Road To Ruin (New Orleans Nights Book 1)

by Callie Hart

  “There is no situation,” she says firmly. “There’s just me and Alex. I was taking care of things. Fuck.” She shakes her head, closing her eyes. “You’ve ruined everything.”

  Tommy still hasn’t said anything. He’s watching his sister very closely, his fingers twitching every few seconds or so, his body very, very still. Conversely, Alex hasn’t taken his eyes off Tommy. “I already knew you were back,” he tells him. “You were careful, but you’re also notorious. You used to be Havoc. Everyone in this city knows your face. I’ve just been waiting for you to burst into here, guns blazing.”

  “No blazing guns here. I just came to collect my sister.”

  Alex tuts, wagging his index finger. “She’s not your sister anymore. She’s my wife. She gave herself to me. She’s my property, aren’t you, pet?” He faces Genevieve, stroking a hand over her hair and then down her arm. I can practically see her skin break into goose bumps from here. She nods, her head bobbing just a fraction.

  “Yes. I’m his wife. I’m happy I’m Alex’s wife, Tommy, so you don’t need to do this. You don’t need to be here.”

  Alex throws his arm around Genevieve’s shoulders, pulling her tightly into his side. He kisses her roughly on the temple, then lays his head on top of hers. “He’s not going anywhere, my sweet girl. He’s going to stay and fight Devon for me, aren’t you, Tommy? You owe me a lot of money, after all.”

  An excited murmur sweeps throughout the room, echoing, bouncing off the walls. If Tommy’s fazed by Alex’s announcement, he doesn’t show it. “I’m not fighting anybody. Also,” he says, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t owe you a thing.”

  Alex frowns, confusion written all over his face. “You owe me a sister, don’t you? Oh wait… I suppose, since I took yours, technically you don’t anymore. But still. Your sister is still living and breathing, whereas the sister I entrusted to you for safekeeping is not. Therefore, there’s an imbalance in our somewhat…strained…friendship. The only way I can think of alleviating that strain is if you reimburse the obnoxious amount of money I lost that night. One point eight million dollars, to be precise. Now, I don’t normally do this,” he says conspiratorially. “But I will accept a check in this instance.”

  “I’m not paying you a cent. You told me to fight that night, so I fought. I can’t be in two places at once.”

  “You should have told me,” Alex snaps. “You should have refused! You should have reminded me you were watching Serena. I would have—”

  “You would have had me killed. When was the last time someone told you no, Alex? When was the last time someone refused to do something for you?”

  Alex stands as still as a statue, his mouth open, his eyebrows raised. “I don’t remember,” he says. “That’s not the point. You should have realized which of my commands took precedence over the other, and you should have acted accordingly.”

  This whole conversation is so familiar, it hurts to even hear it. Alex is delusional, has been for years. Back when we were together, back at the beginning, when I first met him and we were only seventeen years old, he was nothing like this. He was kind. He was calm. He was actually funny, of all things. But when his father died two years later, leaving him in control of the Bastien family estate, he changed so dramatically that I thought he might have had a nervous breakdown. He developed a mean streak a mile wide, and then that mile turned into an ocean, and the boy I fell in love with was gone forever. I could see that in the cold, hard way he spoke to me. The very first time he hit me, I packed up my things and I left the Bastien mansion, never to return.

  “Don’t make him fight, Alex. Please. Not tonight. I’ve had such a lovely time. It would really ruin things for me.” Genevieve speaks softly into his ear, but loud enough that I hear her. She presses her body up against Alex, resting her chin on his shoulder. Tommy shudders, and Alex catches his reaction; it seems to make him deliriously happy.

  “I’m afraid I’m not that forgiving, princess. I’m very angry with Tommy Boy. He’s on my shit list. And once you’re on the list, you don’t get off it. Isn’t that right, Nikita?”

  Venom spikes in my veins, burning me up from the inside. “Fucking child. You can shove your stupid shit list back up your ass.”

