Chapter 7 Brooks
Brooks
I bust through the doors of the ridiculous mansion, the files clutched to my chest and a thumb drive in my pocket.
That was easier than I expected it to be, and I take a moment to grin to myself.
After our little meeting in the garden, where Lucien tried to not only sweet talk me but also intimidate me–neither of which worked–I went into the house, showered and changed in the suite he gave me, and then went to find him in his office.
He’d promised me access to his network and contacts, and I didn’t want to wait.
If the timeline I have living rent-free in my head is right, Aislyn could only have three more days before she’s shipped to wherever they’re sending her.
If she’s been kidnapped by the sex traffickers Lucien is targeting.
And if they’ve brought her to New Orleans rather than sending her immediately to some other destination.
And if they’re using a generous timeline rather than one that rushes their cargo immediately to other ports.
I shiver at the word ‘cargo’–no human should be called that–and lengthen my strides, the files burning in my arms and the thumb drive nearly humming in my pocket.
The moment Lucien gave me access to his network, I jumped onto the computer he loaned me and started downloading everything I could find.
An automated search nailed down the files on the girls, and another gave me most of the research Lucien and his team have done.
I printed as much as I could in the short time I gave myself, combined it with the file Lucien gave me on the plane, and headed for the door, my phone in my hand.
I don’t have my laptop with me–that’s still in the beat-up apartment in Brooklyn–but I know someone who’ll bring me one. And I want to go through this information in a house that doesn’t hold Lucien Boudreaux and his double meanings.
The insinuations.
The annoying new habit of running his fingers over my lips while bending over to breathe me in like I’m some sort of fucking perfume.
I shudder again at that thought, and then at the memory of his lips brushing over my skin, and my body grows hot as the ghost of his touch travels over my neck again.
The chill moves up the column of my throat to the spot right behind my ear, then up into my hair, where it disappears, leaving an echo of Lucien on my skin.
Suddenly I want to go back to my suite and take another shower. Wash my hair and get rid of the ghost of his touch.
Because I can’t escape the feeling that every time he touches me, he’s somehow branding me. Putting a mark on me to tell everyone that I belong to him.
Which is stupid. I don’t belong to anyone.
Lucien might have owned a piece of me once, but that was a long time ago, and that’s where it’s going to stay.
I don’t believe in letting people keep me.
My mother gave my father that chance, and look how it turned out.
She had to run in the middle of the night to get away from his abuse and divorce him once she was safely in New York, so he didn’t blackmail her into staying.
I saw what it did to her, and I’m never going to make that sort of mistake.
I don’t have time to let Lucien get under my skin again, and I sure as hell don’t have time to stand around trading barbs full of double entendre with him.
No matter how much his presence feels like the electric filament I’ve been searching for my entire life.
He let me leave, I remind myself firmly. If he felt any of that electricity, he would have come to New York and searched for me after I ran from New Orleans.
The thought clears the emotion from my heart like it’s nothing more than mist, and I walk into the garden with my focus back on my mission.
If Aislyn is here and has three days left, that means I have three days to find her and get her out of whatever jam she’s in.
To do that, I have to know a lot more than I currently do.
Gods, I hope there’s something good in the files I stole from Lucien.
I type out a quick text to my chosen partner in crime for the day, stifling a smile when her response comes back, and then head for the garage.
Lucien gave in to me with relatively good grace, but put restrictions on my actions, saying I’m allowed access to anything in his house but am not to leave the grounds.
We’ll just see about that.
The garages come up suddenly on the other side of the driveway, and I slow a bit, my eyes roaming over the cavernous building.
I count four cars in there–all of them black, of course, and built for speed–but put those to the side.
Cars are Sloane’s thing. I’ve always considered them too big, too bulky, and too obvious.
I like to make a splash when the situation calls for it, but when you’re trying to escape your ex-boyfriend’s house without his permission, you need something a little more. ..
“Ah,” I breathe, my eyes finally landing on the smooth black curves of a street bike.
I turn for it, my skin buzzing with anticipation, but come up short when someone steps in my path.
I look up, eyes narrowed against the sun and cursing Lucien’s men.
