by Nicole James
Cat held her hand out. “Please, call me Cat.”
“Cat? Why I call you dat, chile?” She turned to glare at Blood. “Well, doan keep her out here in dis heat, Etienne! Bring her on in. It’s been hot, hot, hot, even dis time of da mornin’.”
Blood led Cat inside. There was a main entryway with a parlor off to the left, a kitchen to the right, and a staircase leading to a second level. Tante Marie hustled into the kitchen. She took down a faded rosebud print apron, put it over her head, and tied it on. “Get her a café au lait, Etienne. I just heated some milk before you got here. I make you sumpin’ to eat.”
She began bustling around the kitchen, banging a cast iron skillet on the burner and slapping gobs of butter into it. “I make you pain perdu.” She peeked over her shoulder and winked at Cat. “Is Etienne’s favorite.”
“Pain perdu?”
“Louisiana French Toast,” Blood clarified as he moved to the cupboard and took down two mugs. He picked up the saucepan on the stove with one hand and the coffee carafe with the other and filled each mug with equal measures of both the hot milk and the dark, rich chicory blend of coffee, pouring them simultaneously, the hot liquids blending together. Setting the pan and carafe down, he carried the mugs to the small table covered with a floral tablecloth, and they both sat.
“Can I help you?” Cat asked Tante Marie.
She looked over, banging the wooden spoon on the side of the skillet. “Non, petit Cher, you sit an’ drink. Get the fruit I cut up out da icebox, Etienne. You like café au lait, Cher?”
Blood got up and moved to the refrigerator to do her bidding. When he did, Tante Marie moved to sniff him. “Go wash up! Bon Dieu!”
Blood looked to Cat. “Ladies first, Tante Marie.” He lifted his chin toward the entryway. “You can get cleaned up if you want, Cher. There’s a bathroom top of da stair.”
She grinned over the rim of her mug as he slipped into the Cajun dialect.
He moved toward her with a bowl of fruit as she set her mug down. He popped one of the strawberry slices into her mouth, and they exchanged a smile. Then she slipped from her chair and went to find the bathroom.
***
Tante Marie stood at the cutting board slicing French bread at a diagonal, dunking them in batter, and then dropping them in the sizzling butter. She looked sideways at Blood.
“Heard you went out to dat old place.”
Blood nodded over his mug.
“And?” she prodded.
“Lookin’ for something.”
“Lookin’ for sumpin’? Out der? Only bad juju out der, Cher.”
“You ever remember my mama having a ring that belonged to my father?”
That had her pausing and turning. “We doan talk about dat bastard Black Jack in dis house.” She wacked the skillet again, then murmured, “You talkin’ bout dat ugly thing, dat gaudy emerald da size of a bayou barge?”
Blood shrugged. “Don’t know. Some ring that belonged to his father.”
“He lose it?” She grinned.
“You know about it?”
“I remember it.” Then she turned and waved a bony finger at him. “You engaged in some his bizness? You gettin’ dumb or sumpin’?”
“Non, Tante Marie. Just tryin’ to make a deal to get something back from him.”
“Whass dat? He got nothin’ you need, Etienne.” She moved to slicing more bread.
“He’s got Cat’s little sister, Holly.”
She paused mid-slice, her mouth falling open. Then she set the knife down, wiped her hands on her apron, and came to sit at the table.
“Tell me everythin’.”
Blood shook his head. “You know I can’t do that, Tante.”
Tante Marie folded her arms and glared.
“She helped me.” He jerked his chin to the second floor. “I owe her. Promised I’d help her. I need to help her.”
“’Course you do.” She eyed him. “She helped you? Been a long time since a woman’s done something good in your eyes, huh?”
Blood stayed quiet, but shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“She provin’ all those ideas in your head wrong, huh, Cher?”
“What ideas?”
“You know what I’m talkin’ bout.”
And he did. Everything he’d always thought about women, Cat was proving that all wrong by doing the opposite of what he expected at every turn. She hadn’t abandoned him to the Death Heads, she didn’t run off again to the cops—not after she’d promised, not like he half-expected her to. She put other people before herself, time and time again.
“Mebbe she change the way you think. It’s not all about a debt, eh? I see the way you smile at her.” She tapped her temple. “I see what you doan see.”
Blood shook his head, not willing to admit any feelings in regard to Cat yet. “There’s more.”
“Not good, I’m guessing.”
“Non. I found out the truth about what happened to my mama.”
Tante Marie folded her hands on the table and studied them. “Do I wanna know?”
“Found out she’s buried in Metairie Cemetery. He killed her, Tante.”
Her eyes got watery. “Knew she dint run off. She dint leave you, Son. Always knew dat.”
Blood’s hold on his mug tightened.
After a long moment, she whispered, “Yer mama, you gonna take care of dat, Cher?”
“You bet.”
“What you gonna do ‘bout dat?”
“I’m gonna kill the sumbitch and feed him to the gators.”
She nodded and patted his arm. “Bon. Jist doan get caught, Etienne.”
He grinned. “Nope.”
She got up, moving to stand next to him, and stroked his cheek. “You look like her, Cher. You have her same eyes, same thick dark hair.”
