Blood Money (Lone Star Mobster Book 3)

by Cynthia Rayne

  “Veronica, I’m under no illusions about the nature of our association. I’m roughly thirty years older than you and divorced. But we’ve had some great times, too, haven’t we?”

  Vick nodded.

  Simon was attractive, paid her well, and while he had a temper, he’d never been violent. Until now, she’d never feared him. When she’d tried to break things off once more, he’d gotten upset and territorial.

  “So, you know I’ll treat you well.”

  “I already have a job and a life of my own.”

  “Whatever you’re makin’, I’ll match it. Hell, I’ll throw in a new wardrobe, pay off your bills,”

  Ugh. He could gift wrap the contents of Fort Knox and the moon too, and she’d still say no, thank you.

  “You aren’t listenin’ to me, Simon. I’m not interested.”

  “No, you’re playin’ games with me, but I don’t mind a bit of a chase. I always win in the end.”

  “You’re an attractive, wealthy man. You could have anyone you wanted.”

  “Honey, I’m too old for all the nonsense. If I started datin’ a woman, she might ask for a ring on her finger, and I can’t go through the love and romance crap again. I want a woman in my bed, on my terms.”

  One he could get rid of with the flick of his pen.

  “I wish you luck findin’ it.”

  “Who knew you could be tricky?” Simon chuckled. “I appreciate your negotiation tactics.”

  “This isn’t a tactic.” Vick felt like screaming. She buried her head in her hands.

  “Sure, it is, and I know how to play hardball.”

  “Okay, we’re done here.” She scrambled out of the booth, scooching over his large frame to wiggle free.

  “Not by a longshot, Veronica.” He stood, blocking her path once more. “This isn’t over. You belong with me.” His voice dipped. “To me.” Simon leaned down to kiss her, and she planted a hand on his chest.

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  He straightened. “Like I said, I love the pursuit, but be careful.”

  “Leave me alone, Simon.”

  Vick dashed out of Sugar Daddies, but she caught a glimpse of him in the window. The hungry glint in his eyes sent a chill racing down her spine.

  This wasn’t over.

  Not by a longshot.

  Chapter Two

  “Hitler was a vegetarian.”

  Jasper sighed.

  His compatriot, Tennessee Ross, or Ten as he was better known, had a way of saying off-the-wall things, when he bothered to open his trap, that is. Ten prided himself on being cagey as fuck. Jasper wouldn’t call him a friend, exactly, but they worked together. He doubted the man had any friends.

  The mobster stood well over six feet with a long, lean build. Although, right now he sat beside Jasper in the SUV. He had thick, black hair and sported a pair of dark glasses most of the time.

  Weird, right? Did the light hurt his eyes? Or did he have a scar?

  Like the rest of the men in the outfit, he wore an expensive suit, though Ten had scruffy hair covering his chin and cheeks.

  Will Butler snorted in response from the backseat. Butler was a tall blond and blue-eyed man. With his shined shoes and clean-shaven face, Jasper thought he cleaned up well enough to be a CEO or some such.

  Regarding Ten’s comment, Jasper settled for an mmhmm noise.

  They’d just pulled into Tucker Cobb’s driveway and hung out in the SUV to avoid going inside. Tucker, the Lone Star Mafia head honcho, lived between Hell and Crimson Creek in a massive Tuscan-style mansion.

  “Hitler loved his dog, too.”

  Jasper groaned. “And he committed genocide.”

  “Ah, hell,” Raleigh said.

  Will kneed the back of Jasper’s chair.

  Raleigh McCoy sat next to Butler. He was a young Latino man, in his late twenties. Raleigh wasn’t his given name. He’d picked it up when his family had immigrated to North Carolina from Puerto Rico. He had bronze skin, a muscular build, dark eyes and matching hair, which stuck straight up because he used a crap ton of hair gel. He only had a trace of an accent but was fluent in both languages.

  Jasper envied the connection to his family heritage. He had the opportunity to learn Mandarin as a child from his grandmother but hadn’t. It was one of his biggest regrets. As a result, he only knew a smidge of Chinese. His family had lived in the States since the 1890s, so they’d assimilated to the culture long ago.

