Chapter 23 Brooks
Brooks
I’m surprised when we don’t return to his mansion, and go instead to an apartment above an old jazz club in Tremé.
“Why are we here?” I ask, looking around the place. It’s well-appointed, done in rich leather and deep reds and greens, and looks like a place an old man would keep for the weekends. Lots of furniture and views of the city outside make my think that this is actually someone’s home.
Wait, is this someone else’s home?
Does Lucien keep another apartment in the city, for when he can’t make it home?
Camille told me that he went through a phase of dating every girl in the city, and suddenly I wonder if he keeps an apartment for his girls to sleep at.
Maybe he actually keeps a girl here and she’s about to come out of the bathroom or something.
Look, I’m not normally a jealous person, but the thought of him having a girl on the side makes me want to murder someone. I’ve spent days obsessing about where he was and whether he was dead, and it’s allowed something to grow inside me that I wasn’t expecting.
Something that feels a lot like possessiveness.
Of a man I can’t actually claim as my own.
I’ve barely finished the thought before Lucien comes in behind me, grabs me, and spins me to face him.
His arms go around my waist and yank me against his body, and he’s hotter than any human being should be.
He’s burning up, like someone lit him on fire before he entered the apartment, and the heat passes through me until I feel the fire licking through my veins, as well.
The flames rush into my face and then southward, where they pools between my legs, the surge of lust making me feel as though my bones are melting, my body becoming fluid in his arms like it’s trying to merge with his.
“Stop thinking this is an apartment I keep for other girls,” he whispers against my mouth.
“I wasn’t thinking that,” I say, though my voice is weak and unconvincing.
His eyes drop to my lips and a smile curves the corners of his mouth. “Yes you were. Your poker face isn’t as good as you think it is, Brooks Landry.”
“Stop calling me that,” I protest. “That’s not my name anymore.”
He kisses me slowly, like we have all the time in the world and he’s going to savor me for hours.
His lips are soft and insistent, but so gentle I feel as if I could cry, and I open up beneath him like a flower that’s finally seen the sun.
Sparks explode through my body and the butterflies I’ve been keeping at bay rise up in my lower stomach, singing like they’ve been waiting years for this.
The truth is, they have.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth as his hands go to my hair, pulling it sharply to tip my head up to his.
I don’t fight it. I’m too busy reveling in having his hands on me again.
His lips on mine and his body pressed up against me.
He’s hard and ready, his erection a rod against my belly, and I’m melting for him.
I want our clothes off and a bed right now.
I don’t think I can stand another moment without him inside me. His skin naked against mine.
His whispers on my skin as he fucks me.
He pulls away, though, his eyes teasing with that laughter I used to love so much.
“You’ll always be Brooks Landry to me,” he whispers. Then he tugs on a lock of hair. “Just like I’ll always expect you to be blond. I’ve known you too long to think of you as anything different.”
The statement hits me in a way I don’t expect, with the blunt reminder that this man is part of my history.
In a world where I’ve had to build a whole new life with people who don’t know who I really am, Lucien’s a rock.
A foundational part of me. He’s seen all of me, knows the things that built me into who I am.
And that means more than I ever thought it would.
“I’m never going back to blond,” I say, needing to fight him on something.
His smirk turns into a grin. “I didn’t say I mind the red. I kind of like it. Matches your personality. Go have a shower. You smell like other men, and I don’t like it.”
He turns me and shoves me toward the hallway, and I allow myself a secret grin of my own.
I like that he doesn’t like me smelling like other men.
Though I’m not going to look too closely at the reason for that. If I did, I’d have to admit that I might be catching feelings for him. And that is something I can’t afford.
***
By the time I get out of the shower, the apartment has changed from lazy, leather-clad luxury to a war room. The walls are covered with maps and lists, laptops clutter the dining room table, and Lucien has brought in not only Daniel Boniface, but Camille and a few men I don’t recognize.
“What’s going on?” I ask, forcing my mind to kick into gear.
If we’re planning war, I want in. I hate that I’ve left so many girls behind, and I still don’t know where Aislyn is or how we’re going to get her out.
As far as I’m concerned, I may have escaped but my job isn’t done yet. Far from it.
Lucien looks up from where he’s bent over the table, running his finger over a map.
“We’ve had news from the inside of the ring.
The auctions tonight were disrupted by the cops and the smugglers have changed their schedules.
They’ve arranged for more ships than they originally planned, to get rid of the girls that should have gone to auction.
