Shadows and Lies

by Eden Butler

  I didn’t just want Ryan. Misty had been right. I cared. I fucking cared about him and I was a person who had never cared about anyone. Not since Stevie.

  He didn’t question me when I pulled away from him, or try to stop me when I climbed off the sofa. Ryan was a watcher, someone who waited for the facts, when he was thinking rationally, before he interrogated. I pulled down my shirt, tried to brush straight my hair and Ryan just watched, curious, silent.

  “You… you can’t go to the auction.” It came out before I’d decided to speak and that margin of patience Ryan carried fractured.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” He sat up, stretching off the sofa to stand in front of me. “Why the hell are you talking about the damn auction now?”

  “Because, it’s important. Because…” that voice inside told me to be cool. It told me to be reasonable but I kept it silent for so long I wasn’t sure I’d be able to listen to it now unless I got it out quick. Ryan folded his arms and waited as I lifted my chin, working up the nerve to give it to him straight. “Misty says Timber is cutting the list and there won’t be any new guests welcomed.” The lie came quick, born out of nowhere.

  “Okay. So. We sneak in.”

  “No,” I told him, feeling anxious imagining Ryan among all of Timber’s men without any backup. If I couldn’t swing an invite for Ryan there was no way Sammy or Dean would get one. “I’ll have to figure something else out.”

  “Wait a second, Alex.” I didn’t pull away when he grabbed my arm. “There’s something you’re not telling me. I need all the factors here.”

  “That’s all I know. I can score the box and bring it to you later, but you can’t be there.”

  “No fucking way.” He grunted when I slipped out of his touch. “Alex, how the fuck do we go from you coming on my fingers to you acting like you can’t stand me looking at you?” I shook my head, reaching for my bag on the floor, but Ryan got to it first. “Tell me what’s going on. Are you… you running scared again?”

  I pushed him in the chest, unable to stop the automatic instinct to shut him up. He was calling me a coward and I didn’t want him believing that I was. “Don’t do that. I’m not running.”

  I lifted up on my toes, stretching for my bag and Ryan tossed it to the floor. “Stop it and tell me what the hell is going on. Right fucking now.”

  “No, Ryan. I can’t. It’s not important and it isn’t your business.”

  “You’re my business, Alex.”

  “I… no, I’m not. I’m a client, remember? That’s what this is supposed to be. Just business.” I felt sick looking at the quick sting on his features. Ryan stepped back like I’d slapped him.

  “You fucking know better than that,” he said, voice loud, angry. “This hasn’t been business for a long damn time.”

  “Well it should be.”

  “Why?”

  “Because that’s the way we live our lives. That’s who we are. I don’t want flowers and hearts and all that bullshit.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I want you to let me do my job.” I picked up my bag, ignoring that low, cursing voice in my head that told me I was being stupid. “I want you to let me pay you back the only way I know how.”

  “You can’t leave without me.”

  I opened the door, not threatened when Ryan stepped up behind me. If it came down to it, I could get away, he knew it as well as I did.

  “I survived a long time without your help, Ryan. I can do it again.”

  When I opened the door, he grabbed me, like I knew he would. I was prepared and spun quick, popping Ryan with a sucker punch that brought him to his knees. Then I was out the door and gone.

  There are thirty-eight established cemeteries in New Orleans, not counting the post-storm markers of Xs along buildings and brick that line lost neighborhoods of Katrina deaths—a reminder of how The City that Care Forgot, got forgotten. It wasn’t surprising that Ironside picked the most touristy, the most well-known cemetery for his auction. St. Louis #1. Conti Parallel, number two, inching toward the Protestant side of the cemetery. That asshat really had no couth.

  Funny thing about Ironside’s organization: it was the Walmart class variety and for the right amount of money, easy to infiltrate. Timber liked to pretend, like Alex had maintained, that he wasn’t a common street thug. His people were loyal, but they weren’t stupid. Throw enough cash at them and they’d do just about anything for you. Like, say, give you a head’s up when their boss decided the time and place for the auction. Worked for me and shit, that saved me about ten grand.

