The Fall of the Red Queen (Self Made Men...Southern Style Book 3)

by Lexxi Callahan

  “Marshall? What the fuck?” Reese’s expression darkened when he saw Madlyn. “She with you?”

  “Yeah, she’s cool, Drew.”

  “She’s a Robicheaux.” Reese looked past Jared to her. “That’s right. I know who you are.”

  Madlyn almost stepped back, but she’d learned a long time ago to stand her ground with men like this. They looked for weak spots to exploit. When she was in lawyer mode, Madlyn didn’t have any weak spots.

  Drew Reese was all hard-packed muscle that should have been wearing camo instead of jeans and a leather cut. He stood like a soldier and sounded like a soldier, but his long shaggy hair and three days’ growth of sandy-brown beard were at odds with everything else about him.

  It didn’t matter. Whoever or whatever he was, he was still damned dangerous.

  So instead of stepping back, she let her mouth twist in disgust as she met his eyes straight on. “Did you really just bet your girlfriend in a poker game, Mr. Reese?” She kept her voice silky with disdain. “And lose?”

  Reese stared at her, then glanced at Jared before grinning. “Dude, you are so fucked if you are hitting that.”

  “Watch yourself, man.” Jared took a shot glass Reese had just filled.

  Madlyn blinked, and Reese laughed even harder when she didn’t react to what he’d just said.

  “Damn,” he said, grabbing the whiskey up again before turning towards Madlyn. “I like you,” he said, narrowing his eyes and licking his bottom lip. He was trying to piss her off, so the halfhearted sexy gesture left her cold. “When you get tired of the boy here, I’ve got a vacancy on the back of my bike.” He saluted her with the shot glass and downed it in one swallow.

  Madlyn turned to Jared. “It’s late. I don’t have time for this.”

  Reese whistled under his breath, turning his back to them. His cut was different from the others. It had a werewolf logo with claws and teeth, snarling out from the middle. The top rocker read ‘Loup Garou’ and the bottom rocker read ‘Toulouse.’ She’d heard of Legion but not Loup Garou.

  “We need your help,” Jared said as Reese dropped back down at the poker table when the last two members of Legion left.

  “My help?”

  “We want to ask you some questions about Judge Robicheaux.”

  “No,” Madlyn said. “I want to ask you some questions about the girl you just lost in that poker game.”

  Reese grinned and upended the whiskey bottle, filling two shot glasses. “She’ll be fine. Seriously. I met her on the underground MMA circuit. She’s one of the best female fighters I’ve ever seen. She’ll kick anyone’s ass who tries to mess with her.”

  “You mean the same girl that big guy had slung over his shoulder?”

  Reese emptied one shot glass. “Trick? Yeah, he’s a pussycat. He’ll set her up tending bar and she’ll make great tips. It’s all good, sweetheart. Have a seat.” He kicked one of the chairs out towards her.

  She didn’t move.

  “Does Trick know that?” Jared asked, taking the other shot glass Drew filled. “That she can kick his ass?”

  Drew grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Not yet.” Then his expression got serious. “Look, she was getting tired of my ass anyway. She hates Toulouse. Nothing much to do there, and she’ll like New Orleans.”

  “So you bet her in a poker game?” Madlyn was still seething. She couldn’t help it. And watching Jared lick his lips after downing that shot was not helping her mood.

  “Go talk to her,” Drew scoffed, something hard and cold in his blue eyes. “She’s safer with Trick that she ever was with me. I’m what you call unpredictable. PTSD and all that shit.”

  Madlyn stared right back, something immediately not adding up about this guy. He looked away first, turning back to Jared.

  “Marshall, you must have a death wish if you’re hitting that.”

  “I should call the police,” Madlyn said before Jared could react.

  “Fine,” Drew said, his body going tense again. “Call the cops or ask your questions. I don’t give a shit. Toni won’t say jack to them so I suggest you go for option B.”

  “Nice friends you’ve got,” she told Jared, but she sat slowly and crossed her arms.

