EPILOGUE
Brick
One month later
Bringing Starlet toNew Orleans with half the Iron Norsemen for our honeymoon was the greatest idea I’ve had so far. She hasn’t been here in ten years, and this is my first time to visit. Tonight we’re attending a memorial concert at a popular bar where Lucius de Vezin, one of my favorite blues singers, got his start. All of his original band members are expected to perform.
“Are you excited?” Starlet asks, smiling at me.
“More excited about sitting here with my beautiful wife. But yeah, sweetheart, a front row table in the VIP section, doesn’t get any better than that, does it?”
The lights dim and a lone guitarist takes a seat on a stool in the middle of the stage, his acoustic guitar weeping the minute his fingers stroke the strings. I close my eyes, taking in every note of one of my favorite tunes—Wild Child.
The guest musician plays another de Vezin original, and just as I’m starting to lose myself in it, I notice a commotion at the back of the room. Goddamnit. Those are Iron Norsemen patches—Roman Rivard to be exact. The sonofabitch has a long history in the Big Easy, one filled with bloodshed and heartache. Bringing him here was a mistake. I lean over and kiss Starlet’s cheek.
“I’ll be back in a second, okay?”
“Something wrong?” Shorty asks.
“Roman.”
“Jesus Christ,” Shorty complains. “Sit down, I’ll grab him.”
“Not your responsibility, brother. I talked Eagle into letting him come here. I need to rein him in. Stay with Starlet.”
He nods and I slip out of the bench seat, pissed I’m going to miss a minute of the show. I walk past the bar, down a long hallway, and find an exit that opens into the alley. There’s two overhead streetlights. Not sure what I’m looking at yet, but there’s a beautiful girl crying in the middle of the alley while Roman is straddling some guy in a purple suit, punching him repeatedly.
I rush out the door, determined to end the fight before the cops show up and arrest Roman.
“Roman! What the fuck?”
He splays his big fingers across the guy’s face and slams his head on the concrete before looking at me. “What are you doing out here, Brick?”
“Funny,” I say, “was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Found this asshole slapping around that sweet girl.” He gestures at the tiny blonde.
The man underneath him struggles to get away, pissing Roman off even more. For every word Roman says, he lands an accompanying punch. “Didn’t. Your. Daddy. Teach. You. Not. To. Hit. Women?”
That last bone-crunching blow makes me grit my teeth. “Pretty sure he’s done.”
“Yeah.” Roman stands up and rubs his hands together. “What did you say his name was, darlin’?” He gazes at the girl.
“I-I didn’t,” she says.
“Can you tell me now?” he asks.
She nods and scoots closer, still shaky. “They call him Ron the Don.”
“Italian?” I ask her.
“No—he’s as Cajun as you can get. Moved to Beaumont a few years ago, I think,” she answers.
“And what about you?” Roman asks. “What’s your name, beautiful?”
“Lucky.”
“Not your nickname, your real name.”
