Page 37 of Creole Kingpin
Relief sweeps through me on a wave, but I don’t want to trust it. I know better. Bogeymen have almost gotten me before while he’s been gone. My mind flashes to a pile of corpses I was tossed on top of once. Where was he to save me then?
“I don’t trust you. You could have set all this up. Things were moving toward peaceful until you wandered back into town.”
His greenish-gold eyes pierce into me like he’s trying to see inside my brain. “It’s not me, mama. You know I wouldn’t hurt you. Other people, sure. But you? Never. I’ll earn your trust back. Watch and see.”
I jerk my hand out from beneath his palm. “Don’t be so sure about that.”
“I’m not leaving without you again. That’s something you and I can both be sure of.”
A tiny part of me wants to cling to his words and believe them, but I brush them off instead. After all, this isn’t a fucking fairy tale.
Twenty-Two
Moses
Magnolia eats with gusto, just like I remember. She doesn’t peck at her plate like one of those women who order salads because they care what the man across from them thinks. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t give a damn what’s going through my head. She’s unimpressed, and it’s no surprise.
But the mystery of who sliced her before he died? That’s got her off-balance. I was no saint in the past, but I made it a law a long fucking time ago that no woman ever gets hurt by me or my people. But I’m also no gentleman, so I have no problem exploiting Magnolia’s unsteadiness.
“You staying in your condo tonight?” I ask as she finishes half of the most expensive entrée on the menu, something that makes me smile like a damn fool.
Her tiger eyes lift to mine. “That’s no business of yours.”
I hold back my real answer, which iseverything you do is my business, woman.Instead, I reply with, “What made you decide to buy a place in the Quarter?”
Her glare tells me it’s another subject to add to the long list of things she doesn’t want to discuss with me. Again, it’s too damn bad.
“No one knows I own it, besides a couple of people who won’t tell anyone. I’d prefer to keep it that way.” She goes back to her meal and ignoring me, but I dissect the statement for all it’s worth.
She doesn’t want anyone to know where she lives. And why might that be?
I think Ms. Maison is tired of living life the way she has been. Given all the changes in the last few years, I can’t say I’m surprised. It also tells me my timing may not be as bad as I thought. In fact, it might just be perfect.
“You’re keeping a low profile these days. Tell me about this new business venture of yours.”
It’s not a question this time, but I guarantee that won’t matter to Magnolia. She won’t tell me anything she doesn’t want to.
She looks up again. “Mount. Am I right?”
I tilt my head to the side as she nearly whispers the man’s name. That’s not a surprise either. He’s not someone most people discuss, in polite company or otherwise. Lucky for me, he and I have an understanding—finally.
“Right about what?”
“He gave you all sorts of information on me during your little meeting, didn’t he?” Her tone is threaded with annoyance, and possibly some betrayal too.
“He answered a few questions.”
“Like what?” she asks, the knife stilling in her hand as if she’s thinking about using it as a weapon.
I let a slow smile spread over my lips. “Like whether you have a man.”
Her grip tightens on the utensil. “I don’t need a man. Never have. Never will.”
“Mama, you need a good fucking more than any woman I’ve ever seen. Whoever’s been doing you over hasn’t taken a strong enough hand to you. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to scream when you come.”
Those amber eyes turn to lava as her glare threatens to burn me alive. Her chest heaves, but she attempts to control her rage ... or is that something else?
Temptation? Vengeance? Or maybe just good old-fashioned lust.
