Defied

by Maria Luis

  Laurel Peyton.

  The reason for the scar on my face and the age-old pain in my right leg.

  She was the kid I’d been sent to take out. Only, I’d never made it past the front lawn of Foley’s mansion. A visual of her running from the house and falling to her knees stained my retina. I recalled her vomiting, her young face inches from the grass, her long, blond hair brushing the ground, as I heard a gun fire from the grand mansion.

  I’d assumed Ambideaux had sent someone else after sensing my hesitation.

  Who Foley was to Jason, I’d never known. Who he was to me, well, I hadn’t discovered that until much later.

  But I’d failed her that night. Heartless to the very end as I’d left and climbed back into my car. At any point, I could have warned Foley about Ambideaux’s plans. What man wouldn’t want to know that his family was being targeted? And yet, I’d left, all the while knowing that someone else could be sent in my place to do the job I couldn’t carry out.

  A year later, when I’d heard of her suicide on the news, I’d vomited just as she had—on my knees, stomach roiling from pent-up guilt and self-disgust. I may not have been the direct reason for why she was dead, but I’d felt responsible nonetheless. And, beneath it all, her death was a reflection of how far I’d sunk: stealing lives was never honorable, but to even consider killing someone so young? There was nothing worse. Nothing more disgusting or deplorable.

  I settled a hand over my heart now, my fingers brushing my sweater, right over where I’d tattooed her number on my chest.

  47.

  I may not have made her take those pills, but the way I’d looked at it back then, I’d had a direct hand in her death anyhow.

  Except she wasn’t dead.

  She was alive, breathing, and thriving just in front of me, and I was stuck in limbo, wanting to capture her lips with mine and beg for forgiveness while simultaneously wanting to keep our relationship strictly professional.

  Hampton’s little bombshell had thrown me for a loop, for more reasons than one.

  I was the sinner.

  The executioner.

  The man who belonged in every circle of hell.

  With my hand over my heart, I met Avery’s gaze and dropped my voice to a low murmur. “Let me be there for you.”

  Let me find some sort of atonement.

  Her lips parted on an inhale. “Okay,” she whispered, “okay.”

  11

  Avery

  “Soooo, how long exactly are we going to pretend that Mr. Hot Cop himself isn’t downstairs and acting like our very own Captain America, all chivalrous and gentlemanly?”

  Dammit. Clearly, today wasn’t going to be the day that Katie suddenly learned not to pry into everyone else’s business.

  I shoved a pillow under my arm just as the front door clicked shut behind her. “He doesn’t have a shield,” I said, turning to face my roommate and best friend, “so Captain America probably isn’t the best comparison.”

  Dropping her work bag by our tiny entryway table, Katie gave me a crooked grin. “Ave, let’s get this settled.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder at the door. “A man like that doesn’t need a shield. He looks like he breaks bones for a living and takes names.”

  Andddd, we’ve officially gotten too close for comfort now.

  Even after telling Lincoln that I didn’t need him hanging out in front of my apartment building tonight, he’d refused to listen to reason.

  “What are you going to do if someone shows up looking for you?” he’d demanded, arms over his wide chest, jaw working tightly as he stared down at me. “You’re already out one taser, sweetheart. I’m the next best thing.”

  The way I looked at it—he was selling himself short. He was way more capable than the taser would be, electroshock prongs and all.

  Plus, the stubborn man was the reason I was “out” one taser in the first place.

  Clamping the pillow beneath my arm so I had a good grip on it, I slung a blanket over my forearm, and then dipped low to grab the assortment of snacks I’d picked up earlier on the way back from Flambeaux. For the first time in years, I was thankful for having interacted with one of Pete’s employees and not Pete himself—not with Lincoln Asher waiting just outside on the street. I could only imagine what sort of questions that would bring up.

  “Oh, Ave.”

  Hearing the plaintive note in her voice, I lifted my gaze to meet Katie’s. “What?”

  She gestured at all the items in my arms. “Girl, you’re nesting.”

