I can’t believe I told Trinity we had to lie low in New Orleans until we got word that it was safe to leave. And that I lied to Declan about having the drive in my possession so I could spend time with her.
No more bullshit. I found what the Port Kings have wanted for decades.
I place my hand over my rib cage, where that carved-out hollow keeps growing regardless.
Trinity may have gotten under my skin, but I’m here, and she’s not.
“I won,” I whisper into the empty room.
So why do I feel like I’ve lost everything that matters?
Chapter 36
Trinity
The kaleidoscope of shapes and colors that is New Orleans assaults me as I wipe a fresh round of tears from my eyes.
I’m out of money, plans, and my hard drive.
My biggest asset—my most dangerous weapon—sits in an enemy’s hands.
To worsen matters, I’m wearing jeans and an absurd touristy t-shirt with a crawfish on the front. Practically the image of a drunken holiday traveler.
Except I’m not drunk. Just heartbroken.
Lights and music crowd the streets. People weave around me like water around rocks, laughing, singing, and drinking. Delicious aromas like fried dough and Cajun spices mix with body odor and urine. Even though it feels more like a cool summer evening than December, the winter spirit is in full swing here.
For one brief, stabbing moment, I miss the cold, snowy winters of my New York childhood. The comforting embrace of a warm fire and a mug of hot cocoa overflowing with marshmallows.
My heart hurts. I need my big brother.
I called Finn from the hotel room before Brody returned with those now destroyed beignets, but he didn’t pick up. I left a message on Dad’s phone, so at least my brother will know my whereabouts. Maybe he already has men on their way to pick me up.
An intoxicated woman in her fifties with hair piled in big bright curls like a crown places a string of electric purple beads over my head. “Cheer up, honey. You’re in New Orleans!”
I thought they only did these beads for Mardi Gras. The woman turns away the moment she spots another bar, but I can’t help the slight smile that curves my lips.
When Angelica and I were in fifth grade, we crafted friendship bracelets for each other, the color very close to the beads I now wear around my neck. We never took them off, and eventually, the cotton fibers fell apart.
I wish I had that bracelet now.
I find a quiet café that looks as lonely as I feel and plop into an outdoor chair. When my weight settles on the ancient seat, the peeling paint flakes to the sidewalk.
I stare at the passing throngs of people while fighting against the raw, jagged wound in my soul.
What do I do now?
Grovel for Finn’s forgiveness, for starters. And Angelica’s.
Though I doubt either will ever forgive me considering I single-handedly blew up Finn’s entire world and sacrificed my one chance at revenge for Ange.
I’m the absolute worst.
I’m deep into my self-pity spiral when motion to my right draws my attention.
A tall, bearded man in a tailored cream suit emerges from the crowd and approaches my table. A thick head of pitch-black hair, grayed at the roots, slicks back from his forehead. Hiseyes, a dark, glittering gray, focus on me with an intensity I’ve become very familiar with.
They screampredator.
