“I mean, no, you’re not one of theirs. You’re a fucking Deacon and you’ll goddamn stay a fucking Deacon.”
Alice blinked at him, still not quite getting what he was saying “Excuse me? Are you seriously telling me that I can’t—”
He shifted again, so fast she had no time to move. Slamming his palms on the bricks beside her head again, getting in her face, coming so close their noses were almost touching. Those eyes, they were still black and full of fury. “Go back to the goddamn Ministry and I’ll have your hide.”
Her own fury answered. “You actually have the gall to think I’m going to do whatever the hell you say? Think again, asshole.” She had a knife in her boot. All it would take was a quick reach down and she could grab it. She’d had to use it on more than one occasion and knew how, thanks to the lessons her father had given her.
You’re seriously thinking of threatening Leon with a knife?
Dimly she registered the thought, but she ignored it, too angry to listen. The feelings of betrayal had rushed to the surface again, as raw and bloody as they had been all those years ago. And his arrogant, possessive behavior only made it worse. Ten years of being ignored by someone who was supposed to care about her did that to a girl.
Especially to a girl who hadn’t had all that many people who cared about her in her life.
Leon lifted a hand.
“Touch me again and I’ll bring the whole damn Ministry down on your head,” she said coldly. “Blade protects his own.”
“Yeah?” He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Well so the fuck do I.”
There was no hand around her throat this time. This time he slid an arm around her waist and before she had time to figure out what was happening, he’d lifted her up in one easy movement and thrown her over his shoulder.
For a moment she was so stunned she could only hang there, looking down at the sidewalk as he pivoted in the direction of the Priory door, the crowds around them staring openly at what was going on.
Then the rage hit her like a bullet from a gun.
Alice twisted and went for her knife.
—
Blue felt her twist on his shoulder, reaching around to grab something. Instantly he reached across his body and locked his fingers around her wrist. She wriggled around like a damn catfish on the end of a line, cursing his name and lineage. Which he had no problem with, since his lineage sucked.
Calmly he adjusted his hold, pinning her wayward hand in the small of her back and then pressing down so she couldn’t move. Her curses increased but he ignored them.
Sure, picking her up in a public street and tossing her over his shoulder wasn’t exactly the friendly thing to do, but Christ, he wasn’t having any of her Ministry shit.
The anger he’d felt blew a red haze over his vision when she’d threatened to call them down if he touched her again…as if she’d given up her Deacons’ allegiance entirely. As if she wasn’t one of them anymore.
Total, fucking bullshit. She’d been the one who’d brought him into the Deacons in the first place, back when he’d been a sad little Delacroix, a disappointment to his family and his bastard of a father. She’d been the only thing that had made life bearable. She’d offered him escape, and a family who actually supported one another, who had one another’s backs.
She couldn’t just walk away from that, no matter how many years had passed. She was a Deacon and his fucking best friend, and he damn well wasn’t going to let her. And if that meant hauling her over his shoulder, taking her up to his apartment above The Priory, and setting down a few home truths, then that’s what he was going to fucking do.
Blue turned, scattering tourists and other passersby as he did so. People catcalled and cheered as he made his way back to the Priory door. No one threatened him with the cops, no matter that he was carrying a clearly protesting woman over one shoulder. No one would dare, not in this neck of the woods, in Deacons territory.
Slamming the door open, he stalked back into the bar. Alice had stopped wriggling, stopped cursing. Her whole body was stiff as he shoved his way through the patrons crowding the bar, but that didn’t stop the weird rush of physical pleasure he got from the feel of her soft, warm body draped over him, the familiar scent of engine oil and flowers threading through his senses, seductive as smoke from the fine cigars Priest used to have on occasion.
Goddamn. Why the hell was he having this reaction to her? It didn’t make any sense.
“For fuck’s sake, Blue!” Sophie was glaring at him from behind the bar as he stalked through the crowded room. “What did I say about trouble?”
