Chapter 2 Brooks
Brooks
By breakfast the next morning, I’ve realized things are even worse than I thought.
I’m back in my father’s mansion and within his grasp, and I’m all by myself. Camille isn’t here anymore–I hope she’s in the French District in our apartment, but have no way of knowing for sure–and Beau is conspicuous in his absence.
I don’t know where Lucien is or if he’s even still alive.
And I’m surrounded by men I don’t recognize. My father has either killed off the old ones or fired them, and there’s no way to tell. Maybe he decided he had to hire new soldiers when he started dealing in human flesh.
Though from what I know, he’s been peddling girls for over ten years now. If he was hiring men who were okay with that sort of thing, they should have been with him for years. I should know at least some of them.
Maybe he got rid of anyone who knew me when he realized I was going to become a prisoner in his house, though.
Maybe he had to find men who were going to be okay with killing me if I didn’t get in line and do what he told me to.
Fuck.
I lift the coffee cup slowly to my lips, wishing to God it was something stronger.
I need whiskey in this coffee. Actually, strike that.
I need a cup of whiskey. Forget the coffee.
I’m normally a fan of caffeine injected straight into my veins, but right now it’s just making me feel strung up and twitchy.
Then again, that might be atmosphere.
I look to where my father is sitting at the head of the table and feel my blood growing hot under my skin.
Dom Landry is perched there in all his glory, billowy white shirt and smoothly combed black hair.
Eyes black enough that he looks like he sold his soul to the devil–quite possible–and a coffee cup held delicately in his hand.
He looks handsome and at ease, like some sort of pirate surveying his kingdom, and I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more in my life.
That man beat my mother to within an inch of her life, so much so that by the time she escaped, the scars were so deep that she never truly recovered. She was Irish mob royalty and should have been safe, but no one is safe when it comes to Dom Landry.
He only cares about himself.
And the money he can make off other people.
My hands clench around the fork on the table and I grit my teeth, wondering how much damage I can do before one of his men stops me.
His relaxed posture tells me that he doesn’t think I’m going to make any trouble–that he thinks I’m here as some sort of pet project–and that makes me even more furious.
His men aren’t holding their guns, and half of them aren’t even paying attention.
They don’t think I’m a threat.
Fools.
They have no idea what I can manage, but the fact that they aren’t even bothering to watch me gives me some very bad ideas.
I let my eyes slide to the doorway at Dom’s back, and then the one on the other side of the room, and start mentally going through every exit in the house.
There are a lot of them–this is one of those houses that has more windows than walls–and if I actually wanted to get out of here, it wouldn’t be hard.
I grew up in this house, after all. I know it like the back of my hand. And if they give me a chance...
“I see you looking at the doors, daughter.” Dom’s voice is quiet and full of menace. Full of warning. “Surely you’re not thinking of leaving us already?”
It’s phrased as a question but I can hear the threat clear as day, and I don’t pretend otherwise. Instead of jumping up and throwing the fork right at his left eye, the way he deserves, I give him the sweetest smile I can manage and tip my head enough to keep the exits in my peripheral vision.
I need to see how often the men on the other side of the doors are patrolling.
“Leave?” I ask. “Wherever would I go? This is my home.”
And you may still have Lucien, I don’t add. So I can’t leave until I know whether he’s here.
And that right there is the most complex piece of this puzzle.
Because I saw Luke Boudreaux last night when Lucien was pulled out of the van.
He met my eyes and stared at me for an eternity before he yanked his cousin out of the van.
In theory, that should mean that Lucien is back with his family and that the Boudreaux clan–or at least Lucien’s crew–figured out where we were and found a way to rescue him.
In practice, though, that doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Why would they have rescued Lucien and not me?
Did they rescue the other Boudreaux men at the same time?
I wasn’t outside, but I didn’t hear any other crashes, and the other men were in different vans.
There was a whole lot of shooting, though, and that could mean almost anything.
Did Luke turn against his family? Was he kidnapped as well, and forced to help my father’s men move Lucien to another van?
If he was on Lucien’s side, were they recaptured? Were they shot as they tried to escape?
Does my father still have Lucien, now chained in the basement somewhere with the girls meant for the trafficking ring?
Is he somewhere worse?
I can’t leave until I know for sure, and that keeps me in my seat, smiling, even when I want to rush my father and slit his throat. Because I have to assume that Lucien is still here somewhere, and that Gemini doesn’t realize it.
So we’re cooked unless I can figure out how to get us out of this mess.
Dom’s face melts into an easier smile at my words, and he gives me a warmer look. “I was hoping you’d say that, daughter. The truth is, I have plans for you. Very big plans.”
Terrific. The last time my father had a plan for me, it included an arranged marriage.
“That sounds exciting,” I force myself to say.
I think I sound casual, or at least mostly interested, but suddenly my father’s face becomes storm clouds and thunder, evil and shadows, and I bite my tongue. Shit. I forget sometimes that I sound more New York than New Orleans, now, and that my tone of voice isn’t always... subtle.
