by Rie Warren
Although, what judge in their right mind would give any sort of rights to a man like Ripper?
“You basically brawled in Honoré’s front yard.” Angel stubbed out his cigarette.
“Well he wasn’t bare fisted. Brass knuckles.”
“Damage.” Revenge’s silvery eyes narrowed.
“Savage.” Chase kept refilling glasses like he actually got paid for his shit job as prospect.
“You just left Honoré there? With MJ and Caleb?” Squinting at me, Angel’s eyes turned stormy blue.
“The fuck was I supposed to do? I got rid of Ripper. She and I had words. She ended it.”
Angel was a fucking pit bull with a bone. Just like Pit and Bull. “You know if Caleb’s his—”
“Is his kid.” I finished for him, fully pissed.
“He’ll just keep going back to make her life hell.”
“Pretty hard to talk sense into a woman who tells you you’re not good for her family.” My chair screeched back as I stood up. “You don’t get it. Honoré cried. She didn’t wanna cut me loose, but she has to.”
Sucking in a breath, I snagged the whiskey bottle.
“She did what she had to do.”
Yeah. I was done sharing and caring.
Leaving the others to psychoanalyze bullshit that couldn’t be changed, I lumbered upstairs.
I’d probably have to reimburse Slade for his top shelf shit, but screw it.
He had all the riches right now.
The last man in Blood Legion anyone ever expected to get tied down.
Tied down.
Ha. That was funny. Considering I’d been tied down earlier by a stunning chanteuse. A gorgeous blonde woman who infuriated me as much as she infatuated me.
Stripping out of my clothes, I flopped back on my bed.
Flopped. Like that bass Caleb and I had caught earlier.
Fingers ringed around the neck of the bottle, I took another burning slug or two.
This was gonna hurt like hell. Not just my ribs or the cut on my face.
That shit didn’t matter one bit.
Honoré. And the boy too. Even Momma Joan.
It hurt.
I curled in on myself, waiting for sleep or death or more Death Dealers.
Whatever happened to me, nothing mattered anymore.
****
Hauling myself out of bed the next morning was no mean feat. Getting rip-roaring off-my-face last night might’ve been a mistake.
Bruised ribs. Cut face. Swollen knuckles.
Broken heart.
I showered and performed all that daily shit because it was routine.
Like the routine I used to maintain in prison.
You just did the daily. Got on with life. No matter what.
Except this time no matter what was a woman I probably loved and a kid I could easily . . . yeah . . . love.
Nothing fucking for it, I drank enough coffee to make my head wake the hell up, ate enough fried stuff to glue my guts back together if not my heart, and headed next door to Tit for Tat.
Lennox had never once complained about my comings and goings at weird hours all those times I’d up and left during the middle of the day to hang out with Honoré.
I probably owed him a thousand drinks and a million thanks.
That morning, I made do by slapping his shoulder and pressing on. And staying at my station instead of asking him to take over for me so I could go track Honoré down.
Going through the motions, I plastered a tight grin on my face instead of scowling like a broody bastard so I didn’t scare off my and Lennox’s clients.
Lennox now knew.
Everyone knew.
Sol even frigging hand delivered lunch to me, like I was some sad schmuck.
“Be sometimes dem haints jest need to be laid to rest.” He nodded solemnly.
I looked at him tiredly from placing needles in the autoclave. “Care to translate that one?”
He shrugged, giving me a toothy smile that was more serious than usual. “Mamzelle Honoré. Nothin’ good g’on come ’til she get rid o’dat Death Dealer.”
“Right.” I snorted. “Reckon she’s probably already tried.”
“Mebbe you need to do it for her.”
“You want me to go away for life or something?”
He gave me another confusing Confucius Says smile.
Or maybe I should start calling him Yoda.
Or M’sieur Laveau.
After eating the vittles I barely tasted and finishing with a beer from the cooler Lennox and I kept stocked, I shouted through the back curtain to him, “Gotta go see Angel for a sec. But I swear I’m not fucking off for the whole afternoon.”
I didn’t wait to hear his answer.
I located Angel and Slade in the chapel. Slade had baby Haven hanging off his front in some kind of backpack-looking contraption with holes for her arms and legs and head—sort of like a turtle shell.
She was dressed in pink with the tiniest white knit cap on her head that had a Harley embroidered on it.
I dug it.
I chucked her under her chin, and her teeny little nose wrinkled even though her eyes remained shut.
Slade held one hand cupped beneath her bottom in the baby backpack and he rocked softly from foot to foot.
“How’s all that going?” I asked the proud papa.
I might be in a shit mood, but I could at least be civil.
Haven was already almost one week old—un-freakin’-believable.
Just about this time last week, I’d been at the hospital with Honoré at my side.
Slade didn’t seem able to take his eyes off his baby girl. “Oh, man. She’s up all hours of the night. Almost always wants to be attached to Grace’s boobs—”
Angel snickered. “Bet you do too.”
“Six weeks no-go on the sex thing after birth,” Slade informed us.
“What?” Angel and I both asked at the same time.
“That’s a fact.”
“Damn, that’s a long time.” Angel’s brows shot high and remained there.
