Atchafalaya Basin.
When I’d learned that Avery—Laurel—was dead.
And when I’d driven Tom Townsend out there, just a few weeks ago.
Foley, my father, cleared his throat. “Put the gun down, Sergeant.”
I shook my head. The gun wasn’t going anywhere.
Firearms weren’t capable of betrayal. No, that feat only belonged to humanity.
To people like Nat and Ambideaux and Foley and Hampton.
“When did she die?” I asked again, eyes on my father’s face. “When did she die?”
He looked at me, and it was the first time that sorrow lined his handsome features. “She’s been dead since you were two years old, Lincoln. She died in the car accident.”
26
Avery
When push came to shove, I’d hailed a cab from Lincoln’s townhouse in Bayou St. John and hightailed it straight back to
the Sultan’s Palace. Katie had kicked me out. She’d vowed that she needed space.
She was my family—my only family—and as I barged up the steps and tried the lock on our apartment door, I prayed that we could get past this.
I needed her.
No matter how I’d entered her life, she’d always been my support system. With Lincoln on a suicide mission, I didn’t know where else to go.
The door was locked, and I smashed my fist on the wood in a desperate knock. “Katie! Katie, open the door. Please!”
A second passed.
And then yet another.
And then the door was pulling open wide and my best friend, my roommate, my step-cousin, was standing there looking like a hot mess with rumpled PJ’s and hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in days, even though it’d only been twenty-four hours since I’d walked out.
Her blue eyes blinked back at me.
A half-second later, her arms were around my back and hauling me close. She was taller than me, and my nose ended up in her armpit.
“Katie—”
“Oh, my God, you’re back,” she whispered, her hand petting the crown of my head like I was her most prized possession. “He said he wouldn’t tell you but I’m so glad that he did. I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, Ave.”
I opened my mouth and managed to inhale straight B.O. Coughing, I pushed as much as I could out of her embrace. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Who wouldn’t tell me what?”
She didn’t let me go.
With a palm to my back, she yanked me into place, my nose getting reacquainted with her armpit all over again. “Captain America,” she muttered, “he came here looking for you and I said that I was sorry about what happened. And I am. I’m so sorry. All the things I said—telling Ambideaux about you. I’m so sorry, Avery. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t okay. Because Katie had only been reacting to my deceit. “I’m the one who needs to apologize,” I rushed out, squeezing her back because this was family. She was my family, just like I wanted Lincoln to be. “I lied. I lied so many times and you were right to call me out and put me in my place. I left because you were right, and what I did . . . it’s not excusable, Katie. There are no excuses.”
