Flesh and Blood (Dixie Mafia Series Book 1)

by Cynthia Rayne

  “Gentlemen, how good of you to join me.”

  Tucker was in his late sixties with gray hair, blue eyes, and a thin build. Three young women frolicked in the nearby hot tub—all of them naked and most likely escorts. While his granddaughter, Mary Cobb, was away at school, Tucker carried on like a rock star with guns, drugs, and lots of ladies. Tucker had a running tab with a Dallas escort agency and had a preference for young blonde twenty-somethings.

  “Care to join us in the hot tub?”

  He must’ve gotten a hooker for each of them—thoughtful, in a disturbing way. Most folks only handed him a glass of sweet tea when he stopped by to visit.

  Byron raised a brow but didn’t comment.

  “No, thank you.” Dix pasted on a polite smile.

  “More for me then.” Tucker escorted them onto the terrace where they could speak in private. “Any word on Cotton?”

  The previous Underboss, Cotton Krug, had mysteriously disappeared a few weeks ago. Dix had his own theories as to what had happened to Cotton—namely Byron arranged the man’s death—but Dix kept his mouth shut due to their friendship and his own self-interest.

  Dix wouldn’t want to be the thing standing between Byron and something he wanted. And he had no desire to move further up the chain.

  Personally, Dix wouldn’t be surprised if Tucker “went missing” too.

  “I ain’t seen neither hide nor hair of the man.” Byron leaned back against the railing, glancing up at the sky as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

  The terrace looked down upon a small vineyard. Tennessee Ross, one of their brothers in arms, had planted the grape vines for Tucker and came over regularly to tend to them.

  “Don’t get too big for your britches, son. You’re only actin’ Underboss until I say otherwise.” Tucker folded his arms across his chest.

  “Just statin’ the facts, old man.”

  Byron had been seen in public having a beer at Perdition when Cotton supposedly dropped off the face of the earth. Tucker couldn’t openly accuse him, but the two had been playing a game of cat and mouse since it’d happened. Dix couldn’t figure out which one was the feline in the situation—it was a toss-up.

  “I got some good news for you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Byron asked.

  Tucker got closer, fencing Byron in against the wall. “I’m havin’ the head of our security detail look into the situation. I figured you could use some help. He’s gonna poke around, see if he can find anythin’.”

  The outfit employed a security firm, mercenaries for hire to defend them against assassination. They’d gone through a territory struggle with the southern contingent of the Texas Dixie Mafia.

  “I appreciate it.” Byron didn’t look a bit worried or intimidated.

  They watched one another, unblinking, then Tucker stared Dix down. The old man had probably hauled them over here so he could watch their reaction to the news. Apparently, Dix had become a suspect too.

  “Is there anything else you need, boss?” Dix asked. The last thing they wanted was a gun battle in front of witnesses.

  “You’re dismissed.” Tucker backed away, putting a couple feet between them. Then he faced Byron again. “If I were you, I’d watch my back, son.”

  “Funny, I’d give you the same advice.” Byron swaggered off, chest thrust out.

  One of these days, their conflict would come to a head.

  And it’d be bloody.

  Chapter Ten

  I look beautiful.

  Admitting she looked nice was difficult. Sometimes she still saw the overweight teenage girl staring back at her from the mirror.

  Food had been her coping mechanism of choice, and she ate to take the edge off the pain. Inside, she’d been empty, and eating filled her up, lessened the ache—until she’d gained fifty pounds.

  But this wasn’t about her past or eating disorder. Tonight, she’d be mingling with a group of mobsters while wearing a ball gown. It was like Cinderella, if the evil stepmother had thrown the party.

  She wore the dress Dix had given her. It had a plunging neckline, and the bodice was decorated with rhinestones. The back had a long row of satin buttons. Belle had been forced to walk next door and ask her neighbor to finish fastening the dress. Lord only knew what kind of rumors would result from it.

  Belle had swept her hair into an updo with ringlets falling around her face. And she’d recreated Delilah’s makeup technique with acceptable, if not fabulous, results. After scouring her closet, she came up with a silver clutch that matched her shoes.

