Page 24 of Creole Kingpin
That’s when I remember the knife.Shit.I hurry to wash it clean and quickly decide it’s going in the brand-new safe in the master closet.
With the duffel stowed and the knife locked away, I pick my way downstairs in the tennies from my go-bag.
Rocco looks up from nailing a piece of trim in the kitchen. The shock on his face tells me I look worse than I thought.
“You okay, Magnolia?” He doesn’t usually use my first name, but his concern seems sincere.
“I’m fine. I was here late, checking everything out, and decided to crash.” My voice sounds like I drank a fifth of whiskey and smoked a half ounce of weed—because I did.
His brows swoop together as if he’s trying to figure out why I’d choose to sleep on the floor since there’s no furniture. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m perfect. The house is too.” Hopefully, the compliment will cushion the blow of the bomb I’m about to drop. I need to adjust the timeline we agreed to only yesterday. “I’m moving my things into the master bedroom tonight. I need a change of scenery. Will you finish up anything you need in there so I can get someone here to clean it and the master bath?”
His eyes are as wide as saucers, but he nods. “Of course. Most of the punch list is for downstairs anyway. You don’t mind being here while I’m working? It shouldn’t be too loud, but it won’t be exactly quiet either.”
A little noise sure as hell beats getting shanked. “Do what you need to do, Rocco. I’ll handle the rest.”
He slaps the floor where he’s crouched like it’s settled. “Yes, ma’am. Whatever you like.”
“Thank you.” With my clutch pressed against my side, I give him a weak smile. “Well, I’m off. Check in with you later.”
He waves, and I take a step toward the door leading outside to my gate. That’s when I see it. On the mantel. Another fucking chess piece.
I cross the room and grab the small white horse head.
“You play pretty fast and loose with that knight of yours.”Moses’s voice, fifteen years in the past, echoes in my head.
Beneath the chess piece is a piece of thick white paper. It reads:
8 p.m. Arnaud’s. I’ll wait for you.
I crumple it into a ball.
He’ll wait for me?He’llfucking wait forme?
Keep waiting, motherfucker. Because you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.
Fifteen
Moses
“You think she’ll show tonight?” Trey asks from behind the computer he’s rarely ever separated from.
He looks up in time to catch the skeptical expression I shoot his way, but the clicking keeps coming as his fingers never stop moving.
“No way she’ll fucking show tonight,” Jules says with a shake of his head as he shoves a beet into the juicer for our pre-workout morning concoction. “That woman is going to be a tough nut to crack. I’ve got money on her putting a hole in ol’ Moses before she’s done.”
He’s not too far off. I met the business end of her sawed-off last night. Nevertheless, I throw my hand into the air and flip him off. “Fuck you, Jules. You gonna finish that shit before I turn eighty?”
Jules tosses his head back and laughs. “You’re just pissed she wouldn’t let you come to the rescue like some kind of white knight. Hate to break it to you, boss, but that ain’t exactly you.”
I ignore Jules and turn back toward Trey, who sits at the long scarred wooden table in the house we leased in the Marigny as our base of operations here in New Orleans.
We have a system, the three of us. We settle down in one place for a bit, and then travel to the jobs we decide to take. Make good money, and then move the fuck on. We’ve been living this way for over a decade, and I’m ready for something different.
Something slower. Something more peaceful. Something with a fiery raven-haired siren who I suspect needs peace in her life as badly as I do.
But before I could get to this phase in my life, where I was free to come back for her, there were a hell of a lot of hurdles to jump. More than I planned on, that’s for damn sure.
