“Cash?”
“Yo.” The guy materialized out of the crowd at the sound of his name, approaching the table and pulling out a third chair before sitting down. “I’m here.” He was running a hand through his dark hair and scratching his beard like he’d just got out of bed. Maybe he had.
And considering what he had waiting for him at home just through the courtyard out the back of the bar, Blue didn’t blame him.
“Not keeping you up, are we?” Ajax asked, eyeing Cash.
The other man lifted a shoulder and gave him a grin that could only be described as smug. “Five minutes, man. That’s all I can spare. Don’t want to keep a lady waiting, right?”
Christ. The sappy look on the dude’s face was sickening. “All right, keep your dick in your pants,” Blue said. “This isn’t going to take long.”
“No.” Ajax sat forward, elbows on his knees. “In fact it’s real simple. We know Priest was murdered and we have record of a payment made by Blade for a shitload of laundry the day after Priest died. Seems like an easy equation to me. We take Blade and the motherfucker who carried out the hit down.”
“Sounds good to me.” Blue picked up the beer sitting on the table and took a sip. “Actually, I’d be happy to take on that responsibility.” Truth be told, he couldn’t wait. Blade was the Ministry’s president, a nasty fuck who’d been eyeing Deacon territory for a long time, and Cash had found evidence the guy had paid for a hit on Priest.
With ten years of anger building in his gut, Blue was ready to unleash hell.
Cash rubbed his chin. “Yeah, but exactly how are you going to do that when there’s a whole bunch of them and not many of us?”
Cash had a point. The Deacons weren’t at full strength. Christ, they weren’t even at half strength. And as much as it galled, they had to be careful. There were only four of them and until they managed to call the rest home, treading lightly made logical sense.
“Good fucking question.” Ajax’s gaze settled on him. “We need to figure out how many of them there are, their arsenal, that kind of shit. You have contacts, Blue. What do you know about where the Ministry’s at these days?”
Yeah, he had contacts. People who’d been sending him information about what was happening in the city since he and the others had shipped out. And none of that information had been good. “I know that there were some traitors who shifted allegiance after Katrina. Ministry took them in, no questions asked. Pricks. Ministry’s been wanting in on Deacon territory for years, so it’s not that big a surprise.”
“Maybe they’ll be willing to tell us. Get some insider info. And if they’re not willing, we can apply some leverage if need be.” Ajax’s blue eyes narrowed. “You still remember how to do that, right?”
Like he’d ever forgotten. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Then I say we do it,” Cash said, surprising Blue for a moment since the guy had been dead set against any kind of revenge a week or so ago. “We need to take them down.”
Ajax gave only a short nod. “Okay, but we need to plan this right. I’m getting what brothers I can find together, plus I’ve got some merc buddies that owe me favors, but I want more Ministry intel.” He glanced at Blue. “Let me know when you find something.”
The other two didn’t stick around for beers and small talk, both of them taking off pretty much straight away, leaving Blue to his own devices. Which suited him just fine since the redhead by the bar was still there.
The Ministry could wait for the night. He had a private welcome-home party to organize.
Pushing back his chair, he got to his feet and stalked over to the bar. As he got closer, he heard her laugh, a husky sound that moved over his skin like the sensual heat of a Louisiana night. And he felt the reaction, a deep, visceral pull.
You left it too long.
Yeah, he had. But he’d make up for all those long, lonely years with her. She was his coming-home present to himself. And what a fucking gift she was.
There was a guy standing next to her, but one look at Blue and he backed away quickly, leaving him some room at the bar beside her. Blue didn’t acknowledge the man—he was a Deacon, and this was his damn place. Instead he leaned his hip against the bar and folded his arms. The woman had her head turned away, not noticing him yet.
Fuck, that hair. Russet red, like leaves in the fall. He wanted to touch it. “Hey beautiful,” he said, pitching his voice low to cut through the noise of the bar around them. “Can I buy you a drink?”
—
Alice hadn’t heard that voice in ten years but still, she’d know it anywhere. Deep, rough. Dark. Like the special black beer in her glass, the one that had an alcoholic kick to it like a mule.
Leon.
For a second that was all she could hear. Then shock coursed through her like a bucket of icy water dumped over her head and she whipped her head around.
There was a man standing next to her, tall enough that she had to tilt her head back really far to look at him. His muscular arms were crossed over the hard wall of his chest, the tanned skin etched with ink. Familiar tattoos. Familiar broad shoulders.
Oh God. It was him, wasn’t it?
She made herself look up farther, to his face. And, yes, familiar face, too.
It was fucking Leon.
Straight dark brows. High cheekbones. The same wide mouth that she’d imagined kissing more than once back when she’d been sixteen and in the throes of her hopeless crush on him. Same nose, the one that looked like it had been broken several times and yet did nothing to detract from his beauty. Because however he might have scorned the description, Leon Delacroix had always been beautiful.
His eyes were dark brown, and she’d used to find it fascinating how dark they were in comparison to his hair, a rich, heavy gold.
Now, though, that hair had been cut ruthlessly short and those eyes were widening in shock as recognition hit him too.
“Alice?” he said in disbelief. “Fucking hell, is that you?”
She blinked, taking him in, struggling to get a hold on the sudden, wild burst of anger that had followed hard on the heels of the shock.
He’d left ten years ago without a goodbye, without even a backward glance. And she’d never heard from him since. Not an email, not a phone call, not a text. It was like he’d dropped off the face of the planet.
She’d been so angry at the time, so hurt. No, she wasn’t his girlfriend, but she’d known him since she was fourteen years old and she’d thought that should have meant something to him. But then her father had died and things had gotten tough, and she’d had to put aside that anger and focus on what really mattered. The motorcycle shop that had once been her father’s. That was now hers.
Getting a grip, she swallowed back the anger and the rush of words that threatened to spill out. Trying for cool and tough, her usual modus operandi when it came to massive, tattooed guys who wanted something from her. “Yeah, it’s me,” she said and gave him a slow once-over, keeping a sneer on her face. “Hey Leon, haven’t seen you for a long time. Years even.”
He was still looking at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes. “It is you. Christ…What happened to you, kid? You look…” He stopped suddenly, his mouth hardening, dark brows arrowing down. “Should you be wearing jeans like that?”
Oh for God’s sake. Even ten years ago he’d been like a protective older brother. She was so over that shit now. “Hmmm. Interesting. Not ‘Hi Alice, how are you?’ Or ‘I’m sorry for leaving without telling you.’ Even an ‘I meant to say goodbye’ would be nice. But no, all I get is a ‘Should you be wearing jeans like that’?” She picked up her beer and took a healthy swallow. “Such a fucking gentleman. But then why expect anything different? It’s only been ten years after all.”