  Wide-eyed, I glanced down at the weight in my arms and shook my head. “False. I’m just bringing him—”

  “You’re nesting.” Without giving me the chance to protest, she stole the yellow package of M&M’s from the plastic sack hanging from my index finger. Ripping it open like a savage, she popped a red M&M into her mouth, molars grinding as she crunched away. “Let me ask you this,” she said, “why is Mr. Hot Cop down in his SUV right now, hanging around?”

  Another M&M went into her mouth as I stood there and contemplated my next move.

  Finally, I muttered, “How did you even know he was there?”

  “His face. Totally dream-worthy. It’s the kind that’s totally hard to forget.”

  I highly doubted that “dream-worthy” was a name that Lincoln Asher heard frequently about his looks. Gritty. Powerful. Raw. Those seemed undeniably more appropriate.

  Then again, when he actually allowed himself to wear his heart on his sleeve, as he had earlier tonight, then, yes, “dream-worthy” was actually a perfect description.

  “Avery.”

  Jeez, she wasn’t shaking the claws off tonight.

  “Have you ever found yourself drawn to someone who wasn’t any good for you?” Rolling my shoulders, I awkwardly gestured for her to return the M&M’s to the bag. “And I’m not just saying they’re a night owl and you love waking up at the crack of dawn.”

  Kate’s gaze skirted away, landing everywhere but on me. “Oh, you know,” she murmured in a blithe tone, “just like every relationship I’ve ever had.”

  Right. Somehow, I didn’t think it was exactly the same thing.

  Katie might love getting outrageous in the bedroom, but her relationships were frequently much more conservative. She fell for the rich types who strolled into the club on a weekly basis. The sort of men who were in town on business, and who felt the inexplicable need to party it up like they were in their twenties.

  How many times had Katie come home heartbroken when yet another jerk dumped her three months after his visit to New Orleans?

  It was a vicious cycle, one sporadically broken up by hot sex with whoever she fancied at the moment, but was still, in no way, the same as the situation I’d found myself in.

  “Asher is trouble,” I said, struggling to maintain a neutral expression.

  Blue eyes flicked down to my armful. “Then why are you bothering to go downstairs at all?”

  Because I can’t stop myself.

  I hadn’t asked him to stay, but now that he was here, I couldn’t stand the idea of him sitting in his SUV alone all night without a single creature comfort. No matter the fact that he probably did this sort of stake-out for a living. Just because he was accustomed to it, didn’t mean that I wouldn’t worry.

  My forced smile slipped a notch. “No questions tonight. Please.”

  Katie’s blond ponytail swung sharply as she shook her head. “After years of listening to you go on and on about how you didn’t need a man, you’ve made a real quick turnaround.” She tapped her chin, lips pursing. “Is this when I tell you that I told you so?”

  I grimaced. “Maybe a little too soon?”

  “Nah, never.” Grinning, Katie surprised me by pulling the pillow from my grasp along with the snacks. “C’mon, I want a formal introduction.”

  A formal . . .

  “Wait!”

  Katie waved an arm up above her head, the plastic bag of goodies dangling from her index finger as she tu
rned on her heel and headed for the front door. “Come along, Ave. I don’t want to look like an idiot when I knock on his window.”

  A visual of Katie startling Lincoln—and, naturally, him reacting aggressively—shot me into motion. My legs churned toward the door, blanket in disarray within my arms. “Really,” I muttered, slipping out of our apartment to tail Katie down the wooden stairwell, “we don’t need to make this a whole big thing.”

  “Who else is going to make it a thing for you? A grandma? An aunt? You have me, Ave. Just me.”

  “And?” Never had I been more thankful to be rocking my solo life than in this moment. “I’m perfectly okay with that.”

  With her back to me, and her feet making headway down the last flight of stairs, Katie announced, “Listen, girl. Not once in all the time we’ve lived together have you ever even flirted with a guy. So, this sergeant? It’s big news. Before you throw your heart into it all, I just want to do a little reconnaissance to make sure he’s up to speed on how everything goes down.”