  “What’re you doing with the Hanging Judge’s granddaughter?” Drew asked, waving the whiskey bottle at Madlyn but talking to Jared. “You that hard up?”

  “Nah, man. This is business.”

  “Well, get to it then.” Drew kicked back and stared at Madlyn through half-closed eyes. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me about West JDC.”

  Laughter rumbled out of Drew’s chest. “The food sucked.” He poured another shot and shoved it across the table to her.

  She sipped the whiskey because he thought she wouldn’t. The burn that scalded down her throat actually felt good. “Jared said you were arrested at a school fight. Hardly a reason to spend that much time in juvie. Didn’t you have a good lawyer?”

  “I had an excellent public defender,” Drew sneered. “But he was no match for the law firm that defended my friends. They did a bang-up job of pinning the whole thing on me, didn’t they, Marshall? They got community service and I got introduced to the Louisiana correctional facility of the year. Do you know that West JDC constantly had visitors from other states who wanted to see the latest and greatest way to turn juvenile delinquents into real criminals?”

  “So you’re bitter.”

  “‘Bitter’ doesn’t cover it.”

  She finished the whiskey. “Did anyone ever approach your family? Offer to get your sentence reduced?”

  “Nah, they didn’t bother. They knew my father didn’t have any money, and if he had, he wouldn’t have spent it to get me out of jail. He said it built character. It’d toughen me up. I was too soft. Too worried about school. Didn’t spend enough time getting grease under my fingernails. He figured that with a criminal record, I’d come out and work in the garage, earn my cut and become a third-generation Reese loser.”

  “Except somehow you ended up in the Army instead.”

  His slow grin and the way his eyelids dropped told her he was reassessing her. Something about Drew Reese didn’t add up. She didn’t trust him or anything he said, but she couldn’t determine why. “You can’t help us,” she dismissed him, starting to stand.

  “That’s because you’re asking the wrong questions.”

  “Drew,” Jared said, grabbing the whiskey bottle away‏‏‏. “Cut the shit, man. This is important.”

  He straightened in his chair and pushed his shaggy hair back with both hands. “You should be asking how I ended up in the Army. Military doesn’t take just anyone these days, you know.”

  Madlyn sat back down. She was missing something here, and it wasn’t what he was hinting at. “So pretend I asked the right question.”

  Drew’s grin was slow, then disappeared without a trace. “About six weeks before they were supposed to let me out, Katrina rolled through town. I didn’t get out for seven months. But everyone in West JDC got an extended stay. Paperwork is hard to process without computers, and computers don’t work without power. My roommate, well, he wasn’t in the best of health. Lots of allergies and shit. Especially mold and mildew. He coughed up blood for three days before they got him medical treatment. He had pneumonia and who knows what else. They finally airlifted him to a hospital.”

  “But you didn’t get sick?”

  “Not like he did. They released me three days later, and an army recruiter was waiting outside.”

  “The army took you?” Madlyn asked.

  Reese shook his head slowly, his smile wry. “No, sweetheart, the army wanted me. They’d been recruiting me since my sophomore year. I scored high on some standardized test. They were offering me all kinds of money to go to college after basic training. I finished high school at West JDC, kept my A average, and had a glowing letter of recommendation from Judge Winston Robicheaux. The army was thrilled, and they didn’t have to p
ay me any of the signing bonuses I’d been promised.”

  “So you can’t help us.” Madlyn swallowed the disappointment clogging her throat and reminded herself this was not the first dead end she’d run in to.

  “No, darling, I can’t, but I know who can.” He glanced past her to Jared. “My old roommate didn’t die. Trip Kincaid lives in Mandeville with his mother. You should talk to them; just try to catch him on a good day. Amazing what toxic mold can do to a person if left untreated.”

  Reese appeared bored, but his fingers, which were absently tapping on the green felt-top poker table, told a different story. He was furious even though he sounded like he couldn’t care less. She glanced back at Jared. He knew it, too. The imperceptible shake of his head told her to let it go. She glanced back to Reese. The tapping stopped.

  “We should probably talk to you again,” she suggested. “I’m sure you have more to tell us.”

