by Nicole James
“Kind of you.”
“I mean you no harm, Lola. I just want what belongs to me.”
I move to the side table and tap out a cigarette, my hands shaking. From where I’m standing I can now see out the window.
The sound of a motorcycle carries to me, and I spot one turning into the lot. The rider swings his bike around and backs into a spot. My eyes widen at the patch on his back. I’d recognize it anywhere. He’s a Royal Bastard. I don’t have a clue who he is or if this is the biggest of coincidences, I just thank my lucky stars.
“As fun as this has been, boys, my ride’s here, so I really must be going.” I move to the door, but one of the men blocks my way. I gesture out the window. “I don’t think you want to piss my boyfriend off.”
Lockwood moves to the window and peers out.
“Give me my wallet,” I demand.
“Let her go. We know where to find her if we need her.” He nods toward his goon, and the man hands it over and steps out of my way.
I dash outside and down the stairs just as the Royal Bastard steps off his bike. I glance up to see Mason Lockwood standing just outside the door, watching me with cold eyes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Memphis—
“Did my father send you?”
My gaze sweeps down the blonde beauty, and I pull off my shades. “You Lola?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m Memphis.”
She has a stricken look on her face as she glances up toward the second floor, and my gaze follows to the three men at the top of the stairs watching us. They’re hardly the kind I’d expect to find in a run-down shithole like this. One of the men stands out to me. “Who is that guy?”
“No one. Let’s go.”
I don’t believe her, but here’s not the place I want to have this discussion. Besides, I’m just happy she’s not giving me any trouble about getting on the bike. I really expected her to be difficult about this. Taking her back to Rock will be easier than I thought. I swing my leg back over the bike and lift it off the kickstand, firing it up. “Climb on.”
She scurries to comply before the words are even out of my mouth. I can feel her twist behind me and know she’s looking at those men again. Whether its worry or fear, I’ll get to the bottom of it, but I can’t deny that I hate that she’s feeling either one.
I roar off the lot out onto Tulane and gun the throttle up the street. I make a right at a light, checking my mirror. No one’s following us. A block down we get stopped at a light, and I turn my head and ask over my shoulder, “You in trouble?”
“If you hadn’t pulled up when you did, I might have been.”
“Who was that guy?”
“Someone Trez knows.”
“Who’s Trez? He the guy you came down here with?” Any man who would take a knockout like this girl to a dive motel like that has got to be a monumental loser, and I can’t believe Rock’s daughter would throw her life away on a loser.
“You don’t know who Trez is?”
I frown at her odd response and twist to make eye contact with her. “Should I?” I’m beginning to wonder if there’s more to this story than Rock let me in on.
Suddenly her gaze flickers beyond me and widens. I turn to look, seeing nothing unusual about the fast food joint on the corner. The bike rocks as she scrambles off. I make a grab for her arm, but she darts through traffic toward the restaurant. “Lola!”
What the fuck?
A box truck pulls up next to me before I can swing the bike around and I lose sight of her. Traffic has me pinned in with no room to maneuver the bike. I curse as I’m forced to wait precious seconds until the light changes.
Finally, traffic starts to move, and I’m able to cut someone off to jump over to the right turn lane. I circle around the corner and roll in another entrance. Parking in a spot, I jump off the bike and search the lot for Lola. I don’t see her anywhere. The only activity is a customer pulling out.
I dash in the restaurant and search the place, scanning every table. I even push open the door to the restroom, scaring the crap out of a woman and her kid.
“Sorry, ma’am. Lookin’ for my ol’ lady. Anyone else in here?”
She shakes her head and flees, her grip tight on her toddler’s hand. I check the stalls but they’re empty.
Goddamn it. I kick the trashcan in anger.
I stalk back out to my bike, cursing that I ever agreed to this fool’s errand. I glance up and down the street, but there’s no sign of her, and I’ve got a bad feeling that this is only a hint of the trouble this chick’s going to give me. I climb on my bike and roll out of the lot, coasting slowly and searching every doorway and alley. I make the circuit for three blocks in each direction before I realize I’m going to have to call Rock and get him to pull up her location again.
Fucking hell.
CHAPTER NINE
Lola—
I dash across the lot toward Trez’s pickup truck. I can’t believe he was really getting food. Spotting him was a fluke. This is twice I’ve gotten lucky today, and I’m not counting on it happening again.
He’s just setting the bags and drinks down on his bench seat when I yank the passenger door open. He glances up, startled.
“What the hell, sis. What are you doing here?”
I jump in and slam the door, then slide down to the floorboard, hiding. “Hear that motorcycle idling out on the street?”
“Yeah.” He glances around.
“That’s a Royal Bastard. Guy named Memphis. Dad sent him to find me. Hurry. Drive.”
“Shit.” Trez mutters as he reaches for the ignition.
“Just act normal. He doesn’t know who you are,” I say.
Trez backs slowly out and turns the wheel. “Stay down. He’s pulling in.”
I’m practically hyperventilating and my pulse is beating a mile a minute. I can hear the sound of the motorcycle shut off. The pickup rocks as Trez pulls out onto the street, his eyes on the rearview mirror.
