Cursed Encounter (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker & Mobster #24)

Prologue

Donovan

The city’s lights at night dance off the speckles of raindrops dotting the window as the car moves through the downtown streets.

Louisiana is my home. Dark Grove is my city.

It’s nights like tonight, with the rain and the false sense of a sleepy calm shrouding everything, when I feel most connected to her, driving around her loneliest hours when she’s not at her best. I’m going to take care of the things she doesn’t have the strength to deal with, and I’m going to make sure she knows who she belongs to.

I might have been handed an empire when my father died, but I’ve worked my ass off to make it mine. This city’s darkest corners and most shameful secrets belong to me.

I’m not driving tonight. Normally, I’d be the one behind the wheel because I hate being chauffeured around like a fucking rich bitch asshole. I also refuse to hide my face, which is something my second likes to protest when given the chance.

I look over at the man himself sitting behind the wheel.

Torrin raises a brow at me, but doesn’t take his eyes off the path in front of us.

I’m irritated and not in the mood to go deal with this bullshit.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to voice just that, but then I catch sight of the smirk playing on his lips.

“Stop pouting,” he says, causing me to glare at him.

“I’m not pouting,” I shoot back, the scowl feeling permanently etched into my face as I turn my attention to the windshield.

“Just because you’re playing right into his hand by going to him doesn’t mean you’re losing your power.”

My scowl deepens.

Sure feels that way. Not only that, but I’m just plain pissed the hell off that he’s making me do this.

“I should just kill him,” I say, meaning it, even knowing there would be grave consequences if I could manage to do it.

“The city would turn against you.” He pauses. “Well, half of the city. Me, personally? I’d like to see him rotting in the ground.”

“So you wouldn’t try to stop me if I attempted to kill him?” I ask with a smirk.

“I didn’t say I wanted him to be dead when he was buried.”

I roll my eyes. He’s a little fucked up, same as me. We fucking get each other.

Which is one of the many reasons why Torrin makes a good second. I trust him with my life.

“But you can’t kill him,” he reminds me, the smile sliding off his face. “Forget the fact that you can’t, the city needs him. And as much as you hate to hear it, you need him too.”

“Do I?” I push back into the seat as I watch the blips of lights in an otherwise sleeping city go by.

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. He simply lets me stew with these feelings.

“We’re here,” he announces as if I can’t see the car is currently parked outside The Lacey, the eight-story brick hotel which houses my less-than-legal casino on the underground level.

“I can’t believe the fucker had the balls to show up here,” I mutter with full bite in my tone as I step out of the car. The rain comes down in big, fat drops, soaking the shoulders of my coat in no time. The mid-October weather isn’t exactly cold, but there is a slight chill in the air tonight.

Torrin is right by my side as I step up on the curb.

One of the front door porters rushes over with an open umbrella.

I shoot the kid a look as if to silently tell him I find this absolutely ridiculous.

A little rain won’t kill me. Not that it matters since his gaze is fixed on the ground as he walks with us.

“Did you come up with a plan?” Torrin asks as the two suited doormen grab the huge brass handles and pull both of the thick glass doors open for us.

As we leave the umbrella-wielding porter behind, I send a quick nod to the doorman on the left, though he doesn’t dare look at me.

“Sure,” I tell Torrin with a shrug and a smirk, both of us stepping inside at the same time. “Don’t kill him.”

Everyone knows I’m there, yet no one acts like it. The energy always changes whenever I walk into a room. I don’t completely hate it. I’ve spent years building up my reputation and ruling this city, and this is part of being an underbelly boss.

I head down the stairs. They’re obnoxiously lined with plush red carpet, and the railings are shiny brass.

It’s a throwback to earlier days. To when the first Boss moved into the city and decided this was the right place for him.

An era I never knew, but through places like this, my heart feels familiar with.

We pass four bouncers, dressed in black suits.

I slip off my damp coat, handing it to one of them as we pass, revealing my own black suit, only mine is silkier and tailored.

I don’t even bother buttoning up my suit jacket.

The second doorway dumps us into the casino’s main room.

I cut through, veering to the left, ignoring the huge bar which takes up half the wall, even though I suddenly find myself so desperately thirsty for two fingers of top-shelf bourbon.

A grunt of disappointment leaves me, or maybe it’s more of a frustrated one.

Either way, telling myself I’ll get a whole fucking bottle the moment this is over does nothing to wash away my sour mood.

The next member of my security team raises a knowing brow at me as I near the door in the back corner.

I swear I can even feel a smirk hidden below Lion’s masked expression.

He’s all stone and angry, furrowed brow.

His shoulders are so wide that they would make anyone think twice before messing with him.

I’m just glad he’s one of mine, and that I keep my people happy enough to stay on my side.

Lion pulls the handle of the door, turning to the side and holding it open for Torrin and me.

I hear the hard pat of Torrin’s hand against the bigger man’s shoulder.

A greeting I no longer feel I’m allowed to do.

Otherwise, people might think I’ve come to care about someone too much.

It’s dangerous when you have enemies. Dangerous when those enemies think you have weaknesses.

I might be a monster, but none of my people are expendable to me.

I do see the value in the lives around me, even the ones I’ve ended by my own hands.

There he sits, one hand holding his fanned-out cards, the other lazily spinning the crystal glass holding the very bourbon I wish I were drinking.

He looks up like he is expecting me, and it sets me over the edge.

But I’m nothing if not a master of my emotions.

I smirk as I take a seat, keeping my eyes on him the entire time.

The table empties pretty quickly. Even the dealer goes scurrying away once I give her a nod of my chin.