  A tense moment follows. People don’t talk to Alex like this. They bow and scrape—please, sir, thank you, sir, how high, sir? It makes me physically sick to think of him in such a position of power, where everyone surrounding him is so afraid for their own safety and the safety of their families that they’ll swallow their pride and a handful of razor blades at the same time if it means staying in his good graces. The man is a psychopath.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Tommy Kendrick smiling.

  “He can’t fight Devon now, anyway,” Genevieve says matter-of-factly. “He’s out of shape. Look at him. It wouldn’t be a very entertaining match if he went up against your best guy now, would it?”

  Out of shape? If Tommy’s out of shape, then I’m the Queen of England. You can see the muscle definition in his arms through his damn sweatshirt, for crying out loud. Alex taps at his mouth with his index finger, apparently thinking. He squints, then pouts. “I suppose I’ve seen him bigger. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he should train a little before he steps into the ring. Devon is the reigning champion, after all. He’d knock him the fuck out before he could find his feet. People aren’t going to bet on a fight like that.”

  Genevieve smiles sweetly, and I have to pinch myself. Is Alex really that smitten that he can’t see when he’s being played? I don’t care if he is. It’s just…well, a miracle. I never thought I’d see the day.

  “You can train for a month,” Alex says. “On one condition. West has to be there every session. Every day. If you try and slip him, if you try and leave town again…”

  Tommy’s face is a blank slate again. “You’ll kill my sister?”

  “No. Of course not. I love her. I might cut off one of her fingers, though. Or maybe one of her ears. Don’t look at me like that, David. I’m a reasonable man. Genevieve will be perfectly safe if you just do as you’re told. It’s a matter of simply obeying instructions. Do you understand?”

  David grunts.

  Alex stares at Tommy. “I’m afraid I’m going to need to hear you say it. Say you understand, Thomas.”

  For a second, I don’t think he’s going to do it, but then Tommy looks at his sister and his defiance seems to melt away like so much smoke. “I understand that you want me to fight. I understand that you want me to train. I understand that you want West to be my babysitter.”

  Alex nods approvingly. “All right. Good. Then you two should leave. Now. Before I change my mind. Oh, and take that with you. She’s giving me a fucking migraine.” He’s referring to me, of course. He jerks his head in my direction, rolling his eyes.

  I turn around and walk away. I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing how angry he’s made me. I won’t give him the satisfaction of witnessing the relief in my eyes. It was a bold move coming here tonight; I should have listened to Mitch, and yet I steamrollered ahead and was my reckless self, as per usual. Junior’s obviously out fucking a waitress somewhere, getting wasted just like Mitch said he would be, and I risked my neck on a hunch. The crowd divides down the middle as I walk toward the exit, which makes a change from how they reacted to me when I showed up. Then I realize that it’s not me they’re making way for. It’s Tommy Kendrick and his brother, both of whom are right behind me.

  “Just keep going,” Tommy hisses. “Don’t look back.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t plan on it.”

  The Bastien mausoleum is frigid, freezing cold as we emerge into the large, eerie space. The old guy is gone, leaving all of the polished coins unguarded. There are probably thousands of dollars left behind in tribute to the Bastien family here. Thousands of dollars that no one will dare disturb, no matter how much they might have just lost at the fights. To interfere with the tributes would be to invite the
wrath of the Bastien ancestors down on their heads, after all, and most people have enough trouble with the living members of the Bastien family as it is, without pissing off the dead ones.

  As soon as we’re out in the cemetery, I round on the two men behind me, placing my hands on my hips. “You’d better not have been lying to me. Junior better not have been down there tonight.”

  David quirks an eyebrow at me. “Why the fuck would we lie about that? And how do you know Junior anyway? Isn’t he a little…young for you?”

  “She’s his shrink,” Tommy adds helpfully. “We met earlier this afternoon when I picked him up with Rob. She was all bent out of shape then, too, for some reason. Her mood doesn’t appear to have improved.”