  “Reconnaissance? I thought you stopped watching CSI.” Confusion splintered the fog of my thoughts. “And how what goes does down?”

  “He screws with you, and he’ll hear about it from me.”

  The front door cracked open, and Katie spilled out onto our front stoop. She barely waited for me to appear at her side before she was stepping out onto the cracked sidewalk and glancing from right to left before ambling across the one-way street, calm as can be.

  “Katie,” I bit out, trailing after her, “seriously, please don’t embarrass me.”

  Her laughter was all I heard. And then, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the good stuff to myself. For now. Oh, look! Here he is.” She flashed a smile in my direction, and then, with typical Katie-flair, simply knocked on the SUV’s window with full-on confidence.

  Hurrying toward her, tripping on a corner of the blanket, I yanked the material out from between my legs and picked up my pace. “Katie, c’mon—”

  I watched her spine snap straight, the plastic bag falling to the cement.

  Oh, crap.

  Then, sounding like she was being strangled, my best friend coughed out an awkward laugh and said, “Captain America is packing, Ave. You’re right—I would’ve preferred the shield.”

  12

  Lincoln

  I stared at the blonde outside my window, watching her from the interior of my SUV as she mouthed something that looked a hell of a lot like “Captain America.”

  Before I even had the chance to make sense of that, she was being bulldozed to the side by a woman who looked eerily similar to Avery.

  My eyes narrowed.

  Fuck. It was Avery.

  Flinging the door open, my feet hit the concrete just as Avery’s dark head whipped in my direction from where she stood, body angled in front of the blonde. “Gun down, Sergeant.”

  My empty hands flexed at my sides, and I felt the absurd urge to lift them and wriggle my fingers. Just to show that I wasn’t a complete savage. “Gun’s not out, Avery.”

  Behind her, the blonde piped up. “Why are we talking about guns?”

  Glancing behind her, Avery let out a very strangled sounding, “You said he was packing.”

  “Oh, right.” She stepped out from around Avery, then tacked on, “I was making a joke. He was . . . well, he was eating a po’boy.”

  Satisfaction sliced through me as I watched the reality of the situation hit Avery. Her lips parted and her cheeks turned a pretty blush shade and I was just enough of a bastard to murmur, “Fried catfish, in case that was in question, too.”

  The blonde let out a boisterous laugh.

  Avery looked like she was just hoping for the ground to swallow her whole.

  And that’s when I noticed it.

  All of it.

  The pillow clutched to the blonde’s chest; the blanket half-tangled around Avery’s legs. A plastic bag lay torn on the cement, its contents spilling out.

  Peanut M&M’s.

  A bag of chips.

  Two triangular sandwiches still tucked safely in their plastic containers.

  One bottle of water.

  A sensation I didn’t recognize pulled low at my gut, warm and completely foreign. My gaze inched up, over Avery’s baggy sweatpants to the Saints T-shirt she’d pulled over her head. She looked like she was ready for bed. Rumpled. Sexy. So damn off-limits.

  Voice husky, I asked, “What’s all this?”

  The blonde answered in Avery’s stead, striding toward me with her hand outreached. “I like to think that I’m watching my best friend finally fall. Anyway, I’m Katie! Avery’s roommate, friend, sister from another mother. And you’re Captain America.”

  “Oh my God, Katie, please stop talking.”

  Laughter rumbled in my throat at Avery’s miserable-sounding tone. I couldn’t resist getting under her skin. “You give me that nickname?” I asked her, altogether enjoying the way she bit down on her bottom lip in clear consternation.

  Her mouth dropped open. “No—”

  “She totally did,” Katie interjected, her expression one of pure joy. “She’s just feeling a little embarrassed that I’ve called her out on it. She thinks the highest of you.” Ducking down, she grabbed the plastic bag and shoved the food right back into it. “Which is why she planned this picnic for the two of you.”

  Christ, I knew I shouldn’t find it funny.

  But in the grand scheme of competing politicians and rising death tolls, this was the highlight of my week.