  “Did you know Hitler wanted to be a painter?”

  “So, what, Ten?” Jasper didn’t give a damn if the guy liked to dance around in a pink tutu. No amount of charming quirks would redeem the bastard.

  “I’m just sayin’ the man had layers.” Ten’s expression was thoughtful.

  What the actual fuck? Was Ten relating to the Furor?

  “Are you tryin’ to make me feel bad for Hitler? Cuz that dog won’t hunt.”

  “Just makin’ conversation.” Ten shrugged. “Watched a show on the History Channel.”

  He wondered if Ten was trying to make himself feel better about his, er, inclinations, by attempting to wipe Hitler’s image clean. Or maybe Ten had grown bored and felt like screwing with him. Either way, it irked Jasper.

  Although, how did a veggie-munching dog lover who painted in his spare time end up chucking folks into gas chambers? It didn’t make a lick of sense.

  Shit. Now, I’m thinkin’ about it.

  “That ain’t right.” Will had evidently gotten sucked in, too. “He really didn’t believe in eatin’ animals?”

  “No, sirree.” Ten scratched his chin.

  “Yet, in his mind, Jews had it comin’?” Butler groaned. “Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t against murder, but… damn.”

  Jasper couldn’t wrap his brain around it. “Think not havin’ bacon drove him over the edge?”

  Ten laughed, and it sounded like a rusty old screen door swinging open. It straight up gave Jasper the willies.

  “Ten, are you a vegetarian?” Will asked.

  For Butler to find somebody disturbing was a neat trick. Butler was every bit as cracked as Ten, but he had a few more social skills. Before he joined up with the mafia, he’d been a mercenary, and prior to that, a military pyrotechnics expert. He’d literally made a living blowing shit up and killing people. Whenever he got liquored up, Butler went on and on about some vendetta, but Jasper only half-listened to his drunken rants.

  “No, and I can’t stand dogs.” Ten grimaced. “They yap and drool.”

  Yet Ten loved cats. He took care of stray ones, found them homes. It was rumored he volunteered at an animal shelter, too.

  “Great. We’ve established you ain’t Hitler’s reincarnation then,” Raleigh said dryly. “We should head straight for the border and find some señoritas and cervezas instead of goin’ inside.”

  “What for?” Ten asked.

  Jasper had never seen Ten so much as glance at a woman. Although, he took a deep, unnatural pleasure in killing folks. For all Jasper knew, murder gave him some, er, release.

  “For fun, amigo.” Raleigh’s chuckle was a touch dirty. He loved women of all shapes and sizes. He’d even given Vixen the eye and Jasper had been forced to put Will in his place.

  Jasper had nicknamed her Vixen for a reason, because it was a play on her name Vick, and because she had a flirty demeanor. Sometimes he wished she’d be more bashful. Especially around horn dogs like Rico Suave with a habit of walking around shirtless and calling her bomboncita, which meant “little candy.” Jasper had googled that shit.

  “No, thank you.” The corner of Ten’s mouth turned down like he’d just gotten a taste of something nasty. “I’m not interested in that sort of… fun.”

  “Why do you think Tucker wants to meet with us?” Will asked.

  “To stir up some shit.” Jasper hated being put smack dab in the middle of a mobster power grab.

  “Ain’t he always?” Will grunted.

  This was way above their pay gra
de. Jasper, Ten, Raleigh, and Will were made men, but Dix and Byron ran the day-to-day operations.

  “Let’s get it over with.” Jasper shut off the engine, and everyone strolled inside.

  The mansion was flashy, even by Texas standards. With the nude neo classical sculptures, colossal fountains, and over-the-top marble staircase, Tucker’s place could be mistaken for the home of a Roman emperor. Come to think of it, Tucker had a lot in common with those boys—cruel, wily, and crazy as a shithouse rat.

  They found Mary Cobb, Tucker’s granddaughter reading in the library. She had a heart-shaped face, pale skin, sky blue eyes, and was only 21 years old. Mary wore a blue polo shirt and a pair of skinny jeans which flattered her slender figure. Her light brown hair flowed around her shoulders.