“Mr. Aubert,” I say calmly, though all I can think about is how much I want to punch him in his bloated face.

I want to stab him through that silk pocket square and slash his throat.

I want to see him bleed out all over his tacky suit he probably paid way too much for.

I want to smirk down at his pathetic form as the life drains from his eyes.

“I think you’ve unwisely walked into the wrong establishment.

I would hate to think you are here, in my house, attempting to gamble when you owe me so much money already. ”

We are two sharks circling each other. I can’t kill him, and he can’t get to me to kill me.

“I’m afraid if I pay you, it would be like admitting an illegal place such as this exists,” he says as if he has me caught in his web.

I’ll only let him think he has the upper hand.

I didn’t get where I am by being quick to anger.

I won’t let him get to me. “It’s all for fun if no money is gained or lost. Am I right?

I would hate to see this lovely establishment shut down. ”

I grind my teeth. He sets his pudgy fingers on my clean table, and I’m itching to reach for my knife. With one good hack, there would be four sausage digits limply decorating the table. Then I’d take that gaudy fucking pinky ring and shove it down his throat until he chokes on it.

Greely Aubert might not run the city, but he is the master behind each puppet.

He owns half the buildings in the city and too many businesses to count.

He has people in his pocket I wish I had in mine.

Like Mayor DuPont and the chief of police.

Why he keeps raising the gun but never pulling the trigger is beyond me.

But I will say, the threats have long gotten old.

“I hope we have an understanding.” His smug smile causes my lip to twitch with a sneer.

I could just pull my gun and shoot him between the eyes.

Won’t be as exciting as making him die slowly, but it would get it done and over with faster.

I do carry for those moments when I just don’t give enough shits to pull out my knife.

I’m starting to think he’s already taken enough from me, and a quick death would be as if I’m spitting on him.

I grin at the thought.

It could all be over in a snap.

But he has protection from the city’s biggest players, and something more powerful beyond that. So, I keep my hands where they are and my gaze deadlocked onto him.

“I haven’t received your RSVP for my annual masquerade ball,” he says with a cocky air that would make most people think he doesn’t really give a shit. But I know better.

I don’t answer, and as the silent seconds tick on, the skin around his eyes becomes tight despite the calm he’s trying to exude.

I know I’ve gotten under his skin. His party is under a week away, and even if I felt the need to play nice, it feels like it would be too late to even drop my RSVP in the mail at this point.

He knows I’ll be there whether I respond or not. But what I find interesting is the fact that he felt the need to come down here and make such a show of taunting me. He’s never once done this before in all the years he’s held his fucking parties. So, why now?

I can’t help but wonder if there’s more to it, but I won’t let it show.

The smirk feels pinned in place on my face as I stare him down. This is my game and I always win it.

A commotion bubbles up behind me, stealing my attention.

I turn in time to see the head of security for the casino stagger on his feet.

Sonny’s chin is wet as if water dribbled out of his mouth.

My eyes lock on the bottle of water as it slips from his grasp.

It sounds like a gunshot as it hits the bar top before tumbling to the ground, water splashing out.

His eyes are haunting as they meet mine from across the room.

I’m on my feet. The room feels far too big as I rush to him.

Something’s wrong, but I have no clue what.

I don’t see blood anywhere. He’s fit and healthy, though I know that doesn’t always mean you can rule out a heart attack or stroke.

I can’t explain it, but there’s a twist in my gut saying it’s not natural.

The scene erupts in chaos as Sonny falls to the ground. His eyes roll into the back of his head just as I drop to my knees beside him.

I call his name, but he doesn’t respond.

Torrin’s on the phone behind me. He’s yelling at them to hurry. I can only assume he’s called for an ambulance.

My fingers are on Sonny’s neck, and I breathe a little sigh of relief when I feel a pulse. It’s faint, but it’s there. His chest is slowly rising and falling, too.

His body starts to convulse and I don’t think we have time to wait for a fucking ambulance to get here.

I look around for… something. I’m honestly not sure. Crystal is behind the bar, her eyes are wide, and she’s still clinging to the bottle of tequila she must have been using to make a drink.

“What happened?!” I bark, though I’m not angry at her.

“I don’t know. He was talking and then he took a sip of water,” she tells me. By the tears collecting in her eyes and the way her face has gone colorless, it’s easy enough to tell she’s shaken.

My eyes lock onto the spilled bottle three feet away.

I lean over and smell the wet carpet. A sticky-sweet scent hits me first, followed by something acidic.

There was something in the water. Poison.

“Charcoal,” I tell Torrin, and he runs off. Time is ticking. It might already be too late.

Torrin comes back with a bag of black powder.

I jump up and snatch the bottle of tequila out of Crystal’s hand.

I pull the pour spout out, dropping to the ground as Torrin attempts to dump the charcoal powder into the bottle.

Half of it goes doesn’t make it into the small hole, and now my hand is covered with it.

I don’t know if this is going to work, but I seal it with my thumb and shake it frantically.

I don’t bother with another spout tip. Torrin holds Sonny’s mouth open as I pour the liquid straight into his throat.

His body is still functioning enough to swallow it down, thank fuck.

A couple of paramedics rush in.

My gaze goes to the table I’d been sitting at.

It’s now completely empty.

Greely Aubert is gone.

I can’t help but think he had something to do with this, but I can’t prove it.

Then again, he’s a slimy fucker, so I wouldn’t put it past him to simply use the distraction to slip away after he made his point.

Which means I might have another enemy out there.

One stupid enough to come after my people, but also smart enough to get within striking distance.

What a fucking disaster this night has turned out to be.