“Good luck with the blue balls, dude,” I said.
I was gonna end up with my own pair of blue balls too.
When Haven made a squeaking noise, Slade hushed her gently.
He still couldn’t take his eyes off her. “She spits up a hell of a lot. Loads a diaper like nothing I’ve ever seen.” Even though she was sleeping, she wrapped her little fingers around his thumb when he nudged the digit into her hand. “And she’s the frigging best thing that ever happened to me.”
Well, damn.
He was one hundred percent smitten.
Wondered if I’d ever feel that again.
Which reminded me of why I needed to speak to Angel. Angel who was . . . fucking swiping down the carved table with wood polish that smelled like lemons.
“Don’t we have a prospect for this shit?” I propped my fists on the tabletop.
“He’s not allowed in here yet.” Angel carried on polishing, chuckling about the fact he still refused to patch the prospect through to full member.
I was too depressed to even get into the spirit of making fun of Chase.
“Need to ask you a favor, prez.”
“Shoot.”
“Can I borrow Revenge? Like . . . indefinitely?”
Finished with his self-inflicted chore, Angel began heading to the barroom, and Slade and I followed.
“For anything in particular?”
Behind the bar, Chase glared at us like he knew he’d been bad-mouthed again.
Before I could explain what I had in mind for Revenge, Slade interrupted. “Yes. Get him out of my goddamn house already. Kid you fucking not, he shows up at all hours. He’s even started bringing Grace the tea she likes in the morning. Since when does that fucker get out of bed before noon?”
Now that made me snort, listening to Slade get all pissed off and ranty.
Revenge encroaching on Slade’s territory. I didn’t know wha
t the hell he was thinking, maybe just that in some strange way he also felt responsible for Grace.
Just like I felt responsible for Honoré whether I was with her or not.
“Don’t see why not.” Angel passed the wood polish and rag over to Chase. “All he does is screw the twins.”
“When he’s not at my house doting on Grace like she’s his old lady. It used to be funny, but now it’s just getting old.” Slade continued his tirade. “Better not be trying to poach my girls. My KA-BAR’s getting twitchy.”
“Heard he’s aiming to bag a set of triplets next,” Chase casually mentioned.
“Jesus Christ. Imagine if he knocked up one of the twins?” Angel groaned.
“Both the twins,” Slade added. “At least that would keep him out of my way.”
“So . . . Revenge?” I asked, because there was still only one thing on my mind.
“Yeah, man. Whatever you need.” Gripping my shoulder, Angel peered at me. “You doing all right today?”
“Heard about Honoré, Saint. Sorry.” Gently bouncing Haven in the sling, Slade cut me a sad smile.
“Yeah. Me too.” My face drew tight. My emotions were too raw. “Did enough talking—and drinking—about it last night. So I’m outta here.”
That settled, I just had to get Revenge on board with my plan. I ambled back over to Tit for Tat. My phone buzzed the moment I stepped through the door, and my feet faltered when I saw a text from Honoré.
Christ.
Maybe she’d changed her mind.
Maybe she wanted me back.
In that single second, my heart careened around my chest like the damn thing was taking a hairpin curve.
I swiped to open the message.
Then leaned against the wall with a heavy thud.
She hadn’t written anything. She’d just forwarded the pictures from yesterday. The ones I’d asked for.
Scanning back over those photos of me and Caleb fishing . . . that was just another kicker to my already hurtin’ heart.
At least Honoré had kept her word.
I knew it was gonna be a long damn time before I got over her and the kid . . . if at all.
I didn’t text her back beyond a quick thanks because I knew better than to hope now.
This was the final goodbye.
Chapter Twenty-Two
HONORÉ
THE DAYS AFTER SAINT left were endless. It might’ve been close to the end of May, the weather sunny and gorgeous, but to me the world lacked color. Music didn’t even sound the same anymore. The spice had gone out of life. In letting Saint in, I’d opened a door. In cutting him out, I’d locked myself in a pitch-black closet. Self-inflicted wound, and I hadn’t just hurt myself and Saint.
I was going to do a number on Caleb too.
Taking another long look at the photographs I’d taken of him with Saint out on the bayou made me feel even emptier. Their shared laughter and smiles had been everything that day. The way Saint had taken to my son—and vice versa—had been everything in that moment.
With a heavy sigh and a heavier heart, I’d texted the pictures over to Saint as promised. I owed him that much at least, although I didn’t know if he’d still want them.
He’d answered back with a hasty thanks.
So that was it.
We were over.
Just like I wanted.
I was such a coward, I waited almost a full week to have the talk with Caleb. Friday night after we’d watched a movie—Momma Joan working a nightshift—I went into his room to tuck him in.
Sitting up under the covers, he let me smooth pale strands of hair from his forehead. He didn’t even complain when I crowded next to him on the single bed.
“Mommy, Saint’s not coming around again, is he?”
“How’d you know?”
Looking down at his fingers, he squished his lips together. Then he admitted, “I was awake that night.”
“Oh, Caleb. I’m so sorry. Grandma and I thought you slept through everything.”
“Didn’t hear it all. Just Daddy shouting mostly. And I snuck a peek in the kitchen after.”