  She was a real beauty, though he couldn’t help but see her as a gawky teenager with braces in his mind’s eye. When Jasper had been new to the outfit, a soldier with no low rank, he’d pulled guard duty, watching over Mary.

  Although he hated her granddaddy, he adored Mary. After they’d broken ties with him, he’d been left all alone in the world and lonesome for family at the time. Without Vixen and Mary, he’d have never gotten through it.

  “Jasper!” She launched herself at him, and he hugged her tight.

  He kissed her cheek. “Hello, Mèimei.” It meant little sister in Chinese.

  “Mary.” Ten gave a wintry smile.

  “Ten.” She nodded and then moved closer to Jasper.

  “We meet again, pollito.” Raleigh grasped Mary’s hand and kissed it.

  She blushed, and Jasper elbowed him out of the way with a stern look.

  “Hey, Mary.” Butler grinned.

  “Hi, Butler.”

  “Whatcha doin’ here?” she asked Jasper.

  “Seein’ your granddad. How is he by the way?”

  “Ornery as ever.”

  “I expected no less.” He squeezed her again. “Good seein’ you, but I can’t dawdle. We’ve got a meetin’ with him.”

  Something about her was fresh and innocent. He’d never breathed a word of the club’s activities to her. While Mary hadn’t asked him any questions, she was a smart girl. Surely, she’d noticed how strange her life was. Jasper didn’t know if she’d put it all together, but he doubted it. She’d run away screaming if she knew the whole truth.

  “Okay, but I miss you. I don’t start medical school until next fall, so I’m hangin’ out here all summer. We should get some dinner before I head back to Boston.”

  Since she’d been living in New England most of the year, her accent came and went. Jasper bet she’d been trying to drop it so she’d sound like one of them fancy blue-blooded physicians.

  “We’ll hang out, I promise.”

  “I’ll hold you to it.”

  With that, they continued down the hall to the conference room on the first floor.

  “Bet you boys are wonderin’ why I asked you here.” Tucker stood as soon as they walked into the room.

  Tucker had an imposing demeanor, despite his age and size. He was in his late sixties with gray hair, blue eyes, and a thin build.

  Whenever his granddaughter was away at school, Tucker acted like a rock star with guns, drugs, and lots of ladies. Tucker had a running tab with a Dallas escort agency and preferred young, blonde, twenty-somethings.

  Jasper had the misfortune to walk in on him during one of those, er, sessions. Even the memory turned his stomach.

  Those stick-figure legs wrapped around… ugh. Don’t even go there.

  Jasper nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  “Have a seat.” He waved them over to the conference table. Tucker sat at the head of the long mahogany table. Ten and Jasper took one side, while Butler and Raleigh took the other.

  Jasper prayed for this thing to be over soon.

  “Any of you heard from Cotton Krugg?”

  Oh fuck.

  Krugg had been Underboss before Byron took over. Jasper had an idea what had happened to the man, but he’d kept his mouth shut for his own safety.

  And to be honest, he thought Krugg was a dick. There’d been rumors about him strangling prostitutes and such—kink mixed with savagery, and control issues. If Byron had taken care of him, Jasper wouldn’t lose much sleep over it.

  “No, but I figure he’s dead.” Ten scratched his chin.

  Jasper glared at Ten. Shut up, fool.

  Will rolled his eyes and Raleigh shifted in his seat.

  “What makes you say that?” Tucker rubbed his hands together, as though anticipating something juicy.

  His pinched face reminded Jasper of a bird. Tucker had taut features and a large nose.

  “Ain’t like him to up and disappear.”

  “No, it ain’t. What do you think happened?” Tucker asked.

  Ten shrugged. “No clue, so I ain’t speculatin’.”

  “But who do you think did it?” Tucker’s eyes were slits.

  He clearly wanted them to finger Byron Beauregard as the culprit. Jasper silently vowed to share every word of this conversation with Dix and Byron if only to cover his own ass.

  Ten shrugged. “He had lots of enemies. We all do.”

  “And you?” Tucker turned to Jasper.

  “I got no earthly idea. My grandmother always said, don’t remove a fly from your friend’s forehead with a hatchet. It’s an old Chinese proverb.”

