“All right. Do you need me to fetch anything up—clean clothes, toothbrush, girly shit?” He smiled as he stood, looming over her in the shadows.
“No, I’ll manage. Oh, Evander?”
“Yeah?”
“How the hell did you find me?”
“Security system. This room always comes up as green because hardly anyone uses it, so the door isn’t locked. Dead giveaway when it turns to red. Thought I’d check it out, used my master key to get in, and found Sleeping Beauty hidden away.”
“Thanks for not sending Reaux in.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I like the guy, Violet. We figured you’d talk to me without the threat of violence; we couldn’t guarantee Reaux’s safety. We want a happy ever after, not a funeral.”
“You know me too well.”
“So does he. Give him a chance.”
When the interfering giant made his exit, Violet relaxed into the mattress and closed her eyes. The conversation revolved in her head, around and around, snippets coming back to haunt her.
It was clear Boudreaux had achieved part of what he’d set out to do—gaining support from the resident Masters was easy when one was a charming asshole used to seducing whomevernecessary to accomplish a goal. However, she couldn’t refute that some of what Evander said was true.
She wanted to go home.
She loved it here, adored the people who were her family in every way except blood, but she missed Louisiana. The community, the Southern pace of life, the camaraderie. The architecture, music, history that made her roots so special.
It was the sensible choice. An emotional one, too—if she was with child, she wanted that baby to grow up the way she had. It deserved to know where it came from, the history and passion running in its blood.
The only question remaining was, would she return alone?
Boudreaux
By all accounts, he was a wreck.
The long, sleepless night of worry and searching did a good job of etching lines around his eyes, not to mention the dark circles forming by the minute. He gave a passable impression of surviving electrocution—his hair was stuck up on end, at allangles, thanks to the repeated motion of his hands running through and tugging on the short locks.
For hours, he’d hunted Violet like a man possessed. Checking empty cabins, unoccupied rooms, even scouring the various scene areas from top to bottom in an effort to find her.
All the while, his emotions ran the gamut from elation to terror, excitement to disbelief, covering every single one thoroughly until he was physically and mentally exhausted.
Even now when the frantic search was over, his hand shook as he poured himself yet another cup of coffee. Fatigue ate at his bones, gnawing at him until he was tempted to rest his head on the table and simply sleep where he sat.
A heaped plate of breakfast dirty rice—spicy breakfast sausage, crumbled bacon, eggs, and rice tossed together with onion, garlic, green bell pepper, celery, and seasoning—was slowly going cold, which pissed him off because it was one of his favorite meals, and he hated wasting food.
It seemed, like many other things, his appetite had abandoned him.
Impatiently, Reaux checked his watch. In three minutes, Violet would be officially late.
Evander’s text was brief and to the point:Restaurant. One hour.
He still didn’t know what he was going to say. Several different conversations had already run through his head like mental text threads, the tone of each one varying, always ending in failure.
Failure to achieve his ultimate goal.
Failure to secure his—and his family’s—future.
Failure to keep his child safe.
Reaux squeezed his eyes shut in frustration and tapped his fist rhythmically on the table in time with his increasing heartbeat. Stress was a killer, he reminded himself. He might be in his prime, but stress was silent and deadly.
