by Meghan March
I reached the end of the article where there was speculation as to how many illegitimate children Dom had fathered, and the current count was two. Two sons, that was. Very few people within or outside the family knew that I was his daughter and not his niece. Maybe it made more sense since I was forgotten half the time anyway and had been raised by his half sister.
I was folding the paper up and setting it aside when Bishop came back. His gaze darted to the front of the paper as I added it back to the pile. I didn’t expect him to snatch it off the stack.
His eyes scanned back and forth as he read the entire article that I’d just finished before shaking his head and dropping it back on the pile.
“Seems like they’ll never take that bastard down.” His words carried a harsh edge, like it was something he took personally.
“You follow this stuff?” I asked, not sure why I risked the question. Maybe because I wanted to get a feel for his knowledge if I was ever allowed to tell him who I was.
“As much as the next guy. You would think we were still in the ’70s with how much that guy gets away with and the cops’ inability to do jack shit about it.”
The hostess came to tell us our table was ready, and I was glad I didn’t have to come up with an answer. Bishop knows who my father is. It was a revelation I didn’t want to consider. My past and my present were supposed to stay separated with a neat line, not collide while we were waiting for breakfast.
It wasn’t until I was at work that night that the next reminder came.
I HATED THAT I’D LET seeing that fucker’s face in the paper ruin my appetite, but my body didn’t know any other way to react. It hadn’t been long enough since I’d seen Dom Casso’s face through the sight of my gun, and I hadn’t been able to pull the trigger.
I had no doubt that if I’d killed him that day, I would have died in short order, and the power vacuum left in his organization would have been filled by someone just as ruthless.
But I hadn’t, even though he’d deserved that bullet through his chest. What were the odds that he would have had some girl come running to him and ruin my shot? When his bodyguards had spotted me and started shooting, I’d run, leaving revenge for another day and choosing to live.
But I’d done a shitty job of living until just lately.
THE PHONE I’D CARRIED SINCE I left New York vibrated in the front pocket of my apron as I handed a brown paper bag of donuts across the counter to an older couple. The vibration startled me so much, I lost my grip and dropped the bag before the man had a hold of it.
“So sorry.” I snatched it off the counter and handed it to him again.
“No worries, darlin’. Ain’t gonna hurt those donuts none.” He winked. “But I hope she doesn’t spill our coffee.”
I glanced down the counter to where Asha, my coworker for the evening, filled two small cups with espresso.
“Of course not. Her hands are steady as they come.”
The couple collected their coffee, and I stepped toward Asha. “I need to step out for a second to check this missed call. You mind?”
“Of course not. The rush is over. I can hold down the fort by myself for a few. Take your time.”
I nodded and hustled out from behind the counter and down the back hallway. Pulling the phone from my apron pocket, I saw the number I’d memorized across the screen. MISSED CALL & VOICE MAIL.
My hand shook as I unlocked the phone and tapped the screen for it to play.
Instead of words, the message started as just static. Then something garbled and shouting. “Where the hell is she? Why isn’t she at the safe house?” It was Dom’s voice and he was pissed.
“You wanted her out of the way. I got her out of the way,” a second voice said. It was much calmer and sounded like Vincent.
The called ended abruptly, and the rest of the conversation was cut off like someone had realized they’d accidentally made a call.
Dom wanted me in a safe house?
I listened to it three more times and was sure that Vincent hadn’t intended to call. One heck of a butt dial, Vin. But nothing made sense, including the fact that Dom had sounded concerned about me. Not like the absentee father he’d always been.
But then Vincent’s words brought home the reminder. You wanted her out of the way. I got her out of the way.
I turned and looked at the empty donut shop, and then to the back door that led into the alley.
I needed a minute and fresh air to gather my thoughts. “I’ll be right back,” I called to Asha.
“Told you to take your time, girl. I had seven shots of espresso to kick my hangover from last night, so I’m wired. I could handle a crowd all by myself.”
With a weak smile on my face, I pushed open the back door and stepped into the alley. The air wasn’t the freshest, but it wasn’t clogged with the sugary sweetness from inside.
What the hell is going on?
Vincent had told me Dom wanted me gone, and sold me that spiel about no one knowing where I was, which I didn’t even question at the time. And now? Now, I had no idea what the hell to think.
I stared down at the phone, my thumb hovering over the CALL BACK button, but I remembered Vincent’s warning. The number was to be a direct line to him, not Dom. And what good would that do me? I’d followed orders like the good little mobster’s daughter that I was and had left my phone behind, which meant I didn’t have anyone’s contact information except for the few numbers I’d memorized.
I didn’t have Dom’s personal cell phone number memorized. No one had ever bothered to give me the number to the Hell’s Kitchen brownstone. I could call my aunt . . . but there was no way she’d give me any information that would allow me to disturb Dom. She wouldn’t take the chance of earning his displeasure.