  Still, I kept to the shadows, not eager to wave a red flag about my presence. It wasn’t hard to do. The auction happened on a Sunday night, when the early November air was cold and wet and the moon was hazy. The tombs went on for miles—rows and rows of New Orleans families’ dead lined up in white brick, concrete, shell and stone. I’d walked around the cemetery, trying to remember which turn I’d taken, hoping the ghost stories weren’t true until I spotted the small congregation of thugs. They stood near the back and the atmosphere, however tacky, was offset by the low, soft jazz music Ironside thought was in good taste to play as his thugs, pimps and crime syndicate leaders sipped on drinks and ate two dollar hors d’oeuvres, served by inappropriately dressed waitresses—their nipples almost showing from their plunging necklines.

  No one saw me, which I’d hoped would stay the case for the rest of the night until I could find Alex, and keep a watch over what she was planning. But Misty, that nosey woman, had to step away from the crowd, she had to pick my hiding spot just north of the mausoleum with the largest green space, the most row of concrete benches where the majority of the crowd kept themselves entertained.

  The woman had a blunt in her hand, had her lighter hovering right in front of it when our gazes caught. Hers widened. Mine narrowed and my nostrils flared before she grabbed my arm and pulled me deeper behind the aisle of tombs.

  “You are thick and stupid if you think Alex is doing this shit for any other reason than to keep you safe and here you come rolling in like the fatted calf. What were you thinking?”

  “Why are you hiding from a bunch of drug dealers to smoke that?” I nodded at the blunt still in her hand. “They’re drug dealers.”

  Misty glanced once at her hand and then threw the blunt on the ground. “Timber doesn’t like us to smoke in front of his clients but damn… Alex and now you and my nerves… you know what? Shut up. What are you doing here?”

  My mom was dead. I didn’t need another one taking her place and so I cocked my eyebrow at Misty, hoping she got with one look that I wasn’t interested in a lecture. “I was actually thinking I needed eyes on Alex when she does something stupid.” Misty frowned, confirming what I already knew: Alex was going to try something that might get her messed up. “Was I wrong?”

  “Of course not. Come here,” Misty’d said, grabbing my arm to push me between two large urns, her gaze jerking over her shoulder as she watched behind her. “Stay back here. If Timber can’t see you then he won’t think she’s coming in to get your whatever the hell it is.”

  “I don’t like this shit,” I told her, taking her fingers off my arm. I wanted to do this my way, but when Misty glared at me, I realized that wasn’t going to be an option.

  “What you want doesn’t freaking matter, Ryan.” Then she picked up the blunt and shoved it into her red clutch purse before she shot over her shoulder, “Stay put!”

  Hell no. That was no good, so I stuck to the corners like a damn gate crasher. Ironside couldn’t see me. He was too busy kissing ass, showing off the little trinkets on display for the auction. The items were guarded by a row of thick-neck thugs playing body guard, all donning dark suits. They stood around the make-shift stage—what looked like crates and plywood covered with Dollar Store table cloths—on every other step and kept still and silent as the crowd drifted by the long tables.

  The items themselves were an array of illegal trinkets
and banned merchandise that could be easily sold or traded—first edition books that no one wanted, pearl handled revolvers, paintings, furniture, all the shit any antique dealer would want in their shops. And then there were the bigger ticket items; guns, drugs, the items went on and one.

  I didn’t care about any of them.

  If you’d asked me a few months back, then yeah, I’d have said I wanted my mom’s jewelry box. It was valuable, very old and was the last item of hers that I hadn’t gotten rid of. It also represented what I’d lost, my family, my normalcy, all the things that had made me the man I was. Alex had somehow gotten that box into the city, into this specific auction and it was the only thing that had kept me focused on our bargain until, of course, she was threatened. Until I realized the auction, that damn box, wasn’t nearly as valuable to me as Alex was.