“I didn’t save her, Tante Marie.”
Her hand moved to tug his hair, pulling his head up. “I doan wanna hear that, understand? Dat was Black Jack. Dat wasn’t you. Dat’s not on you, Etienne.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You listen to me, now. Thass done, you know da truth. Now mebbe you can finally move past it. You got a gift, sumpin right before your eyes.” She pointed upstairs. “God dropped a gift in your lap, Son. I been prayin’ to St. Jude for you, and he finally come through.”
“The patron saint of lost causes? Is that what I am?”
“Not anymore, mon Cher. Not anymore.” She hugged his head to her chest. “When dis over, we gonna visit your mama’s grave, oui? We gonna put flowers. You take me?”
“Oui, Tante Marie. I’ll take you.”
Cat came down the stairs, and Tante Marie moved to the stove again, wiping her eyes with her apron and hiding her upset by busying herself with cooking.
“Your turn,” Cat said, smiling at Blood.
He took another gulp of coffee, tousled her hair, and went upstairs.
***
Cat took a sip of her café au lait, finding it delicious and addictive.
Tante Marie looked over at her. “You so little the crows gonna carry you off, Cher. I’m gonna feed you good.”
“It smells wonderful.”
“You like my Etienne?”
“I…I…”
She studied Cat. “My Etienne, he carry a burden. Carry it ‘round like a stone. See, his mama, she loved da wrong man, and it killed her.”
Cat didn’t know what to say to that. She nodded. “My sister, Stacey, loved the wrong man, and it got her killed, too.”
“I see. And you doan plan ta let dat happen ta you, huh?”
“I don’t plan to love the wrong man.” She lifted her chin.
“He’s not da wrong man. He’s the right man. Mebbe you jist haven’t figured dat out yet.” She went back to slicing bread. “You will.”
***
When they’d finished eating and the dishes were in the sink soaking, Tante Marie suggested they take their coffee out to the gallery so her Etienne could smoke. They sat on the dingy
white wicker furniture on the side porch. The laundry out on the lines flapped in the breeze.
Blood grinned. “You always did like to air dry the laundry. I remember as a child coming over here and running through it.”
Tante Marie smiled at the memory. “Your mama would chase you through da rows and catch you up and tickle you. You would giggle and squirm to get away.”
The laundry flapped up with a big wind, and Blood saw an old rusted car peek through. It was parked in the tall grass at the edge of the property. He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray, his eyes like a hawk. “Is that her old car?”
Tante Marie looked at him as he stood, then followed his gaze. “Oui, the rusted old Chevelle? She left it here before she disappeared. I think she was planning to take you and run again. Didn’t want your father to take it from her. I was going to give it to you one day, den about da time you were old enough, you took off with dem motorcycle boys.” She nodded to his black leather cut.
Blood connected eyes with Cat, his meaning clear. The photo of the car in his mother’s book.
Cat whispered the thought in both their heads, “Do you think…?”
Blood moved off the porch and headed across the yard to the car, a weird sensation moving through him as he walked between the lines of laundry. It was almost like his mother was leading him to it.
There were pine needles piled on the hood, and the windshield was cloudy with dirt. The rusted door creaked as he yanked it open. The black vinyl seats were splitting, and dust coated everything.
He looked through the car, seeing nothing. He leaned over and yanked the glove box open. Rummaging through it, he found the car’s registration and some old, yellowed service receipts. As he dug through them, a prayer card fell out. He bent and picked it up. It was the same as the one that had marked her place in the poetry book. Then his eyes slid from the picture of the Virgin Mary to the small statue of the Madonna that was glued to the dashboard. He’d forgotten about it, how it had always been in his mother’s car.
There was a roaring in his ears as suddenly everything clicked. He tore the statue from where it was mounted to the dash. As it ripped free, the bottom tore off, and an item fell into his hand.
Emerald green and gold sparkled up at him as a beam of sunlight shone into the car. “Holy shit.” That weird cold feeling moved over him again as his fist tightened around the ring. “Thank you, Mama.”
Blood studied the emerald ring. All these years this old car had sat rusting in Tante Marie’s yard, and all these years this was hidden inside. Hopefully it would be enough to bring Black Jack to the negotiating table.
He took the Madonna statue and shoved it in his pocket as he climbed out of the car. His eyes connected with Cat’s over the roof of the Chevelle, and he nodded. Through the flapping laundry he saw her put her hands to her mouth and burst into tears. A moment later she was running across the yard to him. He met her halfway, picking her up as she jumped in his arms.
“I found it, Cat. I’ve got it.”
“Oh my God. I can’t believe it.”
He set her down and pulled his phone out, moving his thumb over the screen. He snapped a picture of the ring, and then typed out the text to Black Jack.
I’ve got something you want, you’ve got something I want. We should talk.
He shoved it in his pocket and looked down in Cat’s eyes. “It’s still no guarantee, babe.”
She nodded. “I know.”
***
As they approached the dock at Jean Michel and Pierre’s shop, Blood cut the motor and coasted the boat in. He needed to set her straight on something.
“Hey.”