Did I even want to get in touch with Dom? If he hadn’t given the orders for me to leave New York on my own, then wouldn’t his first order be for me to come back? I couldn’t honestly say I knew my father, but my gut said yes. As soon as he figured out where I was or how to contact me, he’d have his guys here to collect me and put me on a jet back to New York before I could even pack my suitcase.
Back to the gilded cage.
No more New Orleans.
No more experiences.
No more Bishop.
No. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to go. But how long would it take for Dom to find me? Vincent knew what credit card he’d given me, which meant he knew exactly where I was.
He’s always known where I am. The realization swept over me.
From the second I’d booked my ticket with that credit card, he would have known where I’d gone. How could I have been so stupid to not even think about that?
There had been a few times I’d felt like I was being watched, but I’d brushed it off as my overactive imagination.
What the hell is going on?
Like the person in the alley last night. The one who’d been watching me and Bishop and then run.
Who was that? One of Dom’s goons here to watch over me, even though I was supposed to be on my own? Or maybe the FBI had pulled the credit card records?
Too many questions and not enough answers.
The back door to Voodoo banged against the brick wall of the building, and Bishop stepped out with a ladder.
He stopped when he saw me leaning against the back of Your Favorite Hole.
“Hey. What are you doing?”
I shoved the phone into my apron pocket and crossed my arms over my chest. “Nothing. Just . . . needed some fresh air.”
Bishop looked around the alley. “Not the freshest back here.”
I shrugged. “It was the best I could do for the moment.”
He leaned the ladder against the wall and came toward me. “Are you okay? You look upset.”
“I’m fine. Just . . . tired.”
A smile tugged at the edges of Bishop’s mouth. “Some of that is probably my fault.” He pressed a palm to the wall on either side of my head. “I’m
staying at your place tonight, cupcake. We’re not done by a long shot.”
The heat in his eyes and the husky tone of his voice pulled me from my mini meltdown.
“Is that so?”
“Damn right. And before we do that, we’re checking a few more things off your list. Although I probably should make you slow it down, because I don’t want you runnin’ out of town as soon as you’ve hit them all.”
The lightness that had begun to take over when he’d spoken was momentarily doused. More than likely, before I could check them all off, I’d be dragged out of town. But that also sent a shaft of urgency through me. I needed to soak up every moment. I didn’t get to keep this man. I didn’t get to keep this city. I didn’t get to choose my future.
My face must have reflected my thoughts, because Bishop frowned. “Hey, what’s that look for? You already making your plans to bolt?” His posture tensed as if waiting for me to deliver the hard truth.
I shook my head. “No. I don’t want to leave.”
“That doesn’t exactly sound like you’re planning on staying.” The hands on either side of my head clenched into fists.
How honest was I going to be? He deserved more than my lies. “I might not have a choice.”
“You’ve always got a choice. It all depends on how much you’re willing to sacrifice to get what you want.”
“I want to spend tonight with you.”
His smile came back, but his posture didn’t relax. “Good, because you’re going to. Stop at the shop when you get off.”
“Okay.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips across mine. “So fucking sweet.”
AFTER HOURS OF SERVING DONUTS and making coffee drinks, I’d come to a decision. I would focus on living every moment in New Orleans like it might be ripped away from me at any time. When I hung up my apron and walked toward Voodoo, I made an impulsive decision.
I wanted a tattoo, and I wanted Bishop to be the one to do it.
That way, when I was alone in my apartment in New York, watching the world pass me by, I would have a permanent, tangible reminder of the amazing memories I’d made here.
Shaking off the depressing thoughts of what would certainly be my future, I smiled as the chimes on the door tinkled to announce my entrance. Delilah leaned over a man, no doubt creating some awesome piece of art, but Bishop stood at the counter, his arms crossed over his chest while he talked to a woman I’d never seen before.
“I don’t have the money right now. But I swear I’ll pay you soon. Or we could trade . . .”
Why was someone always hitting on him? Seriously, it was getting old.
“I’ve got a woman. No trades.”
A sense of déjà vu swept over me. How many times would this happen after I was gone? It pushed me to embrace the time I had even more.
With a burst of confidence and attitude, I walked toward the counter. “I bet I could get you to do mine for a trade.”
Bishop’s attention cut to me, and his lips twitched. “You’re the exception to the rule, cupcake.”
The woman turned and her gaze raked over me. I expected a snide comment, but perhaps her fear of what Bishop would say in response kept her quiet.
“I’ll just go down to Magazine. Those guys will trade.”
“Good luck with that.”
She stalked away, and Bishop watched me come toward the counter still riding my wave of confidence.
“What if I really did want a tattoo?”
“You serious?”
“Maybe.”
“I need more than a maybe before I’m going to ink that skin.”
“Do you have time to do it tonight?”
He tilted his head to the side. “What brought this on?”
“Does it matter?”
“Everything does when it comes to you.”
His words, so simple and sincere, hit me somewhere in the vicinity of my chest.