Who the fuck saw me out here and decided to get in my way, and does he know I’m not supposed to be leaving?
“Where are you going, little lady? Surely you’re not heading for those cars when Lucien’s specifically said you’re not supposed to leave the house.”
Well, that answers that question. The men do know, and this one evidently decided to do something about it. I glance at his face, trying to figure out whether I know him, and realize that I do. I actually know him quite well.
“Well Luke Boudreaux,” I purr, placing a light hand on his chest and looking up through my lashes.
“The last time I saw you, you were what, sixteen? You’ve grown up.
” I let my eyes run down his body and back up, doing my best impression of a woman who likes what she sees.
It’s not hard. Lucien’s younger cousin was skinny and gangly when I knew him, but he’s gained muscle and height since then.
He’s got to be taller than Lucien, and that’s saying something.
He also got his mother’s movie star good looks, his hair tousled and blond and his eyes ice blue.
His features are so classically handsome that I do almost catch my breath.
On any other day, I would be fluttering my lashes and finding out whether he has a girlfriend–or plans for the night.
As it is, however, I’m pressed for time. And I want to get off this property before Lucien appears out of thin air. The man has a talent for doing just that, and I’d rather not take my chances.
Luke’s eyelids flutter as he looks down at my hand, though, and I let my fingers curl so my nails are scratching him a bit.
“You’ve grown up, too,” he said hoarsely. “It’s been a long time, Brooks.”
“Too long,” I murmur. “I didn’t realize you were working with Lucien. Moving up in the family? Got your sights on the leadership suite?”
He blushes prettily at that, his fair skin flushing at the implication that he might take over the family, and I run through what I know of the kid, wondering if he’s actually making a play.
He was so unformed when I knew him, though, that I can’t hazard a guess.
Still, he’s on Lucien’s property, and that means Lucien has chosen to bring him into his inner circle.
Given Lucien’s trust issues, that says a lot.
“Nothing like that,” he stutters. “Just working for Lucien.”
“Don’t be so humble,” I say quickly. I lean forward and drop my voice. “You and I both know that if he brought you to his personal home, it means he trusts you.”
Suddenly Luke grins, and I see that he’s not as gullible as he would have had me believe. There’s craftiness in that smile. A sly understanding of who and what he is, and what he’s worth to the family. I grin back, charmed.
“There’s the Boudreaux in you,” I whisper.
He might not look like Lucien or Gemini, but he’s got the craftiness the family is known for, and I put that in my mental notes in case I ever need it.
“What can I say?” he asks. “My mom taught me well.”
I tiptoe my fingers up his chest and run one along his jawline. “As she should.”
He blushes again and I nearly chuckle. He might be working for Lucien, but he’s still young and vulnerable to a pretty woman. Which plays right into my plans.
“Lucien told me to make sure you don’t leave,” he says suddenly, taking a step back. “Why are you out here?”
Ah. Show time. I shrug like what Lucien said means nothing to me.
“He might have told you that, but what he told me is that I can go visit my family while I’m here.
He said to borrow any car I want. Or bike.
” I turn big eyes up to him, forcing myself to look as innocent as possible. “He didn’t tell you that?”
Luke shakes his head quickly. “Nope.”
“Typical,” I snort. “Why don’t you go ask him for me? Remind him that I specifically want to see my brother, and he specifically promised that I could. And tell him I’ll never forgive him if he thinks he can keep me prisoner here when I want to see my family.”
Luke opens his mouth and closes it once, obviously torn.
“You don’t want to get in trouble, do you?” I ask quickly. “If you don’t let me go when he said I could, he’ll be furious.”
That does it, and Luke nods and mumbles something about there being nothing wrong with checking. Then he takes off for the house... and I sprint for the Ducati I’ve already spotted, praying that the keys are in the ignition or close to the bike.
Because I don’t think I have time to hot wire the thing right now.
***
I dump the files on the couch in the apartment, drop the thumb drive on top of them, and throw myself into my cousin’s arms, laughing.
“It’s been too long,” I say, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.
Camille chuckles into my ear, her long blond hair tickling my cheek. “I saw you last week, you goon.”