He didn’t pause, merely lifting his free hand and extending a middle finger in her direction.
At the back of the bar was the door that led out into the courtyard behind the Priory building and he pushed it open, ignoring the fury radiating from the woman slung ignominiously over his shoulder. But she didn’t move as he stepped out into the courtyard, heading to the right to the apartment he’d been living in since coming back to New Orleans.
Inside, he continued through the kitchen, going down the hallway to the lounge that led off it. The room was pretty run down—whoever had been living here before Priest died and The Priory and its buildings were left to Blue, Cash, Prince, and Ajax hadn’t exactly looked after it. Not that he gave a shit about decor, but he did like having a tidy place.
He stopped before the couch and bent, dumping Alice onto the faded and worn cushions. Then he stepped back and folded his arms, looking down at her.
She lifted her chin, the long, delicate line of her jaw hard, blue eyes blazing with anger, staring at him for one long moment. Oh yeah, he got the message. If looks could kill he’d be carried home in a bucket. Tough and passionate and stubborn—that was Alice.
An emotion he hadn’t let himself feel for a long time turned over inside him—the ache of loss. He ignored it. Ten years he’d spent getting rid of those kinds of emotions because he’d had to, because if he’d let himself ache for all the things he’d lost when he’d been forced into exile, he’d never have survived it.
The vows he’d made to himself and his loyalty to Priest and the Deacons—those were the things that had kept him going, those were the things he’d clung to. They’d been his sole purpose and they still were, and there was no point going over all the regrets he’d had.
There was only now. And now Alice was finally back where she belonged. With the Deacons.
With you.
“So?” she demanded. “What now? You going to chain me to your couch or what?”
“If I have to. You need to be reminded that your place is with us. Not with them.”
Frustration was clear on her face. “And throwing me over your shoulder and dragging me off here is supposed to convince me?”
“Whatever works.”
“Do you see me wearing a Property of Blue vest? Uh, no, I don’t think so. Which means I’m not your old lady or some biker bitch you can order around. I’m my own—”
“We think they killed Priest.” He hadn’t meant to tell her, especially not if she was one of theirs, but Christ, she had to know what kind of pricks she was dealing with. The kind that had Deacons blood on their hands.
Alice blinked. “What? No, he was killed in a motorcycle accident. That’s what—”
“It wasn’t an accident. Cash found evidence of what looks like a paid hit and it points to the Ministry.”
The shock fled her face, her brow furrowing. “No…I can’t believe they’d do that. I mean, why would they?”
“They’ve always hated us, come on. They’ve been trying to muscle in on our territory for years.”
Her frown deepened. “But why would they kill him? The Deacons have been gone for ten years and the Ministry have got the territory they want. It makes no sense to suddenly kill Priest like that.”
He didn’t like that her first impulse was to defend them. Holy Christ, she’d been brought up as a Deacon, and yet a couple of years as a Ministry gir
l and it was like that earlier loyalty didn’t exist. Okay, sure, so she might have had to do some stuff to protect herself and her business; he got that. But to throw over her whole upbringing like that?
Nothing to do with you, of course.
What the fuck? Shit, no, it had nothing to do with him. It was about loyalty, and her first loyalty was to the Deacons.
“I’m betting on a grudge,” he said. “The money came out of Blade’s account and he’s bitter as fuck. I bet he’s got a list a mile long of reasons he’d want Priest out of the way. Get rid of the Deacons once and for all. Whatever his reason, the evidence is there.”
“No, I don’t believe it. Not Blade.” She looked up at him. “What are you planning to do?”
He met her gaze. She had to understand what a serious fucking situation this was. “Do? We burn them to the goddamn ground, that’s what we do.”
“But you can’t—”
“We can and we will. You know how it works. Eye for an eye.” Had she really forgotten? He didn’t take any pleasure from violence, but steps needed to be taken, consequences dealt out. Because if you lay down and took it you didn’t get any respect, and a club was nothing without respect.