“He parked and now he’s off the bike, searching the lot. Christ, he’s a damn Nomad, Lola. Just saw his fucking patch.”
We drive two blocks before I crawl up from the floorboards and warn my brother. “Don’t go back to the motel.”
He looks over at me. “Why not?”
“Mason Lockwood showed up.”
“Fuck.” He makes a turn, changing course and heads south.
“Who is he, Trez?”
“Just some guy I met at the casino.”
“He said you played poker at his house. Said you had a lot of money. You didn’t lose my money at the Harrah’s, like you said, did you?”
Trez lights up a cigarette and takes a deep drag, his eyes on the road. “No. He say anything else?”
“He said you stole something from him.”
My brother looks over at me. “He cheated me out of all that money, Lola. So I stole something I thought I might be able to pawn for what he owed me, but I could only get five hundred for it.”
“Trez, Lockwood said it’s worth twenty thousand.”
He stares at me opened mouthed. “You’re shitting me.”
I shake my head.
“That son-of-a-bitch.” He puts the cigarette between his lips, looks in his rearview, and jumps over two lanes to make a turn.
I clutch the doorframe. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“That little Vietnamese shyster ripped me off.”
“Who?”
“The guy at the pawn shop.”
Trez is driving like a maniac, and although he’s skilled, he’s still scaring the crap out of me. “Slow down. Where are we going?”
“Back to get that damn statue.”
“Statue? You stole a statue?”
“It wasn’t that big, maybe the size of a vase.”
“And it’s worth twenty grand? Do you believe him?”
“It was carved Jade and probably old. Lockwood went on and on about it being a likeness of the concubine of some great Chinese emperor from t
he Tang Dynasty.”
“The Tang Dynasty?”
“Swear to God. And the only reason I remember that is because I remember as a kid it was what the astronauts that went to the moon, drank.”
“Stop talking about nonsense. This guy looked like seriously bad news, Trez. What the fuck are you going to do?”
“I’m gonna go to the fucking pawn shop and get it back.”
“Don’t you have to give them the five hundred dollars? I thought you were broke.”
He leans across me and pops open the glove box. My eyes fall to his 9mm pistol. He grins at me. “Like American Express, baby. Never leave home without it.”
My eyes slide shut. This is not going to end well. “Trez, listen to me, this is a stupid plan. Don’t pawn shops have security and shit?”
“Not this place.” He makes another turn, drives two blocks and pulls in a parking lot. It’s a tiny storefront next to a tattoo shop. “Wait here.”
Oh, there’s no way in hell I’m walking in with him. I sit, my heart pounding as he limps inside, the gun shoved in his jeans at the small of his back, his shirt pulled over it.
My cell vibrates and I glance down. It’s a call from Katie. I reject it and then fire off a quick text telling her I’m okay and will call her back soon.
My gaze darts furtively around watching for I don’t know what, a swarm of cop cars, a hoard of Royal Bastards on their Harleys, who knows.
I run my hand up and down my thigh, my palm sweaty, and contemplate calling my father. I bite my lip and try to formulate what kind of possible explanation I could give him when Trez limps out and gets in the car.
He doesn’t seem like he’s in a hurry so I guess he didn’t just rob the place or shoot someone, but he isn’t carrying a statue either.
I’m afraid to ask, so I stay quiet while he backs up and guns the gas pedal, tires squealing as we pull out.
Finally, I can’t stand it. “So?”
“Kid in there said they sold it this morning.”
“Shit.”
“Yep. I wanted to put a bullet in his head, but he was just a teenager and scared shitless when I pulled my gun.”
“Did you rob the place?”
He looks over at me, frowning. “Fuck no. I just wanted what was mine.”
“Well, it wasn’t yours, actually, so don’t get on your high horse.”
He nervously taps the steering wheel. “I think you may have something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Just shut up and let me think.” He drives aimlessly and soon we’re headed across the Crescent City Bridge. The rhythmic sound under the tires as we cross lulls me, and I stare down at the Mississippi river. It’s a muddy brown, but the sun glints off it, hypnotizing me with its sparkle. How did my life get so fucked? I feel like both Trez and I have been in a free-fall since Mom’s death.
He drives through Gretna, Harvey, and Marrero. I watch the city limit signs go by as we ride on the elevated Westbank Expressway. He gets in the right lane and takes the Barataris Boulevard exit.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“No-where.”
He turns left at the light at the bottom of the ramp, passing under the overpass. There’s a Winn Dixie in a shopping center, and we roll up the side street. At the first stop sign, he takes a right, taking us along the back of the shopping center. At the next stop sign he sits. There are no cars, and I glance over, wondering why he’s just sitting here.
“Trez?” He doesn’t respond, and I follow his eyes. There’s a bank kitty-corner to us.
He lets off on the brake, and we roll slowly forward, then he turns in the lot. There are only two cars. He parks in a spot away from the door.
“What are we doing here?” I stare at him.
He pulls out a hundred dollar bill.
“What the fuck? I thought you were broke!”
“Go inside and get change.”
“What?” I look at him like he’s lost his mind, and maybe he has. “Trez, are you feeling okay?”
