by J. N. Colon
People milled about in the slow evening, visiting Murrel’s Drug Store, the Flower Shop, Books & More Books, and Mike’s Hardware.
“Hey, sugar.” Rosie Dallas appeared by my table. Her blonde hair was twisted into a ponytail, the dark roots beginning to show. “What can I get you today?”
“I’ll have—” My words were cut off as we caught sight of Ms. Unrue trotting down the sidewalk across the street. A manic smile pulled her features into a clown-like expression.
“She must have a doozy.” Rosie chewed on the end of her pen. “What do you think it is? A cheating scandal? Or maybe she found out what really happened to widow Beauchamp’s husband.”
I snorted. “Who knows. Maybe she found the mystery to life.”
Ms. Unrue waved down Mrs. Perkins who owned the drugstore across the street with her husband. She whispered in the petite woman’s ear, and then she was off again, waddling down the street to spread more joy. She was working so hard the whole town was going to know within the next two hours.
Rosie shook her head. “One day that woman is going to stumble across something she ought not stick her nose into.”
“Yep.” Just like when her dog Chauncey stuck his nose in an anthill. Poor thing’s snout was swollen like a fat red tomato when she brought him into my mom’s clinic. “I’ll have the taco sliders.”
She winked and took the menu. “Sure thing. Now you come get me if something goes down with Unrue.”
I flashed a smile. “You got it.”
Rosie disappeared through the door, leaving me alone on the small corner.
Not for long.
“Hey, Flaca.” Marisol fell into the seat across from me, a shopping bag in each hand. “It’s so hot out here. How can you stand it?” She fanned her face, half of which was covered by a pair of expensive sunglasses.
I shrugged. This heat was nothing compared to what Etie could evoke.
Gah. I did not just think that.
I eyed her bags with a smirk. One was from the Department Store. It was literally called that. “Missing New Orleans?”
Her head tilted back with a dramatic groan. “God, yes. There’s nothing to do here. I’m going to explode from boredom.”
I shot her an incredulous expression as I sipped my coke. “Marisol, you lived in Carrefour for almost half your life, and you were fine.”
“Yes, but now I’ve experienced what the real world has to offer, and I can’t go back to finding this—” she motioned her hand around the whole of Main Street—“livable.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine.”
“That’s because you’ve never been anywhere.” She leaned forward. “You have to visit me. You’d love it there.”
“Like that’s happening anytime soon,” I mumbled. Hell would have to freeze over before our mom and Abuela let me go to New Orleans.
Marisol ignored the bitter note in my tone and continued gushing over her new town. “The people are like from another world. Some believe in all kinds of crazy things like witches, vampires, and zombies.” She stole my Coke, downing nearly all of it. “This one lady who tells fortunes in the park keeps calling me a bruja.” She snorted. “Me, a witch?”
“Doubtful,” I scoffed, studying her perfect appearance. The eyes of newt and toad tongues would stain her clothes.
“Duh. I wouldn’t want to get my nails dirty making all those potions and sacrificing baby birds.” She gave a shrug. “Plus, it seems like a lot of reading. Not really my thing.”
I shook my head, fighting a smile. “You are hopeless.”
“Hello, you two.” The languid, buttery voice of Ms. Beauchamp pulled our attention away from each other. A saccharine smile curled her fat-injected lips.
We muttered polite hellos to the woman on the verge of fifty who tried to look like she just entered her twenties.
So not natural.
Her gaze zeroed in on Marisol. “How’s college life treating you?”
Marisol smiled. “Fine.”
“I bet it is.” She smoothed a hand over her perfectly coifed French twist of glossy chocolate locks. “I remember being that young—”
My sister made a face at me and quickly grabbed her bags. “Look at the time. I’ve got to go.”
I shot her a narrowed glare, and her response was to stick her tongue out. Real mature.
Ms. Beauchamp wiggled her fingers. “Bye, hun. We should go to Shreveport and do a spa day!”
“Totally,” Marisol called over her shoulder.