“Then don’t let me forget any of this.”
With his expression darkening, he called to Delilah. “I’m knocking off for tonight. You got a problem with that?”
She looked up from the room where she worked. “It’s been slower than shit all day. Make a run for it. I’ll lock up.”
Bishop stepped out from behind the counter. “Let’s go. We’ve got some shit to talk about.”
He grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind him to the back door. Outside in the alley, he unlocked a small garage door built into the back of the building, and a motorcycle came into view as he pushed the door up.
After he threw a leg over, he backed it out and dropped the kickstand before heading back into the garage and emerging with two helmets.
Once the garage door was closed and locked again, he held out a helmet to me. “We’re going back to your place.”
I stared at the helmet for long moments before taking it from his hands. “We’re riding this?”
“That gonna bother you?”
Riding a motorcycle hadn’t been on my list, but I wasn’t opposed to trying it out. “No, not at all.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
The ride to my apartment was short, but the feeling of Bishop in front of me and the vibrations of the bike between my legs wasn’t something I’d forget anytime soon. When he parked on the street and I stepped off, I wanted to climb him, and he read it on my face.
“You liked that, didn’t you?”
“I had no idea . . .”
“That you’d feel like you had the world’s best vibrator between your legs?”
I bit my lip to hide the grin stretching my cheeks. “Basically.”
“Get your keys. I see I’ve got something to prove now.”
“Oh really? What’s that?”
“That I’m a better ride than my bike.”
A laugh burst free of my lips and the easiness from earlier today came back. “I don’t think you’re going to have a hard time proving that.”
I unlocked the gate leading into the courtyard, and Bishop followed me inside.
Harriet’s back door opened just before we reached the spiral staircase leading up to my place. “Eden, dear. Were you expecting company this afternoon?”
I stopped so abruptly at her question, Bishop’s hand landed on my hip to steady me. “Company?”
“Someone rang your buzzer at least a dozen times. I finally got sick of hearing it so I looked out front, but they were leaving.”
“They?”
“Two men in suits. They looked official. You haven’t gotten into any trouble, have you?”
“No,” I answered in a rush. “No trouble. That’s just . . . strange.”
Suits? It had to be Dom’s people. Or the men from the hotel? FBI?
“Yes, very strange.” Harriet’s gaze was appraising. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think I had a second Charlie on my hands. On the run from the law.” She laughed. “But of course that’s just me being a little bit of a conspiracy theorist in my old age.”
I smiled, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “I’m definitely not on the run from the law.” I don’t think, I added silently.
“Damn. I was hoping for some excitement to spice up the week. Unless they got the wrong buzzer and it was the IRS coming after me. Bastards.”
Bishop and I traded glances at that before I thanked Harriet for the information. He followed me up to my apartment, and once he closed the door behind him, he asked the question I knew had to be coming.
“You gonna tell me what the hell you’re running from? Or are you gonna make me keep guessing?”
I locked the door and turned around slowly to meet his gaze. “I’m not running from anyone.”
“Why don’t I believe that?”
“I don’t know.”
I moved toward him, wanting nothing more than to change the subject and forget about everything outside of this apartment for the rest of the night. The world could go to hell, but I wanted to savor whatever time I had left with Bishop. I
pressed both hands to his abs.
He studied me under his hooded gaze. “You trying to distract me?”
“I’m trying to get you back on track with your earlier plan.”
“Is that right?”
I nodded before pushing his shirt up. “Yes.”
“I guess I’ll just have to let you do that then.”
And he did.
IF BISHOP WAS AN ADDICTION, then I never wanted a cure.
For the next couple of weeks, we bounced from his apartment to mine, losing ourselves in each other. When we weren’t in bed, he showed me more than the city. He showed me a life I desperately wanted to claim as my own.
With each day, I fell harder. I was in so much damn trouble, because I didn’t know how I was going to walk away from him when the order came. Every day I waited for the text, but it didn’t come. No more cryptic and accidental voice mails either, which I tried not to let stab me in the heart. Dom didn’t know where I was, and apparently he’d decided he didn’t care.
I pushed down that familiar disappointment and focused on all the good around me.
Bishop had become an integral part of my happiness, and the simple life I was living here was more than enough for me. I’d even started helping out with the books at both Voodoo and Your Favorite Hole, putting my skills to work.
Everything felt so . . . right.
But that didn’t mean it was perfect.
“No.”
The word came out of Bishop’s mouth with more force behind it than I expected, and his entire demeanor changed with it.
We were curled up on my bed, and the easy postcoital moment was broken. I pushed up on my elbow, my hand resting on his chest, and looked down at him.
“What do you mean, no?”
It wasn’t like I’d never heard the word before. No had been a common concept in my life in New York. It just wasn’t something I’d expected to hear Bishop say when it came to something so simple as finally going to the casino so I could learn to play blackjack at a real table.
“No, as in I don’t fucking go to casinos. They’re not a good place for me.”