  “Maybe in a few weeks.”

  “We don’t have that long.”

  He sat forward, and all the laid-back biker pretense dropped and she was staring eye to eye with a stone-cold predator. “Lady, I’ve already helped you more than I should.”

  “I see,” she said slowly. “You won’t mind if I check on your ex-girlfriend.”

  “Not at all.” Drew gave both of them a tired look and drank another shot of whiskey. “You playing tonight?” Drew asked. “I’ll stick around if you are.”

  “Yeah,” Jared said. “Adam’s got an extra guitar if you want to sit in.”

  “Hell no,” Drew laughed. “Not unless you guys have started covering Charlie Daniels.”

  “You’re never gonna get Adam to play ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia.’ Give that shit up now.”

  Drew laughed again, saluting them with the whiskey bottle before emptying the last of the amber liquid into a shot glass.

  “Nice friends,” she said again when they were back in the hallway.

  “Something’s up. That’s not Drew.”

  “I get that,” she admitted. “But I doubt whatever it is has anything to do with my grandfather or he wouldn’t have talked to us at all. But Trip Kincaid sounds like a solid lead.”

  “Yeah,” Jared agreed, his mouth quirking at the corner. “You’re good at this, counselor.”

  She couldn’t help the slinky smile as she turned to press her palms against his chest. All the adrenaline sparking around the room and the warm burn of whiskey had lightened her mood. She’d gotten some excellent information that for some bizarre reason she trusted.

  So she ignored the voice of reason screaming from deep inside her and smiled up at him. He smiled back and she couldn’t resist the urge to touch that silver loop at the corner of his bottom lip.

  “Want to know what else I’m good at?” She licked her lips as she touched his.

  He moved closer, his hands going to her hips. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”

  “Then buy me a drink.”

  His eyes flared, and he pulled her closer. “I’ll buy you two.”

  If Jared had any delusions about Madlyn not knowing how to dance, or not being able to keep up with him, he was wrong wrong wrong. She was all winding arms, long legs, and moving hips, and she was all over him. And he couldn’t stop touching her. Didn’t want to stop.

  The hardcore Cajun rock-dance music Voodoo Miracle played had the place in a frenzy. Adam was sitting in with them tonight, rapping and playing Cajun fiddle with a sharp edge no one could duplicate. Violins shouldn’t make the sounds Adam coaxed out of them.

  Then the band slowed it down, and she wound around Jared like a serpent. All danger and temptation and he couldn’t get enough of her. The way she smelled, the way she moved under his hands. The way his T-shirt slipped off her shoulder, and that red bra strap, taunted him.

  Dancing turned to foreplay, and by the time her nails made contact with his back, Jared was done playing. He kissed her, and she didn’t pull away, just writhed in the sea of bodies with him, letting him taste her and make love to her mouth the way he’d wanted to from the beginning.

  No anger, no frustration, just teasing her until she kissed back, before turning away‏‏ and pressing back against him, pressing his hands to her stomach, then to her hips, the thin jeans no real barrier at all. She shuddered in his arms, winding even tighter against him until he knew when he let her go she was going to take most of him with her.

  “He’s good,” Madlyn said during the lull in the music before the recorded dance music started. She was leaning back against him, her head against his shoulder while he rested his chin against her hair. “That band was okay, but Adam…wow.”

  “Yeah, genius.” Jared said. “And that wasn’t his best stuff.”

  “And are you?” She turned slowly to face him, her arms resting on his shoulders. Black eyes looked up at him, curious and relaxed. “Any good?”

  He honestly couldn’t help his cocky smile. “I’m very good.”

  She ran one scarlet nail down the opening in his shirt. His skin rippled with chills despite the heat building between them in the crowded bar. “Are you going to play?”

  “I am now.” He matched her smoky tone. “But if you take off while I’m playing, I’ll find you.”

  “My purse and keys are locked in your SUV.”

  “I’m serious.” He stepped in to her. “I’ll play for you, but you have to promise not to leave.”

  That scarlet nail ran back up and turned, stopping under his chin. “Show me what you got.”

