Blood Money (Lone Star Mobster Book 3)

by Cynthia Rayne

  “As you can see, I’m alive and well.”

  “For now. What did he want with you?”

  Vick shrugged.

  If she launched into a big, complicated lie, he’d press her for details, and she’d end up blurting everything out. She’d seen him pull this trick on countless people.

  “Why’d he call you Veronica?”

  “It’s a nickname.”

  “No, Vick is a nickname.”

  She glanced at her computer screen.

  “Don’t ignore me. Somethin’ about this here situation don’t add up. And don’t even think about lyin’. Unlike Dix, I ain’t a pushover. I’ll be all over your ass like a duck on a June bug.”

  Only Byron would find Dix a pushover.

  “I told you before, this is personal.”

  “Who is he?”

  Vick bit the inside of her cheek. Byron was behaving like a dog with a bone. If she wanted him to drop this, she’d have to give him a bit more information.

  “A former boyfriend.” It was sort of the truth. She watched and waited as he absorbed the news. “And I took your suggestion. Jasper’s been teachin’ me self-defense.”

  After a moment, he nodded.

  Ha! Check it out, I lied to Byron and got away with it. Go, me. Vick turned her head before the glee showed on her face.

  “Why don’t you let me or one of the boys put the fear of God in him?”

  Vick had considered the option several times. She worked with a passel of scary gun-toting men, but with a few well-chosen words Simon could destroy her reputation and possibly even get her killed.

  The mafia wanted everything to be smooth—no fuss, screw-ups, and no complications. Employees with a tendency for drawing attention to themselves, and by extension, the mafia, had a way of disappearing. If she wanted to live through this crisis, Vick had to handle it on her own.

  While Byron might appear concerned, she had no delusions about his character. If Tucker gave the order, Byron would put her six feet under without any qualms.

  Just then, Dix’s door swung open, and the prospective client scurried away.

  Byron stood. “Think about my offer, okay?”

  “Sure.” But Vick wanted to resolve this on her own.

  ***

  “I need you to drop somethin’ off at the Lone Star Lounge, Vick.”

  Vick frowned as Dix handed over an envelope. She knew better than to ask what was inside. They sat in Dix’s office, and it was almost seven o’clock at night, time to head home.

  Dix was in his late forties, with thick dark brown hair that was bracketed by streaks of silver. The edges of his mouth and eyes had creases, and he had a layer of stubble on his cheeks and chin. He wore a white button-down shirt and a black pinstriped suit. The red tie hung loosely around his neck like a coiled snake.

  “Why not have Rebel deliver it?” Vick asked.

  Rebel Jackson had only been working for the outfit a few months, which meant he had to pay his dues. He did all the grunt work no one else wanted to do.

  “Can you imagine Rebel in a strip club?”

  She groaned. “I’ll take care of it.” Most likely, Rebel would get mesmerized by the sight of dancing girls and forget all about the envelope.

  The Lone Star Lounge was a brand-new strip club in Crimson Creek, owned by Byron’s aunt, Bonnie. Bonnie was only a few years older than Byron, because her father, Bryant Beauregard, had married a much younger woman and conceived a child before he’d come to an untimely end.

  “Anything else I need to take care of?”

  “Naw, that’s about it.” Dix stretched back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. “What are your plans for the evenin’?”

  Vick shrugged. “Binge watchin’ somethin’ on Netflix and dinner with Jasper.”

  Dix had hired her straight out of college, and they’d quickly developed an easy rapport. She considered him both a friend and a mentor.

  He served as negotiator for the Lone Star Mafia, which meant he mitigated conflicts between members and reported directly to Tucker Cobb. Before he’d gone all dark side, Dix had been an official at a reputable bank. Now Dix ran a loan sharking business, besides other nefarious enterprises. Vick used her tech skills to track down loan applicants, vet mafia members, and anything else the outfit needed computer-wise.

  “Oh really?”

  “Yep.” Vick hoped he’d move on.

  “What’s goin’ on with you two?” He scratched his chin.

  “We’re best friends—end of story.” Hadn’t she had this very conversation with… well, everyone?

  “I see.”

  “Ain’t nothin’ to see.”