  Bent out of shape? That’s one way of putting it. I consider launching into full-on attack mode, but then it hits me, how absolutely exhausted I am. God, I am literally beat. I release the tension I’ve been holding onto for the past two hours, and my body suddenly feels like it’s about to give out on me. I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. “Listen, I’m not interested in Junior like that. I’ve just been looking out for him for a long time. Old habits die hard, I guess. If you could please tell him I’d like to speak to him, that would be great. Now if it’s all right with you guys, I’m going to go home. Some of us have actual jobs to get to in the morning.”

  “Fine. I’ll make sure you get back,” Tommy says.

  “No, I don’t need a personal bodyguard. Believe me. If Alex wanted me dead, I would already be six feet under.”

  “You pissed off around about a hundred and fifty guys with questionable morals tonight. And that fat fuck I gave a lopsided smile to? He’s definitely not going to be very happy with you. So, yeah. You do need a personal bodyguard.”

  She huffs, reaching behind her back, producing a Glock from out of nowhere. “You saw that I know how to protect myself. And if my hands fail me, I have this to fall back on. Why don’t you concentrate on the trouble you have coming to you tomorrow morning, Tommy Kendrick? West Bastien is almost as dangerous as his brother.”

  Tommy laughs under his breath. “Oh, I won’t be seeing West Bastien any time soon.”

  “But you told Alex,” I splutter.

  “No. I said I understood what he wanted,” he growls. “I didn’t say I was gonna fucking do it.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TOMMY

  This woman’s a spitfire. Honestly, I could have let her drive home by herself and I wouldn’t have worried. Everyone watched David and me leave with Nikita, so they wouldn’t have gone after her for fear of running into me. Alex is right; my reputation does precede me. But if I let her drive home alone, I wouldn’t have been able to quiz her about how she knows Alex. And I wouldn’t have been able to check her out some more, either. She’s pure fucking fire. Seriously, the girl knows no fear. There are grown men out there, murderers, killers and rapists, who wouldn’t dare talking to Alexander the way she did. It was amusing. Fuck that, it was a fucking turn-on. I’m just trying not to admit that I’m attracted to this woman. I’ve been back in New Orleans for all of a day, and the very last thing I need in my life is a woman to complicate things even further.

  When I was fighting full time for Alex, before Serena died, I made a game of seeing how long I could go without sex. I constantly walked a tightrope with my temper, battling to keep my rage under control, and denying myself sex seemed fucking easy in comparison. I realized in L.A. that I’d been going about things all wrong, though. Sex is the one thing that helps keep me in check. If I’m stressed, or tense, or about to lose my shit, a quick tumble with a girl helps take the edge off. A hard, fast fuck would probably clear my head right now, given that I’m definitely tense, stressed and on the verge of losing my cool in the most epic way, but I already know trying to seduce Nikita would be bad for my health. Potentially fatal, in fact. She’s grinding her teeth as she drives through the night, changing the gears of her Challenger with ferocity and precision, like she’s auditioning for a part on the next “Fast and Furious” movie.

  We sit in silence, the engine revving and snarling as she punches it through the outskirts of town. Eventually, she asks, “Where are you gonna go?”

  “Go?”

  “You said you weren’t going to fight. You’re not planning on meeting up with West. That must mean you’re leaving town, right?”

  I look out of my window, my eyes not really focusing on anything. Buildings and parked cars tear by in a blur. “He said he’d hurt her if I didn’t oblige him. I can’t leave until she’s safe.”

  “Genevieve didn’t seem too worried about that back at the vault.”

  “She’s good at keeping a cool head. Always has been. And Alex…well, you know. He can smell fear the way a shark can smell blood in water. It excites him. Turns him on.”

  She says nothing, but her shoulders tense. I’m a dick. I’m so fucking curious about the relationship she clearly had with Alex; I’m curious as to why he let her walk away with her life tonight, when he’s killed so many more people for so much less. She’s a brick-fucking wall, though, a mile high and a thousand miles wide. I can ask her as many questions as I like right now, but I already know she won’t give me any information. Some people get chatty when they’re pissed off. Others shut down, batten down the hatches and wait for the storm to pass. I’m one of those people. So is Nikita.