  If we didn’t count me having sex with Avery, obviously.

  Mirroring the roommate, I crouched down and grabbed the water bottle from where it’d rolled right next to my tire. Gently pulled the pillow from Katie’s grasp and then did the same to the blanket wrapped around Avery’s legs. To Avery, I said, “You know of somewhere we can go to enjoy the spread?”

  That seemed to startle her out of whatever trance she’d been in.

  Hazel eyes blinked at me, and then lowered to the goods. “I thought you said we needed to stay local?”

  Yeah, it was probably best—only, I wanted to feel again, just like I had at Jackson Square earlier. Would we be making a major mistake by leaving home base? Only one way to find out.

  Opening the back door, I set the pillow and blanket down on the leather seat. Then, motioning to Katie for everything else, I tied off the top of the plastic bag, so shit wouldn’t get loose again, and placed it on top of the blanket.

  Somedays you just had to take the risk and hope you didn’t get scarred in the process.

  I turned toward the women and gave a quick nod in the blonde’s direction. “It was nice meeting you, Katie.”

  “You, too, Cap’.”

  I almost laughed. She was a nut—the perfect balance to Avery’s more somber outlook on life.

  An outlook, I reminded myself, that she had every right to.

  Guilt slithered up my legs like overgrown, wild vines.

  Hand curving over the top of the door, I fixed my attention on the woman I wanted with every fiber of my being. “Get in the car, Ave. I’ve got the perfect place for our picnic.”

  A picnic at almost midnight.

  If my heart hadn’t been thundering with anticipation, sending blood pumping to two different hemispheres of my body, I would have questioned my own sanity. Why the hell are you going out of your way to make this happen?

  Without a glance in the direction of her roommate, Avery closed the distance between us. Her hand landed on the door frame next to mine, our pinkies tangling like we were high schoolers feeling each other out for the first time.

  It wasn’t enough, not for me.

  My hand covered hers, our fingers interlacing, my breath catching the loose tendrils at her hairline when I leaned down.

  Chin tipping up, she met my gaze and said the words that stole the proverbial rug out from under my feet: “I need this.”

  I needed it, too.

  Her heat.

  Her
slow smile.

  Her dry wit that challenged mine.

  I squeezed her hand and stepped back. “Get in the car. We’re going for a ride.”

  I took her across the Mississippi River to Algiers Point, a cornerstone of New Orleans that rivaled the French Quarter when it came down to quaint, nineteenth-century character. The historical neighborhood sat directly opposite the Quarter and the downtown Central Business District, and its views were ones for the record books.

  And for dates.

  If this was a date, which logic told me it wasn’t.

  There was too much convoluted drama surrounding us, threatening to drag us under, but I couldn’t—for the life of me—walk away from how I felt around her. Alive. Human. A numbed man finally unthawing to the world.

  Putting the SUV in park, I glanced over at her. “Have you ever been to this side of the river before?”

  “Once.” Staring straight ahead at the tops of the high-rises peeping out over the twelve-foot tall grassy levees, she added, “He brought us here for a dinner. One of those fancy parties where I was shoved into a dress with sequins at the age of eight, and my tight shoes pinched my toes for the entire night. All I remember beyond that is the amount of food that covered the dining table. It could have fed my entire grade at school, including the teachers.”

  A party like the sort Ambideaux had held all the time—the kind I’d watched from outside the windows, a silent voyeur to a life I’d never even dreamed of having.

  Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I turned off the car and waited for the quiet hum of the engine to settle down. “Ready to go up? I promise the view’s even better at the top.”

  “Yeah, let’s do it.”

  We gathered the goods, me with the pillow and the blanket, and her with the food. The levee was a steep climb, a modern-day outer wall to protect the neighborhood from any flooding. Algiers Point was quiet at this time of night—a bar down the road had old blues playing, and there was some laughter and music emerging from the two restaurants just behind us.

  Otherwise, it was just the sound of our shoes crunching over grass as we rounded to the top of the levee, where a concrete path was located for cyclers and walkers.