Not. Possible.
Blinking, I spin around in the middle of the street, then rush toward the window to get a better look.
It can’t be him. Not now. Not after all this time. That’d be like conjuring a damned ghost.
A small crowd of tourists blocks me as they gather around three boys drumming on five-gallon buckets, but I sidestep them to stare through the glass. Those haunting eyes I thought I saw? They’re gone. And the seat where I thought I saw them? Empty. Again.
It’s not the first time I’ve thought I saw the man those eyes belong to, but I’m always wrong.
He isn’t coming back for you, and he never was. You’ve had fifteen years to get that through your damn head.
You’d think I’d learn. But old habits die hard, especially my habit of looking for him in every face I see.
“Change is coming.” Madame Celeste’s words filter through my head as I stand on the sidewalk, staring at people eating brunch in the restaurant.
The scent of rich spices waft around me, and I swear I hear his voice.
“Some things don’t happen twice in a lifetime, Magnolia. You’re one of them.”
Those words are from the past.
Fifteen years ago, I let myself forget who and what I was, and I made the ultimate mistake.
I fell in love.
Then he left and never came back. My heart has been black ever since.
Maybe Celeste is right. Maybe the devil is coming for me. Too bad it won’t be the one I still think about in my weakest moments.
Two
Magnolia
“I’m here for an appointment,” I tell the bartender as I check my watch. I’m still five minutes early, thank the good Lord.
The woman looks into the mirror hanging behind the bar and meets my gaze. With a tilt of her head, she motions for me to move toward the back of the room. A man approximately the size of a hundred-year-old sycamore stands between the scarred bar and a small doorway that leads into the office.
My pumps click on the concrete floor as I walk toward him.
“Appointment,” is all I say in greeting to the man.
He gestures with his massive head and turns around. With his bulky frame, he has to turn sideways slightly to fit through the doorway. He pushes open the first door on the right, which leads into what looks like the manager’s office, but I know better.
This ain’t my first go-round.
Honestly, it kind of grates on me that I have to go through this whole song and dance to meet with the king of this city when I’ve been to his goddamned house so many times to see Keira. But this is Mount’s way of reminding me that my friendship with her doesn’t always give me special privileges. I’d call him an asshole, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he could read my mind from here.
Mount is fucking scary. And yes, I knew that before they got together. But like I told Celeste, everything works out in the end. Right? A web of guilt winds its way around me for the choices I made that changed Keira’s life. I may never shake that off completely.
Once inside the office, I pause while Señor Sycamore pats me down. “Gun and knife are in my purse,” I tell him, holding the bag out in front of me.
He nods as he takes it and sets it on the desk. “It’ll be here when he’s done with you.”
“You can keep the gun and knife, but I’d like my bag back.”
Señor Sycamore shakes his head. “You don’t need it.”
I roll my eyes before I can think better of it. That’s when the bookcase slides to the side, revealing a set of dimly lit stairs.
When I don’t move immediately, he points a thick, branch-like index finger at it. “Don’t keep him waiting.”
“I’m going. I’m going.” I shoot him a final glance before walking through the previously hidden doorway. I used to think this shit was cool, but now it’s tedious.
When I’m halfway up the stairs, the bookcase slides shut, leaving me alone in pools of light coming from the sconces on the wood-paneled walls.
No escort? That’s new.
Then again, what concern would Mount have about me doing a damn thing to cause trouble? He knows where my loyalty lies.
I reach the top of the stairs and study the row of doors along the side.
“Now where’s he at?” I mumble as I keep walking.
Mount changes it up, and I don’t know if he’s behind door number one, two, or three.
Before I have to guess and start trying knobs, the one at the very end of the hall opens and the tall, dark, and dangerous man I’ve come here to meet stands there in a suit.
“I appreciate you coming.”
I smile in response, rather than saying what I’m thinking. Like I had any choice after I got the summons.
When Mount waves his arm into the room, I stride forward and enter his infamous library. As soon as he shuts the door behind us, the room practically vibrates with the waves of power rolling off the man.
From past experience, I recall the big fireplace in the middle of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves spins around, leading to a maze of hallways that eventually connects to Mount and Keira’s private apartments, but I have a feeling that’s not where we’re going.
Confirming my suspicion, Mount motions toward one of the leather chairs. “Sit. We need to talk.”
“Yes, sir.” My show of respect doesn’t come from a place of fear, but it’s real all the same. I owe this man a lot for what he’s done for me.
While I’m settling into the seat, he crosses to the sideboard and pours amber liquor into two glasses without asking me what I want. It’s fine, because I know he’s got whatever top-shelf Seven Sinners whiskey Keira has sampled lately.
Mount returns to the chairs and sits in the one beside mine before offering me the drink. I take it, hoping it’s a good sign that he didn’t drag me through the corridors to his other office—the Spartan one where the most serious business goes down.
“Thank you.”
I’m dying to ask why he summoned me here, but Mount swirls his whiskey in his glass before taking a sip.
“You’re welcome,” he says as he crosses an ankle over his knee. A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I’ll bet he’s thinking of Keira as he swallows.
I’ve never seen a woman have such an effect on a man. That’s why I risked so much on them being perfect for each other. And I was right. Then again, I’m rarely wrong when it comes to things like that.
At least, with respect to other people. I have absolutely no sense when it comes to men for myself. Never have. Probably never will.
I’m thinking my favorite thought—that I should swear them off completely—when Mount finally speaks again.
“You’ve got trouble.”
My mind tears away from my ruminations, and I turn to stare at him. “What kind of trouble?”
“The Feds are surveilling the house.”
I set my whiskey on the table between us and shift in my seat to face him. We both know I don’t technically own the house he’s talking about anymore, but I still consider the women living in it to be my responsibility. “Well, fuck. Why?”
“Alberto Brandon.”
I flip through my mental black book until a face and a bio come to mind. “Fifties. Prefers young blondes over his wife. Likes being called Daddy. Always flashed a lot of cash. Why are the Feds looking into him?”