  “The fuck?” Raleigh screwed up his face. “Don’t hit people with an ax? Already got that one figured out.”

  “Good to know.” Ten scratched his chin.

  Butler snickered. “I’m more of a chainsaw man.”

  I’m surrounded by freaks.

  “It means don’t make a bigger problem, out of a small one. Krugg bein’ gone is a minor problem.”

  “I see.” A muscle worked in Tucker’s jaw.

  Jasper wished he’d drop this vendetta. If Byron and Tucker went to war over this, innocent people would get caught in the crossfire.

  He didn’t give a damn about Tucker, but he worried about Mary. After she’d lost her parents under what he’d call mighty suspicious circumstances, she’d taken it hard. She’d had enough tragedy to last her several lifetimes.

  And another one was just over the horizon.

  Chapter Three

  “You look like shit, Vick.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Vick glared at Byron Beauregard.

  After her run-in with Simon, she’d tried to immerse herself in projects at work, but she’d been distracted all morning. She hadn’t gotten much of anything done, and now she had to put up with this joker.

  He was a tall, attractive, blue-eyed blond man. She’d never liked him, despite his movie star good looks and charm. Something about Byron got under her skin. Byron was sure of himself—a little too practiced and suave.

  When she’d started working here, Byron had terrified her. His family was infamous. Beauregard was southern-speak for mobster, and he’d carried on the family tradition. In prohibition days, the Beauregards had made their fortune by bootlegging moonshine. And they’d made an unholy alliance with the mafia.

  “Anytime, darlin’.” He nodded to the closed door. “What’s Dix up to?”

  Her boss, Dixon Wolf, had a client meeting. Dix worked out of his home, and they had adjoining offices on the first floor.

  “Business.” She lifted her brows meaningfully.

  Members of the outfit kept their dirty dealings largely to themselves. That way, if they were questioned by the authorities, ignorance could be claimed.

  “Then, you and I can have a little visit while I wait.” Byron pulled out a chair and sat down.

  The rest of the house resembled a southwestern hacienda, but Vick’s office was eclectic and funky. One wall was done in chalkboard paint, and she’d doodled all over the surface—reminders or inspirational quotes. A black and white rug covered the tile floor. More drawings decorated the walls, paintings with splashes of bright red and neon pink.

  “Won’t that be fun?
” Byron was about as welcome as a skunk at a garden party.

  Byron reminded her of one of those rich, entitled heroes in the historical romance novels she’d read in college. Men like Byron used to be called rakes, prodigal sons who womanized their way through life.

  Until he’d fallen for Jane Hunter, a defense attorney. Vick couldn’t figure out what Jane saw in him. They were engaged now, and Byron was adopting her little girl, too.

  Before he’d ascended to the underboss position, Byron had been a brutal hitman, gunning down dozens of people. Now that she’d gotten to know Byron better, Vick just found him infuriating. Saying he got on her nerves was a massive understatement. More like, he stomped on them with steel-toed boots. She had the urge to slap him silly but was smart enough not to.

  “How come you ain’t sweet to me?” Byron oozed charm. “You’re nice to Dix.”

  “I’m cordial to you.”

  “Yeah, you’re about as friendly as a bramble bush.”

  Vick’s standoffishness perturbed Byron. Most women fell all over him, but she’d never felt the slightest twinge. Probably because her heart was already spoken for.

  “Well, I ain’t your Gal Friday.”

  “Have it your way.” He steepled his hands.

  ‘I will.”

  “So what’s goin’ on with you, girl? You’re all twitchy.”

  “I’m right as rain.”

  “No, you ain’t.”

  She heaved a sigh. “Like you care.”

  “I’m curious. How’s the stalker?”

  Byron had found Simon harassing her in Poison Fruit’s parking lot a few weeks ago and run him off. He’d wanted details, but Vick had remained tight-lipped. If Byron hadn’t shown up, Vick didn’t know what would’ve happened. Simon had been intoxicated and insistent. At the time, she’d been grateful for his help, but she didn’t want him involved in this.

  “I’ve got the situation under control.” Vick lifted her chin.

  “Not from where I’m standin’. The last time I saw the fella, he was tryin’ to cart you off.”