  I could almost feel that throbbing still working in my nose after she’d clocked me. She’d taken off because that’s what Alex does. She’d let me feel her, fucking finally, and then whatever ridiculous bullshit cluttered up her thoughts had her backtracking, leaving me confused and so fucking hard I thought I’d pass out. I followed, of course I followed, but Alex was bred in this city. She knew the spots that hid her well. She knew how to stay hidden and I’d ended up back at my place worried, wondering and finally hitting up Misty’s cell to let her know that Alex had gone M.I.A.

  “She’ll be okay,” the woman had told me. “We’ll watch her.”

  But I didn’t want Misty and her can-can dancers or punk pretend bodyguards looking over Alex. She was a wild fire, an unpredictable, constantly moving being that thought too little and moved too much. And some creeper was still after her. I’d done the only thing left to me. I’d become a damn stalker.

  Alex had been staying with Misty in that small place just above her club on Bourbon. When I was with Frank rewriting contracts and networking for new gigs, Sammy or Dean was trailing Alex. When I followed her, I felt better, but that hadn’t stopped me from wanting to throw her over my shoulder and keep her locked up back at my place. Shit, I’m not a damn caveman, but that woman made me want to take on the title.

  The only lights in the cemetery came from the funky candles on tall stands I’d seen Misty lighting, there were hundreds of them, leaning to the spooky, trying-too-hard vibe Ironside was hoping worked and I had to squint through the crowd to make out friend or foe, searching each drunk or drinking face for Alex. I knew I was taking a risk, pushing my limits, but there was no way in hell I’d let Alex work this auction without back up. I didn’t care that her former boss didn’t want me there. I didn’t give a shit that he might try something. I only knew that for a week I’d watched Alex walk around the Quarter looking over her shoulder, frowning like she knew around each corner there could be a threat; that bastard would be waiting. I wanted to take that frown from her face. I wanted her to walk on those sidewalks in the city she loved without worry.

  Fuck me, I was strung up on this woman.

  My Big Brain kept telling me to walk away. Alex had lived her entire life in this city, doing one stupid thing or another to make it to the next day. She could handle herself. Little Brain only remembered how tight she felt against my fingers, how the smell and taste of her was addictive, overwhelming. That little fucker wanted more.

  Somewhere in the middle, I realized I couldn’t walk away, not because she needed a rescue or because I just wanted inside her. I was in deep because I cared, because Alex was the only woman I’d ever met who called me on my bullshit without making me feel like an asshole for it. She was the only one who understood what it was like to be lost and alone. No way was I walking away from her.

  The music got louder, a small quartet of horns playing off to the corner while Ironside shook hands with the lowlifes and suits who watched him with sharp eyes. He kept pointing to the large mausoleum in the center of the party and I moved around the tomb in front of me to get a better look. Somewhere, Alex cased the items, watched the guards, likely keeping her focus on Ironside and the game he was playing.

  There were a few suits arguing in the corner right next to the more suspect items on the auction table and I glanced that way when one of Ironside’s men stopped the taller man from swinging at the other guy, but I could care less if it ended in bloodshed. Narrowing my eyes, it occurred to me for the hundredth time that Alex should have already showed, that maybe I should leave the shadows to find her, when she finally made an appearance.

  She had a beautiful back. It was the first thought I had when my gaze stopped surfing across the crowd, dismissing each face that wasn’t hers. It stopped at the sparkling, black flowers that twined up her back. The sheer material covered her spine, keyholed around her neck with intermittent black flowers swirling over that exposed, dark skin. The dress wasn’t formal, wasn’t casual, likely was one of Misty’s handoffs but the shimmer in the material and the way Alex wore it made her look like a diamond among a bushel of stones. Alex had taken her time in getting ready for this auction, put in an effort I hadn’t even imagined she possessed from day after day of seeing her in a t-shirt and jeans. She didn’t look like the hustler in a waitress uniform and those busted second-hand designer shoes that I’d first seen her in a month ago. She was stunning, pulling the attention of everyone she passed by. When she turned to move deeper into the crowd, I forgot my own damn name.