  Belle had a problem wrapping her brain around the situation—a ballroom filled with mobsters and their family members, and she’d be going as Dix’s mistress. Maybe one day she’d look back on this situation as some wild Sex and the City type lark, and it’d make her smile.

  Today isn’t that day.

  Belle paced the length of her bedroom. She’d worked herself into a tizzy worrying about Tucker Cobb’s birthday party. Dix should’ve chosen a less auspicious occasion for her to make her debut. Quaxo lounged on the end of her bed, watching as she walked back and forth. Every now and then, she’d stop and pet his head.

  Dix filled her thoughts. It’d been nearly a week since she’d almost had sex with him on the table, and she hadn’t slept well since. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel his lips on hers. They hadn’t seen each other since, and Belle worried she might actually miss him.

  The bastard had some kind of hold on her.

  Byron Beauregard would be escorting her to the mob boss’s place. Dix said he had a meeting in Dallas just before the birthday bash, and he’d be running late. He’d wanted her ready and waiting for him by the time he arrived. In other words, she was now living on his schedule, and she needed to get used to it.

  After she’d nearly worn a path on the carpet, Belle watched from the window as a shiny limousine pulled up outside her door. A black Escalade slipped up behind it.

  Belle grabbed the clutch and wrapped a silver shawl around her shoulders.

  After a knock at the door, she opened it to reveal Byron Beauregard.

  He grinned. “And I didn’t even have to threaten you into openin’ it this time.”

  When he smiled so sweetly, it was hard to remember he was a killer. Byron Beauregard looked more like a movie star than a mobster in his black tuxedo. Funny to think he’d abducted her not too long ago and now he’d be filling in as her date to a party.

  Yep, my life is weird.

  “Hello, Mr. Beauregard.”

  He bowed. “Good evenin’, Belle. And please call me Byron.”

  “Good evening, Byron.”

  “You and me are gonna be friends.” He slipped his arm through hers and led her to the limousine. Rebel, who’d been driving the limo, hopped out and held the door for them. “We’ll be makin’ one more stop on our way to the shindig.”

  “Quite the entourage,” she said, nodding to the Escalade.

  The men behind them were probably armed. She’d been so worried about meeting mobsters, she’d failed to think about all the enemies they’d accumulated. Enemies who could use a big bash like this one to pick off some of them. And whoever happened to be standing next to the gangsters.

  “Nothin’ to worry about. It’s a security measure.” He helped her into the car. Once she was situated on the seat opposite him, skirts pooled around her, they took off. “Whenever there’s a gatherin’ this large, we take precautions.”

  “Is there going to be trouble?”

  “For the record, I love trouble.” Byron undid a couple of buttons on his jacket. “I don’t expect any, but then again, trouble’s sweet on me too—tends to follow me wherever I go. I find it best to be prepared.”

  “Or maybe you like to cause it.” The words popped out before she could hold them back. With wide eyes, she waited for his reaction.

  “So you do have a sense of humor.” He arched a lazy brow.

  “Sometimes.”

  The
past few months, she hadn’t felt much like laughing. Bodyguards and criminal company aside, the evening might be fun. Belle rolled her neck back and forth, loosening up a bit.

  “I thought we’d take this opportunity to chat.” He leaned back in the seat and studied her.

  “What kind of chat?” Please don’t let him bring up the night in Dix’s office. Walking past him with her clothing in disarray had been embarrassing enough.

  “I gather you and Dix have come to an arrangement.”

  So much for relaxing.

  “We have, but it’s none of your business.”

  “Fair enough, but he’s a good friend of mine so I look out for him and his people, which includes you at the moment.” There was a long pause, dripping with anticipation.

  “Okay.”

  When she didn’t bite, he tried again.

  “Dix and me, we go way back. When I first got into this line of work, he mentored me. He’s one of the few people in the world I give a damn about.” He tugged at his bow tie. She got the impression admitting to it made him uneasy.

  “What are you saying?” The hitman cared about someone other than himself?

  “The courtesy extends to you. If you need someone to talk to, I’m your man. You ain’t his usual type, and you strike me as a decent person. I don’t meet many of those these days.”