Cat looked back at him in the silence left when the outboard cut off. She had renewed hope in her eyes and that was a good thing. She was happy, and he hated to dampen her spirit in any way, but she needed to know.
“This doesn’t mean it’s a done deal.”
She nodded, her smile fading a bit, her excitement tempering. “I understand, Blood.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Blood rolled into the courtyard behind his townhouse.
Cat climbed from the bike and pulled her helmet off, looking around. “Where are we?”
“My place,” he answered, still sitting on his bike. He pointed to the balcony on the second floor.
She looked up to where he indicated and frowned. “You live here?”
He nodded, swinging his leg from the bike. “What, you didn’t think I lived at the clubhouse, did you?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know.”
He headed up the stairs, and she followed, glancing around at the place. The courtyard was lovely, hidden back from the dingy street like a little gem. Blood unlocked the door, and she followed him in. The first thing she noticed were the high ceilings covered in tin tiles and the exposed brick fireplace.
Blood tossed his helmet on a chair and moved through the living area to a small kitchen. It was tiny, but updated with tall black cabinets and a pretty glass tile backsplash. He opened the refrigerator. “You want a beer?”
“No thank you.”
He pulled out a bottle of water instead, unscrewed it, and tilted it up, swallowing it down. Cat couldn’t help watching his throat work as he gulped.
When he lowered the bottle, he noticed the look in her eyes. She turned away, foolishly attempting to hide something he’d already seen.
“I like your place.” She looked toward the wrought iron balcony with the tall shutters.
When he didn’t respond, she turned to find him stalking toward her slowly, a predatory look in his eyes.
Her mouth parted, as her breath left her. “What?”
“Sit down. We need to talk.”
She sat on the couch, and he sat in the chair next to it, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. He met her gaze with a penetrating stare.
“I need you to understand something, and I need you to be okay with it.”
She searched his eyes. “Okay.”
His voice was hard as he growled, “Last night, the sex, the way things were between us… I’m not usually so gentle. I don’t do slow and sweet. That’s not the way I fuck. That’s not the way I usually like it. So, if that’s what you want, you’re not getting it.”
“I’m not?” She didn’t know sex was on the table. Was he talking about right now?
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“How do you like it?” Why did she find his answer to that question suddenly more important than breathing?
He studied her eyes. “I like it rough. I like to be in control. Always.”
She stared at him. His eyes were dark, filled with lust and something more, something…demanding. Her gaze held his for a long silent moment.
“Are you good with that?”
She felt in a daze, but found herself unable to refuse him anything he wanted. She couldn’t tell him no. And she realized she didn’t want to tell him no. She only hoped she could be what he needed, give him what he wanted, and satisfy his desires.
“Cat?”
“Show me,” she said.
He stood and her eyes lifted. Oh, God. She’d awakened the bear.
The deep rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine as he commanded, “Stand up.”
***
Blood wasn’t sure if she really understood what he’d been trying to convey, but fuck it, she was about to find out. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered, no room for negotiation in his voice.
She turned to look at him, her expressive blue eyes widening.
He lifted a brow, and her hands moved to her waistband. She shimmied out of her pants and kicked them aside. Next she pulled the shirt over her head and dropped it to the floor. The pink satin and lace bra and panties remained.
She hesitated, seeming a little unsure what to do. He gave her a hint.
“The rest, sweetheart. Now.”
She und
id the bra and dropped it. Her breasts stood out, the dusky nipples already hard, and he hadn’t even touched her. He lifted his chin toward the panties, his eyes dropping to them.
She slid her fingers in the fabric at the hem and glided them down.
His gaze skated over every inch. He had to give her credit; she stood there, waiting for his next instruction, with no movement to cover herself, which he wouldn’t have allowed.
“So pretty,” he told her, but he knew the lust was plain in his eyes, and he knew she saw it.
He moved behind her, and his arms wrapped around her as he slid both hands down to gather her breasts in his large palms. He lifted them, kneaded them, and her head fell back on his shoulder. He tugged and pinched her nipples, his mouth coming down on hers, his tongue delving deep. He kept at her until her cute little ass was grinding back into his crotch, rubbing his thick hard-on until he growled deep in his throat. Her hair was in that long ponytail he loved so much. He grabbed it, wrapping it around his fist, and pulled her head back.
“Love your hair, Cat. I especially love the ponytail. Been fantasizing about controlling you with it.”
She wet her lips and let out a soft, “Oh.”
“Do you like my hands on your hair?” He gave a little tug, and she went up on her toes, but her nipples darkened and her face flushed. “Do you?”
“Y-yes. I like it.”
“Good.” He released it, but stroked his fingers through it. He dropped his hands to her hips and nuzzled her ear as he walked her forward until her pelvis was pressed to the rounded top of the sleigh bed’s footboard. There was a quilt folded over the top of it, put there as extra padding.
His hands at her waist tightened and lifted her up, setting her on her stomach on the mattress with her legs dangling over the other side of the rail and her hips balanced over it, the quilt keeping it from digging into her hips.
She turned her head; her ass was up in the air, just where he wanted it. He ran his hand down her back and over her ass.
“Arms over your head, angel.”
She complied, stretching her arms across the sheet.
