It’s not much, but it’s what I call home these days.
I toss my key in a bowl on the dining room table and change into sweats. I wrinkle my nose. I should start looking for jobs immediately.
But I don’t. Instead, I lie down on my bed, pulling my sleek black cell phone off the rickety bedside table. I want to talk to someone.
Maybe see a friendly face. My brother is one of two people who has this new prepaid cell phone’s number. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not any of my friends from my partying days.
And if I’m not mistaken, Lawrence will just be getting off his shift bartending on Bourbon street about now. I send him a text — hey. how are things?
But I wait for ten minutes with no real answer.
I look at the screen and a notification pops up. It’s from Etienne, the other person who has my number.
Degas. Title is In A Café. $5000. Interested?
I stare at the screen, nibbling on my lower lip. Etienne is someone who I used to know in my old life.
Someone who I forged paintings and wine labels for, before I was almost murdered by my insane fiancé. Before I fled, leaving behind questions surrounding the death of my best friend and my sudden disappearance.
Etienne feeds me little bits of work, here and there. He keeps the lights on in my tiny house, if I’m honest about it.
Pursing my lips, I type out a reply.
$7500. You source appropriately-aged oil paints.
Putting the phone on my chest, I sigh. I close my eyes, drifting off into a fitful sleep, all the lights on in my apartment.
Chapter Three
Hades
In the short walk from the air conditioned sedan up the block towards the bar, I feel the intense heat of the New Orleans sun beating down on me. Eros is right on my heels, taking off his jacket as we walk down the street.
“It’s hotter here than fucking Turkmenistan,” Eros mutters. “Who the fuck wants to live in this heat?”
“It’s something about being on the water,” Ares chimes in. “It’s stifling everything.”
“Turkmenistan is on the water too, ye daft idiot.”
Ares growls at him. “Fuck ye. I’ll fight ye.”
Making it to the doorway, I pause and look back at both of them. “Shut the fuck up. We are about to enter this bar, on good authority that it’s where Constantine likes to hang out. So, get yer shit together and do what yer supposed to do. At least try to appear both silent and intimidating.”
At my sharp words, both of my brothers straighten their spines. Ares sneers and plays with his tie clip. Eros grimaces and flexes his hands.
“Aye,” they say as one.
I run my hand down my suit jacket and turn to pull the heavy metal door open. Outside didn’t look like much. Inside the bar is the opposite, though.
An immediate gust of air conditioning hits me as I walk in, looking around at the dark bar. Everything about this place is sleek and chic, from the black walls to the elegantly and minimally designed back wall of the bar. Bottles seem to float in the air, the ledges of floating shelves stacked all the way up the wall. There are a few tables and booths to my right. To my left is a glass door that leads to a neatly maintained patio space.
My gaze locks onto a familiar looking figure standing with his back turned to us. Blond hair. A white button up. Slim fitting jeans. Those god awful red snakeskin boots.
Constantine turns his head, showing the briefest flash of surprise. Then he gives a big, toothy grin, one of his front teeth glinting faintly silver.
In the back of my head, Constantine is superimposed over that of Rory Lyon, the first of many bullies I’ve come to know in my life. By contrast, Constantine looks puny, but my fists still tighten as I stalk over to him.
I hear my father’s voice echoing silkily through my mind. He knows just how worthless ye are, boy.
My posture stiffens and I’m ready to take a swing at Constantine, even though he hasn’t said a fucking word to me yet. Eros steps beside me when I plant my feet and glare at him.
“Constantine.”
Constantine flits his gaze over my brothers, smirking. “If it isn’t the Lyon family. Tell me, what brings the second best arms dealers in the world to my doorstep?”
His accent smacks of the old South. It makes every word out of his mouth sound dirty and disingenuous.
Ares lunges forward with a snarl. “Ye know why we’re here, Constantine. Ye fucked with our deal in Turkmenistan. Now we’re going to fuck with ye.”
I lift a hand, which in itself is enough to restrain my brother. Constantine leans on the bar, picking up his tumbler of clear liquid.
“I guess putting the word out that someone was trying to bring guns into the Turkmeni port really did throw a wrench into your plans.” He sips his drink and looks like a cat that ate the canary. “I’d say sorry, but how can I apologize for something that worked exactly as I intended? The Russian separatists came running straight to me, by the way. I sorted them out nicely with even an even bigger arms deal. So, thanks for playing into my plans so perfectly. Let me know when you have plans to do a big deal like that again.”
He laughs into his drink. I stare at him, completely cool on the outside. Inside though, I’m a seething morass of hatred.
“I thought ye might say that. So, I have had yer top five goons taken out of operations.” I cock my head to the side, giving him a calculating look. “Three Russians, one Jordanian, and one Saudi. It’s funny how willing people are to turn over the details on completely unlikable bastards.”
I catch the quickest glimpse of rage on Constantine's face before he catches it and covers his anger with a smooth mask. He glances behind him at two very attractive young women who are looking our way.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” He shrugs. “I’m just a lobbyist, working to support the second amendment of the United States of America. I realize that you’re not from around these parts but let me tell you something. Anything that helps my government and hurts your business is just a cherry on top of my already overflowing sundae.”
I step closer, using my imposing height to loom over Constantine. “My next deal is going to be the biggest arms deal ever done. It’ll launch my family into the stratosphere.” I reach out like I’m going to hit him, then slide the flower in his boutonniere over by an inch. “Ye’ll be back here, breaking yer back and trying to sell handguns while I’m on my yacht in the Black Sea, counting my money.”
Constantine smiles grimly. “You have made so many fucking enemies, Hades. You’ve double crossed and done wrong more people than I can count. I have a feeling that you and your idiotic brothers are living the last of your miserable days on this planet.”
Ares pulls his gun out, pointing it straight at Constantine. Constantine is just as quick, poking at my gut with his own weapon.
Ares looks like a man willing to burn the entire world to ash. “Go ahead.” He shows his teeth as he talks. “I fucking dare ye, ye daft eejit. Seriously, I need to work out all this aggression I’ve been feeling lately.”
Trust my brother to taunt the man with a gun on me just now. I step back slowly, pushing my cheek of with my tongue. “That’s not why we came, Ares. We were just here to tell Constantine in person to not fucking mess with our business. Right?”