And then she showed up in New Orleans asking for help like I somehow owed it to her, expecting me to play hero, and I’d fucking done it.Marshaled my men and laid an army at her feet, like some god-cursed suitor begging for her hand in marriage.
Which was exactly what I’d been.I’d sold my own family out to come to her rescue, on the promise that if I did it, she’d come home with me.Only to fight the battle and then have her disappear into the darkness like fucking smoke.
Now Daniel is calling me telling me things are going badly in New Orleans, with more girls disappearing and families I know losing people, while I’m up here waiting for Brooks Landry to remember how to keep a fucking promise.I’m the Boudreaux heir and no one ever disrespects me.If they do, they find themselves dead in no time flat.Yet here’s Brooks, pulling on my heart strings the way she always has and asking me to help her, then going back on her word the moment she changes her mind.
Breaking promises and putting herself in danger.And this time, if my sources are right, she’s up against something I’m not sure I can save her from.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
“This isn’t a joke, Brooks,” I growl, getting as close to her as I dare.“I don’t know what you think you’re playing at, but you’re already in over your head.All this research you’re doing?The missing girls, and that girl you’re searching for by name?The fucking war I came here to fight for you?You think that’s not connected?You think it’s some sort of coincidence?”
Now she finally lets her expression show something.“What?”she asks sharply.“What are you talking about?”
My hands clench on her arms.God, for such a smart girl, she can be really dense.“I’m talking about the case you’re on right now.The girl, Aislyn Brennan.”
Confusion slashes through her gaze, followed by defiance, and then anger.“How do you know about her?”
There are a million answers to that question, but only one of them matters.“Because I’ve been following you since I got here.And because the people you’re talking to are passing word along to their keepers.”
She shoves me off, now, that temper of hers getting the better of her, and glares at me.“And what the fuck doesthatmean?”
“It means,” I tell her coldly, “that according to my sources, they’re involved in something a lot bigger than you realize, and they don’t like you poking around.They’ve put a hit out on you.You’ve been asking too many questions, and now they’re after you, too.And these aren’t the sort of people you can run from, because they’ll find you.No matter where you hide.”
She opens her mouth, no doubt with some other smart-ass question, but snaps it shut when the first bullet flies our way.
Lucien
Iduck on instinct, then fly forward and grab Brooks on my way into a roll.We hit the concrete in a ball, my body tucked around hers to cushion it, and the moment we come up we’re running toward the black SUV.I don’t look for my men.I don’t even wonder whether they’re safe or not.They have their own car, and one responsibility.
Protect Brooks.
I told them when we arrived that our meeting might be interrupted, and if it was, that their job was to make sure Brooks got out of there safely.I could handle myself, I said, and they all know it’s the truth.
Looks like I’m handling Brooks as well, though, because I’m not willing to leave her to whichever of my men are still around.She’s too important.I dash toward the car, her hand in mine and her body echoing my movements.The girl’s got the instincts of a cat, though I already knew that.She doesn’t stop to ask stupid questions about who’s shooting at us or why.She’s running like she already knows what’s going on.
Like we’ve been doing this together for years.
Devils, we should have been.If there was any justice in the world, we would have been married years ago and living as partners in crime down in New Orleans.
A bullet whistles past my ear and hits the SUV, and I put thoughts of our past to the side.Now isn’t the time to get riled up about Brooks having skipped town when we were supposed to get married.I’ll take that up with her—again—once we’re out of range of whoever’s shooting at us.
“Who the fuck is shooting at us?”she snaps, breaking away from me and running for the passenger door while I jump into the driver’s seat.
I hit the ignition and shove the car into reverse, waiting only seconds for her to find her seat.Then I jam my foot down on the gas and swerve off the curb, moving backward away from our other car.My men are crouched behind it, shooting madly at the line of vans coming down the street.
The flashes of gunfire from those vans tell me there are at least ten men in there with guns, though.I only brought five men.Good ones, but I’m not gambling on them being able to take out the vans.We have to get the fuck out of here.
I spin the wheel while we’re still moving, sending us into a steep turn, and then jam the car into first and hit the gas again.Second.Third.Soon we’re going 50 down a residential street in New York, and I’m trying to remember where we are and how to get out of here.
“Remember how I said you had a hit out on you?”I snap, eyes on the rear view.My men are holding the line, but one of the vans smashes right through their gunfire and is on our tail.And based on how they’re driving, they’re a lot less concerned about potential pedestrians than I am.
Fucking devils.
“How would they even know I was here?”she snaps, her hands busy on the gun she pulled from somewhere.
I pause for a moment, wondering where the hell she had it.She’s dressed in tight jeans and an even tighter top, and she doesn’t have a bag.Where the hell had she stuffed a gun?
Probably the same place she had that fucking knife, I realize.