Apart from anything else, Priest had been more a father to him than his own, and for that alone, whoever had killed him needed to die.
Alice abruptly pushed herself up off the couch. “No,” she said flatly. “I mean, what kind of evidence do you even have? How do you know it’s real? Perhaps it was planted.”
Yet again, her first impulse was to defend the fucking Ministry. His anger began to ramp up again. He stared down into her eyes, letting her see how furious he was. “So that’s your first thought? Not ‘Priest was murdered,’ but ‘the evidence was planted’?”
A dull flush had crept into her cheeks. “Well, forgive me for wanting to protect my livelihood instead of calling revenge for a dead man.”
Oh, shit, no. He couldn’t let that one go.
Blue took a step forward so they were toe to toe. “I’m not sure Pete would agree,” he said with quiet menace. “What would he think? His daughter with a Ministry tattoo and garage full of dickheads. He’d be thinking ‘traitor.’ That’s what he’d be thinking.”
Rage filled her face, along with a bright flash of hurt. “You prick. Don’t you dare bring him into it!” Her hands came up, slamming against his chest and pushing him away hard.
It caught him off guard and he stumbled back a step. Jesus. Alice had always been a firecracker, and it seemed like nothing had changed. Something inside him stirred, a small thrill of excitement, and he was a hungry predator smelling blood.
For the past few years, women had steered clear of him and he knew it was because they found him frightening. Not that he ever threatened anyone, but it was obvious they sensed something in him that made them wary. Maybe it was the tightly reined hunger inside him. His libido was a snarling dog that he could let go the leash on at any time, letting it run free to devour any woman it came across.
Being with one who didn’t find him intimidating or fear him was a nice change.
And Alice definitely wasn’t afraid of him, because when he stepped in front of her again, something sharp pricked his stomach.
He looked down.
She was holding a knife to his gut.
Chapter 3
Alice watched as the realization hit him, his brown eyes widening as he looked down at the tip of the knife she was holding to the hard, flat plane of his stomach.
This was probably not the best idea she’d ever had, but hell, she was sick of him getting all enforcer and macho on her. Like she’d done something wrong when she hadn’t.
Yes, Priest’s death had shocked her and she’d been upset when she heard he’d passed, but everyone knew it was an accident. And all of this crap about evidence and it pointing to the Ministry was bullshit. Maybe they were trying to pin it on the Ministry as an excuse to start a war? Maybe they just wanted some kind of payback?
Whatever the case, she didn’t believe it. Blade did hold grudges, it was true, but he’d been good to her and her father. After all, she wasn’t the only one the Deacons had left behind when they’d scattered. Her father had been left too.
Leon looked up from the knife and she met his gaze with determination. “Try anything and believe me, I’ll use it,” she said. “You wouldn’t be the first dickhead I’ve put a knife in and you won’t be the last.” He’d be the second. After that prick Colt. Who she’d had to cut when he’d tried to rape her after a Ministry party one night. Unfortunately she hadn’t killed him, but at least the move had made the others back off. Blade ensuring that any man who touched her would be castrated also helped. He hadn’t wanted anything bad happening to his best mechanic, and she was grateful to him for that.
Leon didn’t speak. The knife didn’t appear to worry him. In fact, she could have sworn that mouth of his nearly curved in what looked like barely suppressed amusement.
Damn him. All she had to do was press forward and he’d have it between his ribs. That would wipe the smile off his face.
Teach him to fuck off for ten years, leaving you alone.
For a long moment they just stared at each other and she could see the anger in his gaze. Hell, she could even understand it. She knew she was a traitor in his eyes. He’d always been one of the most loyal of Priest’s inner circle and as an enforcer, he enforced that loyalty. It was important to him and she knew why, especially after his childhood.
But still. He knew her in the way she knew him. He knew how important the garage was to her, how vital it was that she be as independent as possible within the world she’d grown up in. Yes, loyalty was important to her, too, which was why the Deacons’ desertion had been so hard. She’d already lost two families, one blood, one not. She didn’t want to lose the one she had now. Surely he could see that? Surely he could understand?