  There were more flowers, glittering black, groups of them covering her chest, strategically placed over the swell of her breasts to conceal her nipples. But her ribs, and just the top of her flat, sculpted stomach was visible through the sheer fabric. It covered her scars, of course it did, and I debated running up to her, tossing my jacket over her so no one could see just how perfect she was.

  Hell, let them look. Alex had a lot to be proud of and walking around that auction, eyes scanning the crowd, ignoring every wink she caught, she looked like a damn queen. She always did shit to her face, with her make-up and hair that reminded me of some bad 50’s juvenile delinquent movie. That Alex had an edge, a little too much rock and roll in her attitude and she wore her clothes in the same way—well-worn leather jackets, tight, ripped rocker tees and dark skinny jeans that showed off those muscular legs. Even her crazy hair, which was usually teased and pinned to look like an Elvis groupie’s, still worked because she had the attitude to back up her look. But she’d always reminded me of a kid, some early twenties chick that wasn’t interested in looking or behaving like an adult. That hadn’t stopped me from kissing her, from wanting her, but as she moved through the cemetery, the same sensual edge in her steps now tempered, made more enticing by her confidence, I realized Alex was an adult no matter what she looked like. She was all woman. A gorgeous, confident, sexy woman.

  When she turned her head slowly, and our gazes caught, I saw the instant crowd of worry in her dark eyes, then the irritation as she curled her top lip. Alex pressed her lips together, glanced over her shoulder to where Ironside had been standing and then made a beeline for me, forgetting her edge and stealth for a moment as she stumbled in her tall heels and then immediately righted herself.

  “Fucker,” she mumbled under her breath and I didn’t know if she meant me or the shoes she wore.

  “You talk to your priest with that mouth, little lady?”

  “Shut. Up.” I let her take my arm, leading me back further into the darkness and away from the crowd. There was a spark in her eyes, something wild and eager and I didn’t know if it was the anger she felt at my being at the auction, missing me or just being amped up over whatever con she was about to pull. “Ryan, you dumb son of a bitch, what are you doing here?”

  “Well, darlin’, I missed you too.”

  She ignored me, working her gaze around us to see if anyone had approached and then she stood too close to me and I caught the sweet scent of sweet pea flowers coming off her skin. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, wondering if she knew how beautiful she was, how much power she had in one damn look, one soft, subtle smile.


  What was I thinking? Of course she knew. The little shit was giving me that look—eyes that fucking smoldered and a slight pout on her lips—because she wanted me gone. She was shooting for seduction, using her mouth, her body to convince me to leave. That wasn’t going to happen.

  “I know what you’re doing, lady.” That hard seductive glint in her eyes deepened and Alex leaned forward, pressing against me until my back hit the tomb behind me. Christ, I wanted her, but I wouldn’t be played, no matter how damn beautiful she was. When Alex ran her long, red nails against my chest, I pushed back that ache in my gut, the one that had me dying to kiss her. I took her face then, my palm against her cheek, thumb on her chin and Alex lost that deliberate lilt in her eyes, the one I knew she used when she needed something desperately. “It’s not going to work,” I said, shaking my head when she released a small moan.

  “Ryan…” My name came out like a purr from those full lips, but I kept repeating to myself that the seduction wasn’t going to work, not when we had a job to do.

  “Alex,” I said, putting an equal amount of whine and pout in my voice.

  When she leaned forward, eyebrow arched and her bottom lip between her teeth, I stopped her with my hands on her shoulders. Just like that, the pretense was gone. “Don’t you wanna kiss me?”

  “Oh, darlin’,” I said, moving my hand from her cheek to the back of her neck, “I wanna do more than kiss you.”

  For a second the mask fell from her face. There was a glint of something real, something honest in the shift of her pupils, like she really wanted me too, like she was tired of playing games, but then Alex being Alex, she covered what she really wanted with the hard, irritated glare I’d come to recognize as a warning.