Flesh and Blood (Dixie Mafia Series Book 1)

by Cynthia Rayne

  And the tension came back with a vengeance.

  “And when you say dig…?”

  “I got ways of findin’ out all sorts of fascinatin’ things about people. Information is the cornerstone of my business.” He leaned over his desk, his eyes locked on hers. “I learn everythin’ about my clients—where they work, who their family members are, where they stash their money…” Dix smirked. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of information floatin’ out there.”

  “All the better to track you with, my dear,” she muttered.

  Dix chuckled, evidently hearing her sarcastic remark.

  For a moment, she was mesmerized by his laughter. Belle had the urge to make him laugh again. It made him look younger—less threatening.

  And, oh, she bet he knew all sorts of dirty little secrets. A thought occurred to her. Had he hired Trucker Hat from Lickety Split to follow her?

  She wanted to ask but didn’t dare.

  “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have any secrets.” Her life was pretty boring.

  “So you say.” Dix shrugged. “I’m curious anyway.”

  Curiosity killed the cat seemed appropriate, given the situation. Though, in her particular case, curiosity would kill the frightened mouse the cat batted around.

  “Why?”

  “I find you intriguin’. Beguilin’ even.”

  Dix ran a hand along the rough surface of his desk, and unbidden, wicked images filled her head. Belle imagined herself bent over the wood, Dix behind her, gripping her hips.

  His nostrils flared as though he’d pictured the same scenario.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Startled, Belle yelped.

  Dix smiled, slow and sticky—like heated honey.

  Vick walked in. “The staff has dinner ready, and if you don’t mind, I gotta book.”

  He smiled. “Thanks, Vick. Tell them we’ll have dinner on the patio before you head out.” Then he motioned her over with his hand before whispering something into her ear.

  “I’m on it.” Then she was out the door.

  “You have a dinner guest?” That’d be Belle’s cue to leave—all in one piece too. Except for this disturbing digging business, she’d gotten off light.

  “Yes, you.” Dix stood.

  What?

  “Shall we?” He gestured to the door.

  “Oh, great. Er, thanks.” Belle groaned inwardly as she headed out of the office with Dix beside her.

  Strangest abduction ever.

  This sort of thing never happened on The Sopranos.

  Chapter Three

  Dix escorted her to the rear of the house and onto a brick courtyard arranged in a surprisingly cozy setup. An adobe fireplace stood in the center, and a fire blazed in the hearth, warding off the winter chill. A large rattan couch filled with plush red pillows sat across from it, along with a matching table. Several tea lights sparkled on the surface of the table illuminating an assortment of colorful cacti in a large terracotta pot, along with their meals—Santa Fe chicken and rice on expensive china.

  The candlelight dinner looked suspiciously romantic. Earlier, she was in a threatening business meeting, but it’d somehow transitioned into a date. Weird. Then again, everything about this situation was odd.

  Belle sat on the far side of the couch. Dix took a seat close to her, his knee brushing hers. She scooched over as he handed her a plate.

  “It looks delicious.” Her stomach rumbled.

  The chicken smelled so good Belle wanted to rip into it like some sort of caveman. She hadn’t had meat in weeks, making do with macaroni and cheese, peanut butter, canned beans, and other cheap sources of protein. She forced herself to cut the chicken into tiny pieces and consume them bit by bit.

  They ate in silence for a few moments.

  Dix broke the ice. “Tell me more about you.”

  “You already know a lot—where I live, who my father is…” She set the fork down on the corner of her plate for a moment.

  “I know facts, but I want details. What do you do for fun?”

  Belle hadn’t had fun in months.

  “Uh, I like musicals and show tunes.” It was the first thing that came to mind.

  “Are you an Andrew Lloyd Webber fan?”

  How’d he know?

  “I love him.” She’d seen CATS, Evita, Starlight Express, and Phantom of the Opera. Belle once dated a snob who’d insisted musical theater was “mid-brow” and somehow a lesser art form. “Phantom of the Opera is my favorite.”