  “Look, relationships in the workplace are complicated as hell, but I don’t see why you two—”

  “What are you and Belle doin’ tonight?” Vick asked, interrupting him.

  He chuckled. “Fine, I’ll drop it. We’re gonna grab some dinner, maybe see a movie. By the way, Belle said she’d been meanin’ to give you a call. Y’all ain’t had a girls’ night in a while.”

  Dix had gotten serious with Belle Nunn. They’d recently gotten engaged and were planning a winter wedding. She’d been his mistress at first, but they’d fallen in love. When Vick had first met Dix, he’d been living under a dark cloud—his wife’s death had been painful.

  And ever since he’d taken up with Belle, he’d been needling Vick about her “friendship” with Jasper. Dix clearly had romance on the brain, and it seemed to be spreading since Byron had proposed, too.

  Vick wondered which one of them would get hitched next. Evidently, Dix thought it’d be her and Jasper. Not so much.

  “Belle, Jane, and I are overdue for some wine and gossip. I’ll give her a call soon. If it’s okay with you, I’ll head out.” She wanted to get in and out of the strip club before it got crowded with drunken guys.

  “See ya tomorrow mornin’, Vick. Hope you and Jasper have a cozy evenin’ in.”

  She sighed. “Night, Dix.”

  Vick headed out to the parking lot, tossed her bag in the Escalade and took off for the club.

  Ten minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot. Red, white, and blue neon lights bathed the saloon. There were only a few cars in the lot.

  After she walked inside, Vick blinked as her eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior. Loud music blared from the speaker system—Miranda Lambert’s “Somethin’ Bad.” Two men in their early twenties ogled a topless woman whirling on a pole. They leered when they saw Vick, as though she’d come here to see naked ladies.

  You wish, jerk faces.

  Vick scowled until they both turned away. In her previous life, she’d perfected a death glare for men who tried to push her boundaries. Too bad Simon was immune.

  The club had a honky-tonk feel. Instead of standard tables and chairs, bar stools surrounded barrels branded with the Jack Daniels’ logo. The stage in the center of the room had three stripper poles, but only one was occupied. Vick spotted a mechanical bull in the back. One wall sported beer cans arranged in the shape of the Texas flag.

  “What can I get ya, darlin’?” A brunette wearing a ten-gallon hat, a red bandana halter top, and cutoffs stood behind the bar.

  “I’m lookin’ for Bonnie Beauregard.” Vick hopped up on a stool. “I’m Vick.”

  “She’s in the back.” The bartender picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Gotta visitor out here, Bon. The name’s Vick.” She listened a moment and then hung up. “Bon will be out in a second.”

  “Thanks.”

  While the bartender wiped down the bar, Vick checked her cell phone. She had six missed calls and three voicemails. Although, she didn’t bother checking them. Vick knew exactly who’d called. Simon needed a hobby… or a restraining order.

  A handsome cowboy type straddled a stool nearby. He had a couple days’ worth of stubble on his lean face. He wore faded blue jeans so threadbare, she could see the outline of his billfold on his back pocket where it strained the fabric
.

  The man turned to face her, and she brought her gaze upwards, cheeks flaming. He’d caught her gawking at his backside.

  How embarrassing.

  “Uh, hi.” Vick waved.

  His lips curved. “Evenin’, ma’am.”

  Unlike the jerks ogling the woman on the pole over yonder, this one didn’t look at Vick like she was a piece of meat.

  No, he watched curiously. It made Vick wonder if he’d come in here for some other purpose than watching naked girls. In fact, his behavior was downright suspicious.

  “What brings a lady like you to a place like this?” He cocked his head to the side.

  “What the hell are you doin’ here?”

  Vick whirled to see Bonnie standing a couple feet away.

  All the Beauregards had B first names: Byron, Bonnie, and Braxton… blah blah blah.

  Bonnie’s age was difficult to pin down. She had long blonde hair with occasional strands of gray mixed in. If Vick had to guess, she’d say somewhere in her forties. Her skin was tan, weathered. She wore a black tank top and tight, frayed jeans with a pair of black leather cowboy boots. On her right bicep, she sported a black tribal tattoo. Bonnie was rough and tumble, nothing like the rest of the Beauregard clan, who had an air of southern gentility.