Virginia Beauchamp’s husband who had been fifteen years her senior took a nasty spill down their mansion stairs a couple of years ago. It was deemed an accidental death, but it had black widow Lifetime movie written all over it. Gerard wasn’t even cold in the grave when his wife traded in her demure cardigans and flats for pencil skirts and Prada pumps.
“How’s your summer so far, Angel?” She switched her Birkin bag to the other arm.
“Fine.” I absentmindedly stirred the melting ice in my cup.
“How come you didn’t go to Spain with your friends? I bet they’re having a grand old time.”
I shrugged. “I’m not quite eighteen, and my mom was worried about me going overseas without her or my grandmother.” Technically, they were worried anytime I left Carrefour.
“That’s what I thought. They’re very protective of you, so when I heard something this afternoon, I just couldn’t believe it.” Her hand fluttered to her chest. “It must not be true, then.”
My brow arched. “What did you hear?
“Well, sweetheart, I heard you were working for the Benoits at the old Leroux house. Please tell me that’s not true.”
My jaw dropped. I only started today. How the hell did the widow know?
My gaze shifted down the street where Ms. Unrue had disappeared. A sinking pit in my stomach told me I had my first starring role in one of her rumors.
Unbelievable.
My teeth ground together, and I faced Ms. Beauchamp who eagerly awaited my response. “Actually, that is true. My grandmother got me the job.”
A dramatic gasp fell from her mouth. “Why in the world would your grandmother want you to work with those…boys. I mean, they live in the swamp.”
My spine straightened, and I crossed my arms over my chest. “It doesn’t matter where they live,” I snapped. “Just because they don’t have a lot of money doesn’t mean they’re bad people.”
No one liked being judged and, even if Etie was a jerk, I wasn’t going to let the widow talk smack about him or his brother.
Her head shifted back, her perfectly waxed brows inching up her small forehead. “I don’t mean to offend.” She fluttered her false lashes. “I’m a good Christian woman.”
She was as Christian as the worms feasting on her late husband in Carrefour Cemetery.
“We all know what they say about those boys. All the trouble they get into. All the women they’ve charmed.” Ms. Beauchamp leaned closer, her expensive perfume clouding my breathing air. “Not to mention”—her eyes darted around—“the voodoo.”
My skin prickled at the very word.
A tight smile pulled at my lips. “Now, Ms. Beauchamp, you don’t really believe all that voodoo talk about them, do you?”
Her brown eyes looked wild. “Who knows what they do back in that swamp.”
“They’re just mysterious and nothing else.” I shifted uncomfortably, the lie bitter on my tongue. The Benoits were more than mysterious, especially the youngest.
“Either way, you need to be careful around them.” She flicked her long fingers at me. “A sweet, innocent girl like you shouldn’t get mixed up in their world.”
Etie Benoit was dangerous, and I wasn’t just talking about his possible voodoo connections. Heat flooded my cheeks thinking about our up-close and personal encounter earlier. This was my first day on the job, and he’d already gotten under my skin.
The voodoo king might have a problem with his payment. I wasn’t certain my soul would m
ake it to my eighteenth birthday without serious injury.
Chapter 6
Two weeks, two days, and three hours. The countdown to doomsday continued, and I hadn’t found a single lead. Not that I was looking very hard. Work was kind of distracting.
Who wouldn’t be preoccupied with the strapping Cajun? As long as he kept his mouth shut or filled with candy, he was a sight to behold. He was a natural at construction and demolition. The hard labor did his body good. No milk needed.
He’d look cute with a milk mustache though.
I hadn’t seen him do any real voodoo, but those eyes were too bright, too hypnotic for him not to possess magic. If only I had some real evidence other than gossip, I might have the nerve to ask for help. Or maybe I was simply avoiding the whole thing because, deep down, I knew it was hopeless. Saving my soul was a lost cause neither of the Benoit brothers could fix.
Etie finally let me do some real restoration work. Okay, I’d been staining and sanding wood, but it was better than picking up trash.