“Exciting?” he grinds out. He leans forward on his elbows, all evidence of the happy pirate gone. Now he just looks like a murderer. A killer.
A smuggler willing to do whatever it takes to keep his business intact.
Probably because he is.
“I’d recommend you have more respect when you talk to me,” he growls.
“Need I remind you that you’re not here as a guest, but as a prisoner?
I caught you fair and square, daughter, and that means you’re at my mercy, now.
” He leans back, still eyeing me with his pitch-black eyes.
“So I’d suggest you find it more than just exciting. ”
I take a long, slow breath, trying to calm my racing heart, and consider him for a moment. That was an overreaction, for sure, and a quick glance tells me that his own fingers are curved around the knife by his plate. My gaze snaps back up to him, and I feel a thrill of triumph run through me.
Because Dominick Landry doesn’t have many tells, but his hands always give him away. He can’t keep them still when he’s stressed. He’s too used to being able to hit whoever’s pissing him off.
And if he’s clenching that knife hard enough to look like he wants to bend it, it’s because something’s wrong.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s actually frightened. Something’s got him off balance.
Perfect.
“What is it you want me to think?” I ask quietly.
He nods once and his hand relaxes on the table. “There was a time when I wanted to elevate you in this family, Brooklyn. You’ll remember that. I tried to give you a husband who would allow you more power.”
Lucien.
I remember.
I also remember that he wanted to send me into the Boudreaux house not as a willing wife, but as a spy–which was why I ran for New York. Because I’d loved Lucien at the time, and I wasn’t going to spy on him for my father.
Even if leaving meant I lost him forever.
Not that I’m going to say that to my father.
“I remember.”
His lips twitch, and I wonder how much of my hatred is showing through my eyes right now. “Now I’m offering you something even better. The kingdom itself. The legacy. True leadership of the entire family.”
I almost choke on the eggs I’ve just put in my mouth.
“What?” I gasp.
Because that doesn’t make any sense. My father has always hated me.
Hell, he’s tried to kill me more than once.
He sold me into the trafficking ring and once I escaped, captured me again.
I have no doubt he’ll sell me again if the opportunity arises, and probably be happy to see the end of me.
I’m the thorn in his side, the slice in the sole of his foot.
The child he’s never been able to control.
Why the hell would he hand the family reins over to me?
Where the fuck is my brother, and why isn’t he the one getting this offer?
Dom’s smile tells me he knows exactly what’s going through my mind right now, and the urge to stab him grows inside my chest. But I can’t do anything. Not until I have Lucien.
Not until I’ve saved the girls my father is holding captive.
“All the power in the world,” he continues. “I’ll make you head of the entire family. You’ve always liked to be on top, isn’t that right?”
He gives me a sly, eyebrows-lifted look that tells me exactly what he’s referring to. Not a position of power, but a sexual position over a man.
I bite my tongue and refuse to rise to the bait, simply waiting for him to continue, partially because I still don’t understand what he’s offering me.
“I can see you’re surprised,” he says, chuckling. “You must be wondering why I would offer this to you rather than your brother.”
I take the gift at face value, and give him a neutral answer meant to get more information. “A male at the head of the family does make more sense.”
He leans further forward, his eyes intent and brutal. “And yet you’re more valuable to me than your brother could ever be, because you have better contacts. You’re more... useful.”
He gives me a quick, very sharp grin and then rises from the table, moving away from it so quickly that I barely have time to gasp before he’s exited the room, leaving nothing but the scent of his cologne behind.
That and a number of questions.
What the fuck does he mean, putting me in charge?
In charge of what? For how long? And what contacts could I possibly have?
I haven’t been in New Orleans in five years, and the contacts I have here are long dead.
Camille, but she hardly counts. Kate Fontenot, whose mother is just a madame. She’s not mafia. My brother.
And Lucien.
My mind goes through some very quick gymnastics at that point, and I nearly bite my own tongue off.
Lucien. He’s the one contact I have that my brother doesn’t.
Lucien, who’s a member of the richest house in New Orleans. The house that has never liked my father and who my father desperately wants an alliance with. A house of weapons and gambling dens, money and drugs.
Keepers of the tunnels under the city.
The Boudreaux.
The weight on my heart grows a hundred times heavier at the thought, and I glance again to the doorway on my left.
My father is asking me to become head of this family–or at least primary heir–and though I don’t know his reasoning, I’m beginning to guess.
I want to get to my feet and run for my life.
Get out of here before he can stab me in the back or sell me again.
And I can’t do it, because I don’t know where Lucien is or if he’s safe.
I can’t do it because I will never in a million years leave if it means deserting the man I love. I’ll sell my soul again and again if it means saving him.
Though I don’t know how long Dom Landry means to keep me alive, and that might become an issue.