  “Dix wanted me to give you this.” Vick handed over the envelope.

  “No, thanks.” Bonnie backed away like she’d been offered a rattlesnake.

  “You haven’t even opened it.”

  Vick shot a glance at the curious cowboy who was fixated on his shot of whiskey at the moment. She bet he’d still overheard every single word they’d said.

  “Don’t need to. If it came from Dix or Byron, it’s nothin’ but trouble.”

  Bonnie had a point. While she might be related to Byron, she’d had nothing to do with the outfit since she’d breezed into town a few months ago. From what Vick could tell, Bonnie was legit, though she hadn’t dug into her background.

  Although, everyone had secrets. Vick knew about deception better than anyone.

  “Will you just take it?” She tried again.

  This time Bonnie grabbed the letter. “Sure.” She flicked open a Zippo from her back pocket and lit the envelope on fire. Flaming, it fell into a nearby metal trash can.

  “Aw, heck.” Vick hated disappointing Dix. “He’ll send me over here tomorrow night with another letter.”

  “Works for me.” Bonnie shrugged. “We can do this again and again.”

  “Fine.” She sighed.

  “See ya later, darlin’.” Bonnie gave her a salute.

  The cowboy swiveled on his stool to watch her walk out. If Vick didn’t have a strict no-swearing policy, which included crude gestures, she might’ve flipped him off.

  In the parking lot, Vick thumbed a quick text message to Dix, explaining what happened and received a string of typed expletives in reply.

  Vick giggled. While she didn’t believe in cursing, she didn’t mind when other people let loose. Dix had a very colorful vocabulary.

  “What’s so funny?”

  She whirled around at the sound of Simon’s voice.

  Shoulda been payin’ attention. Could she hop in the vehicle and take off before Simon grabbed her? Doubtful.

  “I asked, what you found so amusin’.” He stepped closer.

  “Not a darn thing.” Vick inched toward the car.

  “I thought we could finish our talk.”

  “And I made it clear, I got nothin’ more to say.”

  “I told you not to push me too far.”

  Her mouth went dry. “Our agreement is done. Accept it.”

  “It’s over when I say it is.”

  The pulse fluttered in her throat. Vick’s mind whirled, as she tried to come up with an escape plan.

  Simon reached for her. “Come with me. We’ll take a ride and talk it over. I’m sure we can work out a contract.”

  Vick spotted his sports car parked two rows over. Next time, she’d be more aware of her surroundings.

  “Simon, we’re done.” Dear Lord, please let it sink into his thick skull.

  “We’ve only just begun. Let me remind you what we had.” Simon seized her wrist and dragged her closer. Vick tried to pull away, but he had strong muscled arms. He nuzzled the side of her face, and she pushed at his chest.

  “Let go.”

  “Never.” His hot breath settled on her ear. “Do you remember how I felt inside you? How I made you come for me repeatedly?”

  You mean, how I faked it for you, porn star-style? Oh, yes, Simon, please. Harder.

  Sure, he’d given her the occasional orgasm, but she’d catered to his sexual desires and demands, not vice-versa.

  “I don’t want this.” Vick kept her voice calm and even.

  He had a nasty temper. Vick had learned how to talk Simon down when he’d worked himself into a rage.

  “I believe the lady said no.” A gun cocked.

  Over Simon’s shoulder, Vick saw Bonnie standing with a shotgun pointed at the man’s back.

  She sagged in relief. Once again, a Beauregard rode to her rescue.

  Simon backed away and raised his hands, but his expression had settled into a cold, inscrutable mask.

  “Get on out of here,” Bonnie said.

  “You won’t shoot me out here in public.” Simon nodded to the parked cars around them. The neon lights bracketing the club glowed like fireworks on the 4th of July.

  “You’re right, honey, but we’re between two big SUVs—out of plain sight, in the dark. One of ‘em belongs to my friend here. It’d be easy to throw you in the back and go for a little ride, wouldn’t it?” Bonnie asked Vick.

  Vick swallowed. “Uh, yeah.”