My fingers traced the banister spindle I was sanding, unsatisfied with my progress. I stood, trekking to the kitchen for a fresh piece of sandpaper. As soon as I crossed the threshold, my feet stuck to the floor while every drop of moisture left my mouth.
Etie was ripping up the old, broken tile with a scraper tool on the end of a long stick. His face was set in deep concentration. Oh, and he was freaking shirtless.
Holy muscles.
His torso was ripped, slick muscles stretching and coiling with every sharp movement. A bead of sweat trickled down the defined V and disappeared into his low-slung jeans. Was it wrong to want to lick him?
Um yes!
Someone should slap some sense into me. He was just a guy with a hot bod.
Of course, no other guy could hold a candle to Etie’s magnifique physique. Not even close. He was a sculpted piece of pure bronze.
His hand brushed damp strands of dark chocolate hair from his face, the wild locks falling back into place despite his efforts. His body swiveled the other way.
My eyes bugged out of their sockets at the massive, intricate ink sprawled across his back. I swallowed hard, tracing the intimidating snake coiled around his spine. I’d heard things, speculated things, but seeing the reptilian artwork in all its glory was a different ballgame. Hell, this game didn’t even have a ball in it.
People said the youngest Benoit had a crazy snake tattoo that came to life during his voodoo spells. It was the darkest voodoo there was.
Chills skittered down my flesh. A snake had forced me from my hiding spot on Etie’s land. He would have caught me, too, if I hadn’t run.
As I traced the scaled head, its eyes locked onto mine. Electricity permeated the air, and I could have sworn the distant rattle of a tail echoed.
“Angeline.”
I jumped, my heart bouncing into my throat. The trance I’d been in shattered, leaving me breathless.
“Whenever you’re done staring, could you hand me that bottle of water?” The corners of his lips twitched.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth while hot blood flooded my cheeks. How long did he know I was gawking at him like some creeper?
“I-I wasn’t…” My voice squeaked.
“It’s okay, Angeline.” Etie’s muscled arms still worked on prying up the tile. “I know I’m something to look at.”
His arrogance snapped me out of my blushing misery. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I grabbed the water bottle and marched toward him. “I’ve seen plenty of shirtless guys, and you’re not number one on my list of hotties.” Such a lie.
He took the water, a finger grazing mine, shooting a spark of electricity through my skin. “Whatever you say, cher.” He twisted the cap off, downing several gulps.
My eyes dropped again, getting an up-close and personal look at his abs, and I wasn’t disappointed. My hand twitched with the urge to skim across those hard, defined muscles covered in bronze skin.
My tongue absentmindedly swiped across my lips.
“Would you like me to pose for a picture?” Etie had been watching me, an amused, smug expression over his handsome features.
My cheeks couldn’t get any redder. “No thanks,” I spat, inwardly cringing. I cleared my throat and attempted to keep my eyes locked on his. “I was thinking about your tattoo.”
One brow arched. “Oh?”
“Did it hurt?” I hoped it hurt like hell.
He twisted the cap back on the water and placed it on the counter. “Not really. Why? You want one?”
“Not really.” Why would I want to stick a needle in my skin?
Etie’s head cocked to the side as he surveyed me. “Would Mommy disown you?”
My hand perched on my hip. “I just wouldn’t know what to get or where to go,” I lied.
“I can give you a tattoo.”
“Is that so?” It wouldn’t surprise me if he could.
“Yep.” He motioned a finger down my body. “I see a sweet, delicate little butterfly right on your lower spine.”
My lips curled in a sneer. “I’d never get a tramp stamp.”
His chuckle was too smooth. “Then where would you get one?”
I shrugged and brushed my ponytail off my shoulder. The air warmed the closer I got to a shirtless Etie. He was like the sun. Or hellfire.
His mismatched eyes lingered over my body, studying me with an intensity that made my knees tremble. Without warning, he was in my personal space, pinching the bottom of my t-shirt and drawing it up.