“You think I’m lying?” he asked, his voice soft and yet full of something dark and dangerous. “You think I’m making this shit up?”
She didn’t look away. “I think you’re angry. That’s completely fucking obvious and sure, I get it. Priest was a father to you. But are you sure you’re not just looking for a reason to get rid of the Ministry now that the Deacons are back?”
The brown of his eyes had darkened into black, a sure sign he was pissed. Or not just pissed. In a towering rage. “Are you sure you’re not just looking after your own fucking hide?” Unbelievably, he took a step forward.
The breath hissed in her throat, her fingers tightening around the handle of the knife as she felt him press against it. The tip of it had pushed through his T-shirt and into his skin and yet there was only rage in his eyes. No pain.
He was trying to make her back down by intimidating her, a thought that made a small, unlooked-for thread of bewilderment twist through her. After he’d left his family for the Deacons, he’d gotten tough—sure, as a Deacon he’d had to be. Yet there hadn’t been this rage in his eyes ten years ago. Or this controlled sort of menace. At least not ever directed at her.
No, he’d smiled at her. Laughed at her stupid jokes. Teased her like she’d teased him. Handed her the socket wrench when it was out of her reach and bought her beignets when she was down. She’d sat beside him in silence at the Delacroix family vault after his father died, just sitting there as he smoked cigarette after cigarette, a pile of empty beer bottles in front of him. He’d held her in his arms to comfort her after they’d gotten word that her mom, who’d left when Alice was fourteen, had been killed in a car accident in California.
They’d shared things together and now they were standing here like enemies, furious with each other, her knife against his skin.
What had happened to him in the past ten years? What had happened to them?
“Is that why you’re back?” she asked suddenly. “For revenge?”
That darkness in his eyes didn’t relent and he didn’t move. “We’re here to take back what’s ours
. And if that includes revenge, then yeah, we’ll take that too.”
The thread of bewilderment twisted in on itself, becoming something that felt horribly like disappointment.
Like he’d ever come back because of you.
Her throat felt tight, her eyes dry. Jesus, she was almost on the verge of tears. What a stupid bitch she was. She’d been alone too long; that was the problem. She’d lost too many people who were never going to come back. Now he was here and she’d come to the bar tonight because she’d heard he was back and she just wanted to see him. Catch one glimpse. Maybe tell him what a prick he was, then walk out of his life.
But no. Here they were, shouting at each other, and she was holding a knife to his gut.
It was wrong. It was all wrong.
A dark stain had begun to spread on his T-shirt where the knife was. She should lower it, take it away. But she didn’t. “If you start a war, what happens to my garage? What happens to me?”
“Why do you think I picked you up and carried you here? Like I told you, Ajax won’t be happy you changed sides, and you don’t want to be unprotected when he finds out.”
“I’m not unprotected. I have…”
“Don’t say it.”
“…the Ministry to look after—”
He reached down and with insulting ease, twisted the knife out of her hands, throwing it onto the floor. Then he took both her wrists in an iron grip and twisted them behind her back, holding them there. The move was unexpected, bringing his broad, muscular body up against hers, shocking her into paralysis.
She stared stupidly up at him, his long fingers shackling her wrists in the small of her back, the heat of him burning like an exhaust pipe against her bare skin. It had happened so fast, she was still trying to figure out where her knife had gone. Or maybe it hadn’t happened that fast. Maybe the fact that he’d rendered her completely helpless was messing with her head.
It had to be. There wasn’t any other reason to stand there passively like an idiot, staring at him. Not when she should be furious and struggling and calling him all manner of dirty names. In fact, she couldn’t work out why she wasn’t. Why her heart was thudding fast in the cage of her ribs, why an old and familiar hunger had her in its jaws, sharp teeth digging in.
Hold Me Down (The Deacons of Bourbon Street #3) Page 3