“Just do it.”
I look at him, wondering if he’s going to ditch me here. Fuck it. It might be for the best if he does just that, with all the trouble he’s in. I snatch the bill, throw the door open and stride inside.
There are four teller counters, but only one is open. I’m the only customer, except for a lady talking to a loan officer in a glassed-in office.
A woman greets me with a smile. “May I help you?”
I pass her the bill and ask if I can get change. The only other teller is working the drive-thru, but there are no cars in line.
“I’ll need some ID. Are you a customer here?”
“Oh, no ma’am.” Shit, I hadn’t thought about the fact they might ask that. I suddenly realize I left my purse in the car with Trez. I glance out the window and see he’s still there, parked in the spot, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I remember I shoved my driver’s license in my back pocket when I grabbed it from Mason Lockwood, so I pull it out and quickly come up with a story. “Please, my kids are in the car and the gas station won’t take this big bill. It’s all I have, and I need gas.”
She bites her lip, glances to the man in the office, and then nods. She checks the bill to make sure it’s not a forgery, and I panic, having no clue if it is. For all I know, Trez could have handed me a fake bill to try to pass. I glance up and see cameras on the far wall, one for each teller station. One is probably zoomed in on a close-up of my face right now. Visions of a jail cell flash before my eyes, but the woman puts the bill in her drawer and counts out five twenties, sliding them to me.
“Have a blessed day, ma’am.”
“Thank you so much.” I grab the money and walk quickly out to the truck. I jump inside and slam the door.
He puts it in reverse, and I watch him. “I thought you might ditch me.”
“Your Royal Bastard just rolled past here a minute ago.”
“What? The same guy?”
“I think so. He pulled over in that lot over there.”
I follow his gaze to see him tossing his cigarette and jumping on his bike. “Shit, do you think he saw me run to the truck?”
“Gonna find out.” Trez pulls quickly onto the street and heads toward the expressway. The bike pulls out after us. The light at the underpass is yellow and turns red a few seconds before we get there. Trez runs it, squealing in a left turn in front of traffic.
“Fuck, watch out!” I scream, twisting to see if the Royal Bastard is following us. A line of cars flow across, and the guy is forced to stop. It’s then I see a squad car come through, and know the real reason he stopped.
Trez is heading west, away from New Orleans.
“Where are we going? Why don’t we just head to Amy and Josie’s hotel in the Quarter and figure this all out?”
“How many people were in the bank?”
I frown, confused by the question he asks. “What?”
“How many?”
“Like customers? Only one lady.”
“No, how many employees?”
“Two tellers and a guy in an office. Why?”
“No security guard?”
“No, what’s with all the questions?” I glance back wondering how much time we have before the bike roars up on us.
“Nothing. Just wondered.”
Trez drives on for a few miles, and the land around us becomes more desolate and wooded.
I see a cross street called Nine Mile Point Road. There’s a truck stop on the corner and a sign advertising a casino inside. Underneath is a lighted marquis flashing different messages. The one that scrolls across as we pass gives a phone number for those with gambling problems.
I almost want to make a joke about Trez needing to write it down, but my nerves are so frayed I can only chuckle.
Trez looks over at me and searches my face. “I’ll get your money for you, Lola. I promise.”
“Sure you will. What’d you do with that other check you took?”
“Nothing. I still have it. I only took it for your account number so I could deposit the money back. I always planned to give it back to you.”
“Why’d you take it in the first place?”
“Thought I could gamble and make some money. Ever watch one of those poker tournaments on TV? They make it look easy. It’s not.”
“Trez…”
“Fuck.”
I glance over to find him looking in the rearview mirror.
“Your bodyguard is going to fuck up my plan.”
I twist. There’s a single headlight flickering. It’s far back but coming up fast. “Shit. How the hell did he find me?”
“Dad’s been tracking your cell phone for years. Didn’t you know that?”
“No! You knew about that and didn’t tell me?”
He just shrugs.
I frown. “Wait, he’s fucking up what plan?”
“Robbing that bank.”
Oh my God. My mouth falls open. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’ll deposit the money in your account when it’s done.”
“Trez, no.”
We round a bend, and it’s all woods around us. Trez brakes hard and pulls to the side of the road.
“Get out of the car, Lola.”
“What?” I stare at him in shock. “You’re just going to turn me over to that Royal Bastard? You can’t be serious.”
“Go home, Lola. Memphis will take you.”
“I’m not getting out of the car.”
“I don’t have time to mess around.” He pulls his pistol from the small of his back and aims it at me.
I arc a brow and huff out a laugh. “Come on, Trez, we both know you won’t use that.”
“You’re right.” He leans across me, opens my door, and shoves me out onto the shoulder. I fall with a hard thud, my hip and elbow hitting the pavement. “Sorry, Lola, but it’s for your own good. You stick around me, your life is in danger.”
With that, he hits the gas and roars away, the door slamming shut with the force.
I’m struggling to my feet and brushing off my jeans when the Harley thunders around the bend. He lets off the throttle and locks up the brakes, almost fishtailing to a stop next to me.