  Oh, hell no.

  “Okay, uh, thanks.”

  Dealing with one mobster was more than enough. Byron Beauregard was the last person on earth she’d confide in. It’d be like meeting the devil himself for coffee and a gossip session. Not gonna happen.

  Thankfully, she was saved from further conversation when they pulled up in front of a mansion done in the antebellum style with long, Corinthian columns along the front porch. With the lush green lawn and the magnolia-lined driveway, it reminded Belle of Tara from Gone with the Wind.

  “This is my family’s home, Beauregard Manor. You’ll have to stop by for dinner sometime.”

  Braxton Beauregard walked out the front door with a lovely woman on his arm, carrying a briefcase instead of a purse. Rebel opened the door for them, and they slid in. Brax sat next to Belle while the woman seated herself beside Byron with a grimace.

  Byron gestured to Brax. “The gentlemen next to you is my younger brother, Brax. Brax, this is Belle Nunn. She’s with Dix.”

  Belle noted Byron hadn’t said she was Dix’s girlfriend, and she remembered Brax all too well from Jumbles.

  “Pleased to meet you,” Brax said as if they’d never met. He offered her a hand, and she saw something almost coaxing in his gaze.

  “Likewise.” Not wanting to cause a scene, Belle went along with it.

  Byron nodded to the woman beside him. “And this is my date, Ms. Jane Hunter.”

  Jane still had the briefcase in her grasp, holding it her chest like she clutched the very last life preserver on the Titanic.

  Belle knew the feeling.

  Jane was dressed in a black and white pantsuit, the female equivalent of a tuxedo. It reminded Belle of something Marlene Dietrich would’ve worn. She had a lush, hourglass figure with pale skin and straight, short black hair cut in a Cleopatra style. On her snub nose, she wore a pair of black-framed glasses. A scowl marred her pretty face, which was directed at Beauregard.

  “I’m not your date, Mr. Beauregard. I’m here as your attorney, since you refuse to work with anyone else at my firm.”

  Byron seemed delighted by her display of temper. His eyes danced, and there was a slight flush on his cheeks.

  “I promise I’ll sign those papers you thoughtfully brought over—sometime tonight.”

  “It’s your money. I’m billing you for every single second I’m here.”

  “I guess she told you.” Brax chuckled.

  “What did you say to me, boy?” Byron turned menacing eyes on his younger brother.

  The junior Beauregard went silent.

  “The bill ain’t a problem, darlin’. I got plenty of money,” Byron said to Jane.

  “Lucky me.” Jane sighed.

  If Belle were to hazard a guess, she’d say Byron was smitten with Jane—not in love. She doubted someone who murdered other people for a living could form a deep attachment, but the lawyer clearly fascinated him. He’d barely taken his eyes off her once she got in the car. And Jane’s distaste for Byron was palpable.

  Given their bizarre dynamic, it made Belle and Dix seem downright normal in comparison. She didn’t envy Jane one bit. They drove off, and Belle sat back, listening to their banter and trying to enjoy the rest of the ride to the party.

  ***

  Tucker Cobb’s mansion stood behind two enormous wrought iron gates guarded by a handful of armed men. As the limo pulled up, Beauregard rolled down one of the windows and handed over a thick cream vellum invitation.

  A guard examined it then waved them through the gate, along with the SUV trailing the limo. Rebel let them out in front of an Italian-style villa, and the SUV trailed his vehicle to the back of the property to park.

  “Our entourage will join us in a moment,” Byron said. “In the meantime, let’s go inside and mingle.” He offered his arm to Belle, and she glanced at Jane questioningly. “Jane doesn’t enjoy being touched.” Byron winked. “Yet.”

  “Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Beauregard.” Jane stomped up the staircase ahead of them. Brax followed her, leaving Belle to accompany Byron.

  “I don’t think she likes you very much.” Belle hooked her arm through his, and they ascended the stairs together.

  “Ah, she’ll warm up to me after a bit.”

  She rolled her eyes. What was it with men and the chase?