I hugged him to me, rubbing his back.
“Daddy sure beat him up pretty good.”
I wanted to tell him Saint gave as good as he got, but I wasn’t sure that was the type of message I really wanted to relay to my son.
“It’s ’cause of my dad Saint ain’t gonna hang out with us anymore?” His fine hair tickled my chin when he moved his head back to peer at me.
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“Adults always say that,” he said, sounding old beyond his years.
“I suppose we do, but only because we want to protect our kids.”
“So no more fishing.” He pouted sadly.
The simple way he distilled his disappointment to that one point caught my heart.
“I could take you fishing,” I offered.
Caleb shook his head. “You don’t pee standing up though.”
“What?” Reeling back, I wondered where the heck that had come from.
“Saint showed me how to pee against a tree. That was when I saw his lure.”
Ohhh. Of course. How could I have forgotten?
The things a good man could teach my son, Again just that simple thing . . . which clearly made Caleb feel like a man instead of a little boy. I had to smile even as more tears made my vision waver.
“You’re right, I can’t pee against a tree. Girl parts don’t work that way.”
“I know.” Caleb rolled his eyes and moved to lay down as if I’d been dismissed, yet I was reluctant to leave.
“Imma miss him.” Voice sounding a bit quivery, Caleb’s pout turned into a plaintive downward curve of his mouth.
“I’m sorry, honey.” I kissed him on the cheek, wondering how I’d ever make it up to him. “I’ll miss him too.”
Our little heart-to-heart left me feeling guilty as hell.
With the overwhelming guilt and emptiness, I couldn’t escape the sensation that I was being shadowed, followed, every time I went out.
Midway through the next week, I was sure someone was tailing me. I thought it was Reggie, although that was a stretch. Subtlety wasn’t exactly in his bag of tricks. Maybe he had one of the other Death Dealers keeping tabs on me, but to what purpose I didn’t know.
I was still waiting for the other shoe to drop with him. Watching Reggie and Saint punch each other bloody and sling insults, I knew it was just a matter of time.
That day, when I just knew someone was tailing me, I pocketed my money and packed up my accordion. Strolling down the street like I didn’t have a care in the world, I made a sudden turn down an alleyway and booked it to the other end. At the next thoroughfare, I quickly hauled ass into a deep alcove in front of a door and waited.
Moments later, a long dark shadow faltered on the sidewalk, and I pressed even farther back into the blackness.
“Honoré, I know when I’ve been made.” The low voice held a tinge of amusement, and then my stalker appeared in the bright sunlight beyond my hiding place.
It wasn’t Reggie or one of his cronies who’d been skulking around, but the dark-haired, hard-faced Blood Legion member Revenge.
“You?” I pressed my hand against my chest because I really had thought it would be one of the Death Dealers.
“Sorry.” He shrugged. “Wasn’t giving off a creeper vibe, was I?”
Relief swarmed through me and, for the first time since I’d told Saint goodbye, I almost laughed.
“Um. Not exactly a creeper vibe, but I knew someone was watching me, Revenge.”
“How’s about I carry this for you”—he tugged on the strap of the accordion—“and take you for a coffee or a shot or somethin’?”
I checked my watch. I still had an hour ’til Caleb got out of school and nothing to lose by accompanying the man.
Besides, with Revenge I felt somehow closer to Saint after a week and a half of missing the man.
At the nearest food stall, he bought me an iced coffee and lit a cigarette.
I sipped the cool drink, standing in the shade of an umbrella as the man with the mysterious gray eyes blew smoke rings in perfect formation.
“I take it Saint assigned you to babysitting duty?”
“Yup.” He tipped ashes off the end of his cigarette.
“So you know.”
“About Ripper.” Nodding, he squinted at the burning tip of his smoke. “Quite some love triangle you got going on there.”
His words took me aback, but then I blurted, “What would you know about love triangles?”
“I read porn when I jerk off.” He made the obvious fisting motion with his hand.
My eyes widened, and a laugh left my lips before I could stop it.
Apparently nothing was TMI with Revenge.
“Do you mean romance books?”
“Sure. Excellent whacking-it material.” Winking at me, he stubbed out the smoke before settling his sunglasses over his crinkling eyes.
The disparity made me giggle. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. A biker who read smutty books?
I guessed stranger things had happened.
“Saint’s real cut up about you, Honoré.” His sudden change of subject knocked the wind right out of me.
“Me too,” I whispered.
“He wants to make sure nothing ever happens to you or Caleb. Not if he can help it, one way or the other.”
I nodded.
“He feels responsible. And I’m guessin’ he’d give anything to be the one standing here with you in my place.”
“I know.” Blowing out a slow breath, I blinked up at the umbrella above. “It’s just too complicated.”
“Yeah. It usually is.”
Revenge didn’t sound like he was pissed for his buddy, or like he was accusing me.
He sounded . . . resigned.
Like I was.
“I’ve got to pick up Caleb now. I’m assuming you won’t be far behind.” Now that I knew it was Revenge keeping an eye on me, I was touched.
Grateful even.
After handing my accordion back over, he gave me the thumbs up.