  She’d performed the songs in her high school choir class and had fallen in love with both the music and the story—a beauty and the beast tale with soaring music. What’s not to love?

  The choir had taken a trip to see the Canadian version in Toronto. She’d been overcome by the production—the music, the costumes, the singing—and by the end of the night, she’d been in tears. Belle had always wanted to see the American production on Broadway.

  “I haven’t seen it, but I’ll take your word.” He tilted his head to the side. “And do you have a boyfriend?”

  She nearly choked on her chicken, the question was so left field.

  “Uh, no.”

  Belle had worked third shift, so her life didn’t lend itself to being much of a party girl. Dating a client was forbidden because of ethical boundaries, and the men she’d worked with were all married—though it hadn’t bothered her slime-ball of an ex-boss.

  “No?” He gave her a once-over, and from his approving expression, he liked what he saw. “What about a lover?”

  Belle didn’t like where this was headed—not one bit.

  “No one. What about your wife?”

  Belle glanced at the ring on his finger. She’d already dealt with one married man who’d refused to take no for an answer.

  Not to mention the hell infidelity had brought down upon her family. Carolina carried on with Emmett while he was still married—until he’d divorced his wife to move in with her. And Emmett eventually cheated on Carolina, leaving them to shack up with the woman. Emmett and Carolina also had an unconventional sex life. They’d been swingers, although Belle hadn’t realized it until she examined her memories…and then puked.

  Bottom line—refusal to follow society’s rules ends in karmic punishment.

  His face clouded. “I wear it to remember her.” Dix twirled the ring on his finger with his thumb, watching it shine in the firelight. “My wife died twelve years ago, probably when you were still in high school. You’re twenty-six, right?”

  Of course, he knows my age.

  “Yes, and I’m sorry about your wife.” Belle felt guilty for assuming the worst.

  “Thank you.”

  “How old are you?” She was curious about him, despite herself.

  “Fifty-three.”

  He was a bit younger than Emmett, but he didn’t look old—not to her, anyway. Then again, she’d always had crushes on older men.

  Hellllooo, daddy issues.

  In college, she’d had an honest-to-God French professor, and Belle crushed on him hard. Adrien was Parisian, in his early forties at the time, and chain-smoked expensive cigarettes while drinking espresso. Belle thought he was sexy and sophisticated. She’d even signed up for one of his summer workshops on French culture so she could ogle him and hear the accent every morning.

  Dix had a distinguished air too. Or maybe living like a monk had taken a toll on her hormones.

  This is not a date. He’s a killer, for pity’s sake.

  “So, there’s no boyfriend. Ain’t that a shame?” His tone implied her romantic situation was anything but tragic. “A pretty, young thing like yourself should have a trail of men after you.”

  A mobster thought she was hot. Seriously? Did she send out some kind of mating call to bad men?

  “I can’t eat another bite.” She placed the plate on the table, even though her stomach grumbled in protest. “Thank you very much for the meal, but I should be going. I have an early morning. Yo
u know how it is.” Belle got to her feet.

  “Where do you work? I didn’t find any records.” He stood, blocking her path.

  “Hmm.” Belle didn’t answer. She wouldn’t tell Dix, even if she did have a job. If he wanted to know about her employment record, he could dig for it.

  “I’ll find out anyway. No one keeps secrets from me. Not for long.”

  She bet they didn’t.

  Belle backed toward the door, but it was pointless—she didn’t have Blue here and wouldn’t get far on foot. But she had to get out of here before anything more awkward happened, like Dix making a full-blown pass at her. Turning down a mobster’s sexual advances probably wouldn’t end well.

  “Where do you think you’re goin’?” Dix tracked her to the door, and Belle was running out of space.

  She became aware of the height difference between the two of them. He had a good foot on her and maybe fifty pounds. If he decided to physically stop her, she wouldn’t be able to fend him off.

  “Home.”

  “I didn’t say you could go.”