  He didn’t think twice as he headed for the stage where the rest of his band was walking out.

  Madlyn watched him make his way through the crowd. With the beanie pulled down low, he wasn’t recognizable at first. But the second he levered up on stage, the girls around the stage went wild.

  Madlyn stood still as the crowd surged forward and past her. Jared grinned at them and said something to Adam, who handed him the guitar he’d left in the pit of a green room backstage.

  “Y’all miss me?” he shouted into the microphone as he slid the guitar strap over his head. The answering screams were louder than the house music. “Mind if we slow things down?”

  A loud “No!” crested through the crowd, and Madlyn stepped back as more people surged forward. He grinned again, all white teeth and masculine beauty. He was unbelievably sexy standing up there, grabbing the mike, his silver rings catching the light as he took over the stage.

  She should never have made him cut his hair, but the knit cap made him seem even younger. The sea of young people partying around her without a care in the world drove home how different she and Jared were.

  She did not belong here. She certainly did not belong with him. It felt too good. She wasn’t allowed to feel this good.

  “Indulge me.” Jared’s voice dropped to a husky whisper as he adjusted the mike higher so he could play while he sang. Her blood heated up at the rough timbre of his voice. “A little Edwin McCain for my friend.”

  He grinned straight at her with an I dare you to run look.

  She couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. She was riveted to the spot. So when he launched into lyrics that never failed to make her throat ache and her vision swim, she was powerless to move. She hadn’t heard the entire song in ten years because anytime it started to play, she skipped it or turned the station. She wasn’t sure if she was going to make it through it now.

  How he’d managed to pick that song, she didn’t know. There was no way he could’ve known what it had meant to her. The last time she’d heard the entire song had been the last time she’d been out with Robert. And now she was trapped. Unable to breathe as each word dragged across her like broken glass.

  And his voice.

  She closed her eyes at one point. She’d had no idea he would sound that good. But his voice was strong and clear, with just enough edge to dig the heart out of every word. When he hit the chorus, she felt the world fall out from underneath her.

  She was grateful he closed his e
yes as he poured his heart into each note.

  He wasn’t singing to her, she told herself. Not really.

  But when he sang about fighting his way back from the dead, she lost it, and her body was walking away before her mind realized it. Blinded by all the emotions ravaging through her, she pushed her way through the crowd, trying to outrun the pain that was coming. The brutal, soul-destroying agony of missing Robert.

  She’d made a mistake. How could she have been so stupid? She never let her guard down. Never. But she had with him, and now she had nowhere to hide.

  Jared jerked his guitar strap over his head. He’d screwed up. She was running, and he ditched his guitar and went after her.

  What had possessed him to sing that song? He’d known from the first word it was a mistake. The raw look on her face had turned him inside out. He pushed past more bodies until he cleared the dance floor just in time to see her head up the back stairwell.

  He’d caught up with her by the time she reached the top.

  “Wait.” He caught her arm only to have her wheel around on him. He almost lost his balance and went back down the stairs head first, but she caught him that time, holding his arm until he righted himself. She stepped back and he took the last step, not releasing her when she tried to pull her hand away.

  “Just wait.” His free hand went to her face, his thumb brushing the moisture off her face. She pushed back, panic crashing across her face. He let her go, and she quickly wiped tears from her face. The panic melted into disbelief as she looked at her fingers. He realized she hadn’t known she was crying.

  “Who told you to sing that song? Was it Stefan? That was a cheap shot.”

  “What are you talking about?” he shouted back over the music.

  “Don’t tell me you randomly picked that song. That’s too clever to be a coincidence. What did he say? ‘Play that Edwin McCain song. I guarantee she’ll fall apart’? Now you can report back and tell him it worked like a charm.”

  She swung away.

  “Madlyn.”

  “No!”

  “I was showing off!” he exploded, stopping her in her tracks. He circled around her carefully, holding up his hands like he was approaching a wounded wild animal. “I was showing off, okay? You wanted me to sing and I picked a song that I know I’m good at. I swear. No one told me to sing it.”