The cops have the girls they seized, but that doesn’t account for all of them. And once they’re on those ships…”
“Once they’re on the ships, we lose them,” I say, moving toward him. “So we need to know the names of the ships and when they’re leaving. Then find a way to stop them.”
He smiles a wry, resigned sort of smile. “Exactly.”
I start looking at what they’ve got and immediately see the problem.
Manifest after manifest lines the table, but they’re not going to tell us anything.
All the ships leaving the New Orleans port are listed on here.
Small fishing boats. Large cruise ships.
Personal yachts and sailboats and speedboats, taking rich people out for the day or week.
There are plenty of shipping vessels, but we don’t have their cargo lists, and even if we did, it we wouldn’t know what they meant.
Smuggling vessels don’t exactly list their true cargo, particularly when they’re transporting human girls.
“We know the original ship though,” I say, remembering what I already know. “The first one. The one that would have…” My voice drops off when I’m unwilling to finish the sentence.
“Would have carried you, yes,” he says, filling in the gap.
“But we don’t know what the rest of the ships are named, or when they’re leaving, and I’m worried that the girls who should have been auctioned tonight have already reached their expiration date.
The smugglers might not take much time to get them on another ship.
Surely they have lists of ships to use in case of emergency. ”
I swallow hard at that one. I don’t know the girls who were going to auction tonight very well, but that doesn’t change how much I want to save them. Every single girl in that ring deserves a better chance.
And every single man involved deserves to have his balls cut off and shoved down his throat.
I narrow my eyes, then, catching on two things that don’t make sense. I was so intent on figuring out where we are that I didn’t process them at first.
“Wait. How do you know the auctions were interrupted? Did you leave men there to keep an eye on things?”
He shrugs, but I can see the pride in his face. “I told the cops what was happening. The smugglers had paid them well to stay away, and thought they were protected. Those idiots thought they were safe. They never saw it coming.”
Well that doesn’t make sense. “And the cops raided them even after they were paid not to?”
He goes back to looking at the maps in front of him. “I paid them better. I want those girls safe, and we can’t save them if they’re with fifty different men. I’d rather they all be in one place.”
I stop for a moment, stunned at how casually he’s become a hero, but then carry on. “And how do you know they’ve decided to ship them out?”
“I have a man on the inside.”
This is so surprising that I actually do a double take. “You have what? Since when? How? Who?”
“Simon leBanc. Since about two days ago, though this is the first time he’s given me anything of real value. Well. The second, if you include the manager he turned over to me for… questioning.”
My mind is reeling with all this new information, but I stick on one particular point. “Simon leBanc? The outlaw? You know you can’t trust him.” I might not know much about New Orleans anymore, but I remember Simon from my time here before.
He doesn’t belong to any family and has never been anyone’s friend. Not really. I thought Lucien had better taste than that.
He looks up and meets my eyes again. “Hence the maps and lists in front of you, love. He’s not important enough to have any good information, though.
He’s given us broad strokes with no details.
I believe him when he says the smugglers have decided to ship the girls rather than auctioning them, and I believe him when he says he doesn’t know any more than that.
So we have to figure out where they’re sending them, and how, so we can stop it before it happens. ”
“In that case, I think I can help,” I tell him.
His eyes narrow. “I’m counting on it. What do you have?”
“I’ve been in their computer system, and I know the names of the girls they’re shipping. Plus the codes for the ships. I don’t have them written down, but I do have something even better.”
He takes this in like I’ve just given him the recipe for my grandma’s corn bread, and I want to punch him. But he doesn’t know what I do about what I’ve been up to.
I didn’t go undercover for my own fucking health.
“I’ve also got this.” I slide the card key across the table and watch it land right in front of him, then look up with a triumphant smile. “It’ll get you into the dance hall where they were keeping me. I’m guessing they’re not there right now. Seeing as how they were just raided.”
He looks up at me, and now his face is showing the proper amount of surprise. “You have a key to their building? How the fuck did you get that?”
Now it’s my turn to shrug and grin like I know exactly what I’m doing. “I did some lifting while I was there. You need information? Then let’s go get it.”
He pauses for a beat, no doubt reorganizing his plans, and then nods once. “You know we’re going to start a war with your family over this. If your father is running this ring, or even cooperating, this is going to end him.”
I snatch a croissant from the tray sitting next to me and take a bite. Because if we’re about to go to war, I want to have a full stomach.
“Good,” I say. “I’ve been wanting to take that asshole out since I was thirteen. It just took me a while to figure out how to do it.”