For a moment, I considered letting him continue until my good sense slammed a fist into my brain.
My hand shot out, clutching his. “What the hell are you doing?”
His skin burned against mine. A crooked smile split his lips. “Relax, Angeline. I’m just trying to see what you’re working with.”
“You don’t need to see shit,” I hissed.
One brow arched. “I thought you wanted to know where you should get a tattoo.”
That wasn’t what I said. “You don’t need to take my clothes off to tell me.” My pulse spiked at the image my words provoked. He could probably hear the thunderous beat of my heart.
Etie finally released my shirt, but his fingers still brushed against my torso. Flames sizzled over my flesh even with the fabric between us.
“Here, maybe.” He traced the ribs right below my bra.
My stomach fluttered like I was on a rollercoaster. I would have enjoyed the ride if it wasn’t a ploy to make me quit. There was no other explanation.
Nice try, Cajun Casanova.
I sucked my nerves in and pointed to a spot low on my hip. “Or maybe right here.” This time I lifted my shirt, showing a peek of tan torso.
He made a humming sound as his finger found the spot. Inexplicable sparks of electricity flared again. My breathing kicked up.
Clearly, I hadn’t thought this through. My heart was jackhammering in my ribcage, and sweat was starting to collect on my neck. Soon, I’d be just as sweaty as he was without the hard labor.
An image of two sweaty bodies tangled together flickered through my mind, and I bit my bottom lip to keep from releasing a whimper.
It didn’t matter. The smug curl of his mouth told me Etie was well aware of the smut my mind drummed up.
His eyes darkened, and he leaned close enough his warm breath dusted my face. “Oh, the things I could do to you, Angeline.” His tone dipped further, husky and sensual.
I didn’t want to imagine all the things Étienne Benoit could do to me. He was barely touching me, and I was on the verge of hyperventilating. He made me melt with those bedroom eyes alone.
Without my consent, my body shifted closer, brushing his. Something flashed in his eyes as I entered the danger zone.
“Hey, Etie, have you seen Bastien?” Max Morgan strolled into the kitchen, and his mouth dropped.
Talk about a compromising position. We weren’t doing anything explicit, but we sure looked on the verge of i
t.
Etie quickly removed his fingers from my stomach. I dropped my shirt, stumbling a few steps back.
Max’s dark chocolate eyes shifted from me to Etie and back again. “Hey, Angel.”
Etie’s brow knit. “You two know each other?”
“Yeah.” Max’s gaze lingered over me longer than usual. “I dated Marisol.” He motioned a finger between us. “I didn’t know you guys knew each other. Are you two…together?”
“No!”
Our unison denial widened Max’s smirk. “Is Bastien here?”
Etie shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
Max winked in my direction. “I can see that.”
I’d blushed more today than I had in the last three months.
“What do you want Bastien for?” Etie asked, reaching for the bottle of water.
“I need something.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, pursing his lips. “Maybe you could help. I’m going to Cabo in a couple of days and need a little protection, if you know what I mean.”
My head snapped back. “I’m pretty sure you can buy those in a drug store.”
“I wasn’t talking about that kind of protection, Angel, but I like where your mind’s at,” Max said, laughter lacing his words.
“You’ll need Bastien for that.” Etie’s voice had groan gruff, his body tense. The water bottle crinkled in his tight grip.
Max sensed the change, his humorous expression dropping. “Uh, yeah. No problem, man.” He rubbed the back of his neck, mussing up his black hair. “I’ll go look for Bastien.” He nodded in my direction. “See you later, Angel.”
When he was gone, I turned toward Etie, crossing my arms against my chest. “What was that about?”
He averted his eyes as he grabbed the scraper and began prying up the tiles. “Nothing.”
“What kind of protection was he looking for?” I prodded.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Liar.
I found the sheets of sandpaper I had originally come into the kitchen for, snatching one before marching out. I didn’t stop at the stairs though. I climbed them, following Max. Something about his request had my curiosity piqued.