  “Can I?” And if he said no?

  “I’ll be nice…tonight, anyway. Hold on.” Dix pulled a cell phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “I’ll need a car at my home right away. Five minutes? Great.” He never took his eyes off her while he spoke. Then he pressed a button, ending the call. “Rebel will drive you home.”

  “Great. Thanks.” Phew. This confusing, bizarre evening was drawing to a close, and no one had gotten hurt.

  “Unless you’d like to stay for a while…?”

  Belle coughed. “I don’t think it’s a very good idea.” She felt dizzy, breathless.

  “Why not?” Predacious intent gleamed in his eyes as he moved even closer. “I think it’s an outstanding idea.”

  Belle hit the wall behind her.

  Nowhere left to run.

  Dix closed the remaining distance between them until they stood a few inches apart. Damn, he smelled good. His cologne had a woodsy smell— like rosemary and sage, a scent the Big Bad Wolf would wear.

  He dipped his head but stopped shy of brushing his lips against hers.

  Belle’s teeth sank into her lower lip. She wanted to kiss him—and run out of here and never see him again—but she wasn’t sure which she needed more.

  And then he captured her mouth.

  The kiss was electric—light at first, inviting. Unlike some men she’d kissed, he didn’t push his tongue in straight away. He took his time, pressing feathery kisses to her lips and the corner of her mouth.

  Then he settled in and got to know her—nibbling, sucking. The tip of his tongue slid between her lips, easing in, and she moaned, opening up for him.

  Belle wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against him.

  Dix groaned, hauling her hips against his own, welding their bodies together. Even through the fabric, she could feel the hard press of his cock against her stomach.

  Once again, she thought about his big desk—Dix thrusting into her, holding her in place, while he took what he wanted.

  She shuddered.

  Dix opened the back door and propelled her backward through it, kissing her and robbing her of her good sense—all she wanted right now was him. Somehow, they stumbled along the length of the hallway, mouths melded, bodies on fire.

  He reached for the office door behind Belle, but the honk of a horn brought her back to her senses.

  She placed her hands against the hard wall of his chest and pushed. Dix backed off, breathing heavily. His mouth was red—kiss-swollen—and his eyes were as black as night, glossy.

  What the hell is wrong me?

  Belle clapped a hand over her mouth, stunned by her own actions. She ducked under his arm and backed away.

  “Oh, uh, I think that’s my ride. I have to go.”

  “So it is. I almost had you.” Dix watched her with those greedy eyes as he leaned against the wall. “I’ll have a talk with Reb about his lack of timin’.”

  On trembling legs, she lurched down the hall.

  “Belle?”

  “Yes?” She refused to turn around. If she did, Belle feared she’d let him have his way with her.

  “Let me put this into musical theater terms. We’re at the intermission, darlin’. You and I aren’t done yet—not by a long shot.”

  That’s what she was afraid of.

  Belle scurried away, blindly running for the front door and racing out to meet the car.

  Chapter Four

  I kissed a mobster.

  It was Belle’s first thought of the morning. After Rebel had dropped her off last night, she’d dragged herself to bed. Due to the skyrocketing sexual tension and omnipresent unemployment panic, sleep had been elusive.

  She’d tossed and turned, reliving every single second of that mind-blowing kiss. The man might be evil, but he was a damn good kisser. Despite his insistence that this was only the beginning, she had no intention of seeing Dix or his cronies ever again.

  Belle was caught somewhere between dread and perverse excitement.

  What is wrong with me? My life isn’t bad enough already? Adding gangster’s moll to unemployed and almost destitute would be fuel on her already smoking bonfire of a life. If Belle gave in to Dix’s wicked appeal, she’d be no better than her mother—careless and self-destructive.

  She checked the clock—it was seven in the morning, bright and early. Belle slipped out of bed and yawned. Even though she didn’t have to be anywhere, the routine was important. It’d be too easy to slip into the habit of bumming around all day in her pajamas.