  “Can you stop staring at me?” she says. “It’s really off-putting.”

  I stifle a laugh. “I’m looking out the window.”

  “Ha. You forget, I’ve worked with men like you for years, Tommy Kendrick. I know when I’m being watched.”

  Well, she has me dead to rights, there. “Men like me?”

  She nods. “Men who watch the entrance to a room at all times. Men whose self worth is directly linked to their height, or their weight, or how much they can bench. Men who think they’re God’s gift to women, and everyone else on the planet for that matter.”

  “I’m none of those things. And I’m sure as fuck not a gift. If anything I’m a punishment. I’m karmic retribution. I’m the universe’s idea of a cruel joke.”

  She must ease off the gas a little, because gravity ceases to push me back into my seat. Just for a second. “Why do you say that?”

  “You don’t need to shrink me, Nikita. I’m not on your roster for the day. Just get us back to your place and we can go our separate ways.”

  She sounds scathing when she speaks. “You and I both know that there’s no such thing as ‘separate ways’ now. Our paths have converged. Life doesn’t shove people together like this and then allow them to part so easily. I’m gonna want to see Junior. You’re gonna want me to do something for you at some point. And you’re being eaten alive by questions. How does she know Alex? Why does she seem to think she’s invincible? How did she learn to fight like that?”

  Damn. She’s good. I hate that. I fucking hate being judged and assessed. Worse, I hate that she’s completely and utterly right. “You could always stay away from Junior. Accept that he’s safe and happy. In return, I could always accept that I’m not going to get answers to my questions and make sure I never run into you again. That would be a start.”

  “I met him in high school,” she says. “We were fourteen. He wanted to be a vet. Can you believe that? A fucking vet.”

  I open my mouth, but I can’t think of anything to say. The idea of Alex Bastien wanting to help wounded animals is just so alien to me that it simply won’t compute. I saw him shoot a dog in the head once. He didn’t even flinch.

  “And I think I’m invincible because I am. At least I tell myself I am every goddamn day. I have to, working where I work. If I start believing otherwise, the men I counsel will be able to read my doubt. They’ll smell it on me, just like Alex can. They’ll take advantage of it.”

  Just when I think I’ve got her figured out, she goes and pitches a damn fastball at my head. I guess she’s not one for subtlety. It’s refreshing, in a way. The women
in L.A. can be so vapid. More often than not, it’s exhausting trying to have a worthwhile conversation with a chick out there. They’re all actresses/models/musicians. They think they’re hot shit because they had a walk-on line in some crappy procedural show, and they expect everyone to treat them like queens.

  Crappy cop procedurals makes me think of Lucas Braddon, the guy I left lying in that alley outside Elysium in L.A. with a needle hanging out of his arm. I wonder if the fucker made it through the night or not. Weirdly, I find myself hoping he did. “You’re very different from the counselor they sent me to in the Parish, that’s for sure,” I say quietly. “That motherfucker wouldn’t have been caught dead showing up to an illegal underground fight in the middle of the night to check on a parolee. He’d cross the fucking street just to avoid one, I’m pretty sure.”

  Nikita takes a left onto a wide, sweeping suburban street, lined with tall, leafy trees. She pulls into the driveway of a small two-story colonial house, the exterior painted haint blue. The front garden is a riot of weeds and knee-high grass, ivy choking the live oak that’s listing drunkenly toward the street from the side of the property. “Wasn’t called Rossi was he?” she asks.

  I almost shiver at the sound of the bastard’s name. “You had the pleasure of meeting him, then?”

  She nods, then huffs heavily out of her nose as she turns the key in the ignition, killing the engine. We both just sit there, staring straight ahead at the shadows playing across the porch that wraps around her house. After a number of long minutes play out, she lets her head roll on the headrest so that she’s looking at me. “I’m going to ask you inside,” she says.

  I turn my head so that I’m looking at her, too. “You are?”

  “Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’s been a stressful night, and I just want to get laid.”