Page 10 of Creole Kingpin
Moses
Isee you, mama. And I know you saw me earlier.
I tap my thumb against the leather seat of the Rolls Royce Phantom, a car I picked up in New York for the drive down to NOLA, as the woman I haven’t been able to get out of my mind in fifteen years picks her way down the cracked sidewalk of her French Quarter street. She stops in front of the gate of a bright yellow house with blue shutters to fish a set of keys out of her purse.
Sunshine for the home of a former woman of the night. Others might think it’s an odd choice, but they don’t understand her. Magnolia Marie Maison is a complex woman that no average man would ever be able to unravel.
Lucky for me, I’m far from average. I also plan to spend the rest of my life learning every last one of her secrets.
Magnolia inserts a key into the black metal gate that connects her property to the brick wall of the one beside it. It swings wide and she slips through the opening, glancing behind her as she pulls it shut. I savor the last glimpse of her as she disappears from view—a dress hugging those hot-as-hell curves and her shiny hair blowing in the breeze.
Anticipation rises within me, filling me with purpose, the likes of which I haven’t felt inyears.And, fuck, does that feel right. Like I’m finally alive for the first time since I walked away and left her behind.
I never planned to leave her alone for this long.
My fingers flex around the piece of alabaster in my hand.
A less certain man might wonder if she’d know who was sending it when she gets it, but I don’t need to. Magnolia is a scarily intelligent woman. There will be no doubt in her mind where it came from, no matter who delivers it.
My blood pumps faster at the thought of what’s coming next. War, most likely. But not over the streets like I’ve waged before. This time, it’s going to be a battle for a barricaded heart.
Never before has anything been so fucking important.
I won’t rest until she’s mine.
Brace yourself, Magnolia. Another hurricane is coming.
Six
Magnolia
Every time I set foot in my new house, I feel like I can breathe easier. It’s not big, but it’s all mine, and there’s not a single hint of promiscuity attached to it.
No client will ever come knocking.
No man will ever see the inside of my finished bedroom.
Leaving my condo behind is a fresh start in more ways than anyone could ever understand. Not that anyone has spent much time trying to understand me, beyond how they could get me to rescind myI don’t take clients anymoreedict.
My contractor is strangely absent, despite the fact that we’re supposed to meet in five minutes to discuss the list of things he needs to complete before I hand him the final check. But that’s okay. It gives me time to walk through the space and allow myself to daydream for a few minutes about what it’s going to be like to live here.
An address in the French Quarter.Not too bad for a girl who’s had to fight like a warrior to survive.
I spin on my heels, taking in the white subway tile of the kitchen backsplash above the massive copper farm sink. I can picture myself standing here, washing up after cooking a fantastic dinnerfor one.
It exudes peace, and that’s something I haven’t had nearly enough of so far in my life, but I’m banking on having it now. At least, I was until I saw him.
Thoughts of Moses spin through my brain, and I grit my teeth.
“What the hell is he doing back after all this time? And why the hell is he meeting with Mount?” I shake my head and look around the room, but the white walls don’t have any answers for me. At least they’ll keep all my secrets.
I’m upstairs, stepping over drop cloths to check out the progress in my small but luxe bathroom, when I finally hear the bell at the gate.
“It’s about time, Rocco. You’relate.”
Tardiness isn’t something I tolerate well, but I’ve learned my contractor doesn’t work on my schedule. He works on his. Still, his price was right, and he hasn’t tried to fuck me.
Points for him.