  Today, the goal was to get a job at Lickety Split—any job. She’d pump gas, clean windshields, ring people up, even make those nasty, dried-up wieners.

  After brushing her teeth, she splashed some water on her cheeks, then seized a makeup bag from a drawer and painstakingly put on her face. She dabbed a cotton ball in the foundation and dotted her cheeks and chin before smoothing it in. Hopefully, it would disguise the bags under her eyes. She dusted blush on the apples of her cheeks for color and applied lipstick. While she didn’t look good, Belle appeared less haggard.

  With a sigh, she noted some ragged split ends. Once she got some money coming in, she’d schedule an appointment at How-De-Do, the only beauty parlor in town. The owner was eccentric, but Miss Delilah knew how to cut hair.

  After she had made herself look respectable, Belle dressed in a pair of black slacks and a gray sweater. It was November in Texas, so the weather was chilly but not cold. The outfit could be considered business casual, which would be appropriate for this particular meeting.

  Quaxo waited impatiently for her in the kitchen, caterwauling about the delay. She deposited some kibble into his bowl and got herself a glass of water from the tap. He stared at the dry food and glanced upward as if to say, that’s it?

  “Sorry, buddy. There’s no wet food.”

  With a disdainful sniff, he pranced into the other room.

  “Well, piss on you, too.” Belle snickered.

  After devouring two peanut butter cracker sandwiches, she drove to Lickety Split.

  “Hey.” Mike stood at the cash register again.

  “Hi.” Belle handed him the application. “I wanted to turn this in. Is there a manager around?”

  Mike frowned. “Uh, no, he won’t be back until noon. Bud’s helpin’ with the inventory at another store.”

  “I was hoping to meet him.” Damn. She’d planned on talking up her accomplishments and snagging an interview on the spot. “I’ll come back at noon then.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat.”

  Belle smiled, turning on the charm. Building rapport with another employee would help her get the gig. Besides, she wanted to know a bit more about the place—gather some intelligence.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Belle, Mike. Do you like working at Lickety Split?”

  “S’alright, I guess.” Mike was apparently a man of few words.
He continued wiping down the counter with a damp cloth, as though the conversation had ended.

  She tried again. “What’s the best part about the job?”

  He thought a minute. “You get free grub when you work—that part doesn’t suck.”

  A ringing endorsement. At least free food might keep her alive until a paycheck rolled in. Good to know.

  “Great, thanks for your time. Nice meeting you, Mike.” She held out her hand to shake his.

  “Right back at ya.” Instead, he slapped her palm in a sideways high-five.

  “See you at noon.” Belle made a hasty exit.

  As she walked out, her cell phone rang—a tinny version of Music of the Night from Phantom of the Opera—and she fumbled for it.

  Belle captured the phone and studied the number—local, but she didn’t recognize it. Maybe Aransas calling for another interview?

  She hit the button. “Hello?”

  “Good mornin’. Did you sleep well?”

  Dammit. Dix—she’d recognize his dark, rumbling voice anywhere. For some reason, it sounded even deeper, lower—more intimate—in her ear.

  “Good morning, and yes, I did.”

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “No.” Although, Belle couldn’t think of a good time to talk to him either. She unlocked Blue before tossing her purse inside.

  “Succinct—I like it. Got lunch plans today?”

  Belle bit her lower lip. Was he inviting her to lunch? Or idly curious?

  “I have an appointment.” It was kind of a lie—stalking the gas station manager didn’t count as a meeting, per se.

  “What kind of appointment?”

  “A job interview.” Again, sort of the truth. Belle hopped up in the cab and slammed the door shut.

  “What a spot of luck—accordin’ to my sources, you’re unemployed and have been for quite a while.”

  “I see you started digging.” She buckled her seat belt, but it didn’t make her feel safe.

  “I always make good on my promises, darlin’.”

  He said the words whisper-soft, and she shivered. Dear God, the man was nerve-racking, even over the phone.

  Belle needed to shut this chase down—but how?