Page 18 of Creole Kingpin
“Amen, honey,” I reply, thankful that my part in this mess is done. “You’ll be fine. Now, get in touch with your girls, give them orders, and then get on with your night. I’ll tell mine what’s what and let you know when the heat dies down.”
“You say it like it’s so easy.” Her tone is laced with frustration, and when she looks up at me, her expression resembles a lost little girl. “Then again, I’m sure for you it would be.”
She needs a hug, but coddling her won’t help. “Your house. Your call. You can handle it. Grow a pair and woman up. Besides, they don’t want you. They want Brandon.”
Desiree releases a long sigh. “True. Well, I guess I’d better get moving.”
“Good girl,” I tell her, and then slip my mask back on as I turn to leave the room.
“Mags?” Desiree’s questioning tone stops me with my hand on the knob.
“What?”
“How did you know it was time to get out of the game?”
What is it with the hard questions tonight?
I meet Desiree’s gaze and give it to her point-blank. “Baby, that’s a question only you can answer. And the fact that you’re asking it means you need to start thinking about a plan B.”
* * *
When I leave the private room, dozens of pairs of eyes follow me, but I don’t pay them any mind. I came here to do what I needed to do, and now I’m getting the fuck out.
“If you wanna play, kitten,” a man’s voice says from over my shoulder, “I’ll make you purr.”
I turn around to look at him. “Kitten? Boy, I’m a goddamned lioness. Back the fuck off.” A dark chuckle leaves my lips at the sight of his shocked face, and I exit the club with a smile.
Nine
Magnolia
“Thank you for the ride, Lionel. I’ll see you next time.”
“Have a nice night, Ms. Maison. Take care.”
I hand him a twenty as a tip and cross the sidewalk to the front entrance of my condo building.
One more week, and I’ll be going home to the French Quarter, I think as I punch the button for the elevator that will take me up to the sixth floor.
I remember how excited I was to move here, because I was moving up in the world. It meant that I hadarrived.Now I’m thrilled to get the hell out, because this place doesn’t fit who I am anymore. And when I’m done with a person or a place, I’mdone.
The elevator doors open, and I’ve only taken one step out when someone slams into me, ramming me back inside the car. Hot pain screams along my side.
“Hey!” I shriek out the protest and slam both palms into the guy who rushed me, pushing him off me and into the mirrored wall.
Fuck. He’s wearing a mask. Bad sign.
I commit him to memory—around six feet tall, black balaclava, brown eyes—as his head smashes into the glass behind him.
“You fucking whore!”
That’s when I see the knife. Glinting silver in the fluorescent lights of the elevator, dripping with my blood, it slashes out, no doubt aiming for my jugular as I jerk back into the corner, out of his reach. But that won’t help me for long if I’m unarmed and trapped in here with him. That can only mean death.
Not today, motherfucker. Not today.
I twist to the side, reaching for the stiletto blade hidden at the small of my back. Before he realizes what I’m doing, I palm the knife and aim for his groin. I miss my intended target, but my blade sinks into the flesh of his upper thigh, and I twist the knife before yanking it free. He roars and stumbles back into the opposite corner of the elevator. Blood stains his jeans red, and I move as fast as I can, backing out of the car as I punch the down button.
He drops to his knees, his black gloves reaching for me, but the doors close before he can stop them.