  Inside, Brax and Jane stood in front of another staircase, which led to the second floor. An older man and a young woman stood at the apex. The man appeared to be in his sixties with thick silver hair and big blue eyes behind metal spectacles. He was thin and wore an expensive-looking black tuxedo. The man exuded power and prestige—she could almost feel it radiating down the stairs.

  Belle’s knees wobbled, and a shiver slid down her spine. She felt a bit like a peasant approaching a king. Or like a mob mistress about to meet the Godfather.

  Here I am, in the belly of the beast.

  “The old man is Tucker Cobb, and his granddaughter, Mary, is standing next to him. We’d best go up and be neighborly.” Byron turned to his brother. “Brax, get Jane a drink while I introduce Belle.”

  “Of course.”

  “And remember, keep your mouth shut and be on your very best behavior, boy.”

  “Yes, sir.” With a mocking salute, Brax and a grumbling Jane took off toward the ballroom, which Belle glimpsed through a doorway before Beauregard whisked her up the stairs.

  They ascended the stairs all too quickly, and she soon found herself face-to-face with the mobster in charge.

  “Happy birthday, Tucker.” Byron offered his hand to Cobb, who gripped it, his jaw tight.

  It was a long, awkward handshake. Both men smiled and did all the appropriate social niceties, but Belle knew better. Something nasty was going on between them.

  Then Byron turned to her. “This is Belle Nunn. She’s with Dix Wolf, but I’m actin’ as her escort until he arrives.”

  “You’re Wolf’s new girl, eh?” He grasped her hand, pressing it between his own.

  “Yes. A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cobb. Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “You have a lovely home.” Belle thought it was a bit much, but she’d been mannerly.

  “Why, thank you. I had a lot of the artwork commissioned myself.”

  Byron’s lip curled. “Yes, you certainly have an eye for detail.” The words were polite—the tone was not.

  “Yes, I do, and I don’t miss a damn thing.”

  The men held each other’s gaze a minute or two longer than was socially acceptable. A vein stood out, pulsing, on the left side of Byron’s neck.

  Hello, testosterone.

&nbs
p; Like Beauregard, Cobb had an aura of menace. Although he didn’t have the colorful family reputation and good looks to go along with it, Belle had no doubt he was every bit as cold-blooded as Byron.

  “Where are my manners?” Cobb turned to Belle once more, as if he’d suddenly remembered she was there. “I haven’t introduced Mary yet. My granddaughter’s quite the party planner.” He pulled the young woman closer to his side.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Mary extended her hand, and Belle shook it.

  She had a heart-shaped face, pale skin, sky blue eyes, and appeared to be in her early twenties. Mary wore a burgundy ball gown that flattered her slender figure. Her light brown hair was piled high atop her head, and a tiara held it in place.

  “This is a beautiful party. You did an amazing job.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been working on it for weeks now.” She smiled at her grandfather, and he kissed her temple.

  “Hello there, darlin’. It's good to see you again.” Byron kissed her cheek, and Mary blushed. He seemed to have that effect on women. And Belle suddenly wondered how Jane resisted the full force of Byron’s charm.

  “Mary’s graduatin’ from Harvard this year,” Tucker said, beaming. “And she’s startin’ Harvard Medical School right after. My Mary’s gonna save the world.”

  “Wow. Congratulations.” Belle was impressed. Ivy League schools were very competitive.

  “Granddad, stop.” Mary flushed. “You’re embarrassin’ me.”

  “I gotta brag on you some.” He chucked her under the chin.

  Belle wondered if Tucker believed Mary’s good deeds would balance out his sins. He seemed awfully delighted by her choice of vocation.

  “Mary, why don’t you show Miss Nunn around while I talk shop with Mr. Beauregard?”

  “Okay.” She led Belle through to a salon on the second floor. Belle glanced back at the two men, who were having another heated exchange. She was glad she’d escaped the fireworks.

  The salon was lavishly furnished with red velvet chairs and a matching sofa, gilded mirrors, and an enormous chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Waiters buzzed around the room, carrying trays laden with flutes of champagne and amuse-bouche—miniature sweet potato pies, baby caesar salads in wonton cups, and tiny grilled cheese sandwiches balanced over shots of tomato soup.