  “We could finish this conversation once and for all. That’d suit me fine.” The entire time she spoke, she never took her eyes off Simon, her demeanor cool and calm. Vick thought Bonnie was more like her nephew than she’d given her credit for.

  Simon’s nostrils flared.

  “Now git, before my trigger finger gets a case of the fidgets.”

  Simon sneered. “You’ll be seein’ me again, Veronica.” He edged away from the two women, and sauntered off as though he hadn’t just been held at gunpoint.

  Bonnie didn’t take her eyes off him until Simon screeched away in his fancy sports car. Then she turned to Vick with a frown.

  “What the fuck is goin’ on?”

  Chapter Four

  I’m screwed.

  Vick had gotten an unexpected reprieve, but her luck would run out soon enough. Simon was a scary mixture of determined and bat poop crazy.

  Bonnie had ushered Vick into her office and handed her a shot of fireball whiskey. While Bonnie yakked with a liquor supplier on the phone, Vick sipped the drink and tried to pull it together.

  Things had gotten considerably noisier outside—men howled, the music throbbed. Vick didn’t know how Bonnie dealt with the chaos on a nightly basis.

  To calm down, she focused on the office, as she got her bearings once more. Like the rest of the club, it had a country and western theme. Wooden walls and floors, and the ceiling held several long, braided ropes. Strung through them were Mason jars with pail-like lids wired with bright white lights. Two suede chairs faced a converted barrel. It’d been tipped on its side, sawed in half, and nailed to two wooden slats, which held it in place. With the flat wooden top, it formed an unusual desk.

  The signs on the wall amused her. Under different circumstances, they might’ve made her laugh. One read: $5.00 fine for whining. Another read: Sinners and Saints Welcome Here.

  Her throat still ached from the sharp bite of cinnamon liquor, but her hands had stopped trembling. She didn’t feel quite as nervous either. Although a bruise had bloomed on her pale wrist.

  “Speak with you next month.” Bonnie ended her phone call and then rounded the desk.

  “Here, let me take a look.” Before Vick could protest, Bonnie grasped her forearm, turning it over, so she c
ould examine the damage. “I’ll get you some ice for it.” She walked out to the bar and returned with a glass full of cubes, which Vick pressed against the wrist.

  “Ready to talk yet?” Bonnie asked.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  “Horse shit. You’re still shakin’. The bastard nearly abducted you.”

  “Yeah, well, he didn’t.”

  “Because I stopped him with the business end of a shotgun.”

  “I’ll pay you for the drink, then I’ll be on my way.” Vick reached into her purse.

  “It’s on the house, honey.” Bonnie waved a hand. “Now quit foolin’ around and tell me what’s goin’ on.”

  Vick sighed. “You’re right, I’m not okay, but it’s my problem, not yours.”

  “Why? Because I’m Byron’s kin?”

  “Something like that.” In her experience, knowledge was power. She made a living discovering other people’s secrets.

  “In case you didn’t notice, my nephew and I don’t care for each other.”

  “Yeah, but I still work for him.” Well, for Dix, technically, but Byron was still in the chain of command.

  “And you don’t want the mafia to know?”

  Vick flinched.

  “Don’t even start with the ‘legitimate business’ crap, y’all like to throw around. I know Byron’s up to his neck in dirty deeds, so don’t even try to deny it.”

  “I can’t ask anyone for help.”

  “You could ask me.”

  “Why? I hardly know you.” She’d met Bonnie a couple of times in passing so they weren’t friends or even acquaintances.

  “I don’t like seein’ women get hurt is all.” Bonnie stroked the side of her face. As though recalling a wound of her own?

  The look in her eyes troubled Vick. There had to be a story there. She had a feeling Bonnie might’ve had a run-in with another man who couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

  “Do you wanna talk about it?” Vick asked.

  “Fuck, no.”

  “Yeah? Me neither.”

  “Well, now, I’d be a hypocrite to hold it against you, huh?” Bonnie placed her hands on her slim hips.

  “You said it, not me.”

  “Okay then.” She heaved a sigh. “Call it an educated guess, but I think your private life’s about to go public. He don’t strike me as the sort who backs off without a fight.”