I lick my lips. “You want me that bad, Moby?”
He inhales sharply when I call him that old nickname, and then bites his bottom lip as if holding back from sinking his teeth into mine.
Good. He isn’t immune to me either. The scales have leveled out.
“Guess you shouldn’t have left and never come back. My bed hasn’t been empty in fifteen fucking years. You gonna kill them all?” It’s not entirely true, but if I get into heaven, it’ll be on the wings of white lies anyway.
“Only the ones who touch you now. You’re mine, Magnolia. You’d best start getting used to the idea, because I ain’t the kind of man who shares his woman.”
If I thought my emotions were chaotic before, now they’re a full-blown, tear-gassed city riot. I have to get away from him before that possessive attitude, which from anyone else would provoke me into violence, turns me on more than I can ever remember.
“No man owns me.” I’m proud my voice is steady.
“I don’t want to own you, mama.”
My nipples harden further, loving the way he talks to me, even as I try to remain immune.
Then he continues. “That ain’t why I’m here.” His narrowed eyes glitter like polished emerald and topaz.
“Then why?”
“I want you to own me.”
My heart slams into my chest at the sentiment beneath his declaration.
An unwelcome voice comes from behind Moses.
“Is there a problem here?”
I look around one of his broad shoulders to see a uniformed Louisiana state trooper standing a few feet away, no doubt stationed on Bourbon Street for the night to watch over the revelers.
Moses doesn’t miss a beat. He curls one arm around my waist, and together we turn to face the cop. “No problem at all, sir. We were just debating dessert.”
The cop takes in Moses’s suit and my dress, and huffs good-naturedly. “Café Beignet is just up the street. Might try there if Arnaud’s dessert menu wasn’t to your taste.”
“Thank you, sir. But I think the lady has something else in mind.”
He dips his chin at us and chuckles knowingly. “Have yourselves a nice evening then.”
“You too, sir.”
The trooper nods, and then his eyes widen as a Rolls Royce crawls through the intersection to slow right in front of the restaurant. The same goddamned Rolls Royce I saw when I was leaving Mount’s.
“After you,” Moses says, opening the door.
“I’m only getting in this car if you tell me why the hell you went to Mount before coming to me.”
Moses smiles, his eyes gleaming. “Deal. Now, get your fine ass in the car, woman.”
I slide across the leather into the seat behind the driver. I swear, it smells just as good as I imagined a Rolls would, not that I ever figured I’d know for sure.
As soon as Moses closes the door with us both inside, I blurt out, “How the hell can you afford a Rolls Royce? How fucking rich are you?”
He leans forward to tap the driver’s seat. “Privacy please, Jules.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
The divider between the front and rear seats rises, and we’re the most alone we’ve been all night.
I stare at the man in the seat next to me. “What the hell have you been doing since you left town, Moses?”
“Which question do you want an answer to first? Because some are going to take longer than others.” He shifts in the seat and crosses an ankle over his knee.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to sputter out all of them, but I decide to go with the one most relevant. “Explain the car. Is it yours?”
Pride lifts his face an inch or two. “Bought it up in New York City, which is where I was before I came here. I had a . . .” He pauses to run his tongue along his white teeth. “Had a run of good luck up there. I made a good bet, and it turned into a windfall, you could say.”
“That doesn’t tell me shit, and you know it. This car may be gangster as fuck, but you sure couldn’t buy it with money from running a crew of thugs like you did in Biloxi.” Back in the day, he said he drove an old blue Cutlass Supreme SS. I thought he’d look fine as hell in that too, not that I got to ever see it in person.
“No. You’re right about that,” Moses replies, leaning back against the plush leather seat. “I haven’t been a gangster in a long time. Kingpin was my goal, if you remember.”
How could I forget it was more important to him than I was? Right now, that’s neither here nor there.
For shits and grins, I ask, “Then what the hell are you now?”
That damn smile is back. “Remember when I told you that the guy who came at you was a ghost?”
“Yeah,” I bite out.
“That’s my business. Except . . . I’m the one who turns them into ghosts.”
Twenty-Four
Moses
“What does that mean?” Magnolia’s long, dark lashes flutter as she blinks in confusion.
I didn’t expect her to understand. Most people wouldn’t, not that I’ve had many occasions to explain what I do before. People come to me through discreetly placed referrals, and they already understand the big picture.
“If someone wants a new life or needs to disappear so well that no one ever looks for them, if they know the right people, they get connected to me. My team and I make it happen . . . or at least look like it happened.”
Her eyes are as wide and round as I’ve ever seen them. It’s good to see something can still shock her.
“What in the hell? And it pays this well?”
That I answer with a shrug. “I’m good at what I do. Call it a niche market. And I know how to turn money into even more money. To answer your other question, I’m rich as fuck, Mags.” I give her a wink before I correct myself. “No. Actually, I’m richer than fuck now.”
She blinks a few more times before facing forward silently, her head barely shaking back and forth. “Jesus Christ. You were going back to Biloxi when you left me . . . but you didn’t. You just disappeared.” Her head whips back in my direction. “You became a goddamned ghost.”
I had no idea she’d looked for me. But the new, unexpected knowledge unleashes a surge of something deep within me. Hope, mixed with triumph. Fuck yes.
“You’re right. I didn’t go back to Biloxi. I got caught up in some shit leaving town. Turned into an opportunity I didn’t expect.”
Instead of prodding me more about that, she snaps out her next question. “What did you talk to Mount about?”
I know it’s my chance to let everything out, put all my cards on the table, but it’s the first time in so long that we’re talking again, and I don’t want to spoil it. So instead, I’m vague. “To settle a matter and declare my intentions.”
“What intentions?” she asks, a guarded look crossing her face.
I lean back against the seat and stretch one arm across the back. “My intentions with regard to one Ms. Magnolia Marie Maison.”
Her jaw slackens, letting her lower lip drop again before she catches herself. “What the fuck does that mean? And explain it to me like I’m a toddler. No more riddles.”