4. Brooks
Ijumped from the bike while it was still moving and sent it skidding across the white concrete of the driveway, sparks flying from the metal of the thing as it went.
Part of me hated that I’d just wrecked such a beautiful bike.
Another part loved that it was leaving paint and burn marks all over the once-beautiful driveway.
The third and most important part of my brain was screaming at me to get the fuck through the front doors of the mansion before the men following me caught up, though, and I left the bike to its fate and raced for the archway into the house. This part of the mansion had always been too big and pretentious for my taste, but I hit the doors with both hands now, throwing them open as dramatically as possible. They bounced off the walls in the entryway with a bang, and if anyone had managed to miss the car chase up the driveway, they certainly heard my entry.
Not that it would have been hard.
Because the head Landry was standing on the landing right over the foyer, his hands on the railing and his gaze on the doors. Those dark, calculating eyes flicked from me to the doors I’d just burst through, and then to the men I could hear running up behind me. A grin ticked his lips upward and by the time his gaze came back to me, running up and down my body like he didn’t approve of anything he saw, he was smirking.
My blood ran cold at that smirk, and got even colder when the eyes came back up to meet mine.
“Daughter,” he said quietly. “It’s been a long time.”
When his grin got bigger, everything changed. My body, which had been covered in goose bumps at first sight of him, turned white-hot with fury. And I milked every ounce of it. Because now that I’d come back to my father’s house to ask for help, I was going to need every single spark available to me.
“Dad,” I answered. “We need to talk.”
* * *
I would have followed him on my own, and when he sauntered down the stairs and walked into the library, I started to. But the men had rushed in from the driveway now and surrounded me, and before I could take three steps they’d grabbed my arms and started marching me forward, like I was going to try to get away or something. I yanked my arms out of their hands and whirled on them, furious.
I fixed my eyes on the first one in line—the only one of them I recognized. “I don’t recall you asking if you could touch me, André,” I said coldly.
He sneered. “I don’t recall caring. You’ve been gone a long time, Brooks. Things have changed.”
I stepped up to him, forcing him to take a step back, and stared into his face. He’d never been a handsome man. At some point, someone had taken something sharp to his face and carved several lines down his cheeks. I’d been scared of him when I was a kid because I’d thought he’d made a deal with the devil and lost.
These days, I wasn’t scared of that kind of shit anymore. I’d done too many of my own deals with the devil to be put off by someone who’d come out on the wrong side of any bargain he made.
“Not enough for you to be allowed to lay hands on me without asking,” I breathed. “Last time I checked, you worked for my father. Which means you work for me. I’m only going to say this once, asshole. Watch your step. Or you’ll be sorry.”
I turned on my toes before he could answer and stalked into the library after my father, my thoughts already on the next discussion.
Though I noticed when André and his men didn’t follow me.
The library hadn’t changed. At all. It was dark wood and rich leather, the books on the shelves bound in something old and crackling and the chandeliers above us giving little more than a flickering light. The chairs in here were not comfortable and the books weren’t interesting. I knew, because when I was a kid I’d snuck in here, thinking it would be a great place to get away from my father and his temper. I’d climbed up on the shelves and taken one likely looking book down, then another, only to find they were little more than the classics.
Boring. Stuffy.
The chairs weren’t much better.
This was a room decorated to be impressive, not functional. Unless you called dragging subordinates in here—or victims—and doing your work in a closed room ‘functional.’
How very like my father to choose this room for our first meeting in ten years.
Dear Old Dad was leaning up against the desk, his hands propped behind him and his legs casually crossed. He looked every ounce the Hollywood star, and if I didn’t know any better I would have thought he was. A handsome face that could have come from the 50s. Hair that was still mostly dark, with only a hint of gray at the temples. A cut that looked casual but was actually gelled to within an inch of its life. Clothes so expensive that they molded themselves to his body like they were painted there.
He was the picture of elegance.
And it was all a mask.
He hadn’t started the Landry family. That was his grandfather, born during the Civil War to a rich old family. He hadn’t bothered to take sides during the war, unless you counted ‘taking advantage of the chaos’ taking sides. Great-Grandpa had made a fortune smuggling guns, food, and information in and out of the New Orleans ports. He’d played both sides, giving information to both North and South and doing deals with anyone who wanted one.
His lack of morals had made the family wealthy.
My father’s father had altered the family’s goals a bit, as other families came to the city and started throwing their weight around. Smuggling and importing had become too competitive and Grandpa Augustin had decided clubs, meat markets, and girls were the better routes.
My father, Dominick, had added sex trafficking to that list.
As far as I knew, my brother hadn’t stopped the practice.
My lip curled at the memories that brought back; girls being held in the basement of this very house. My father down there screaming at them to be quiet. Vans arriving in the middle of the night and hushed conversations in the driveway as girl after girl was shoved through the door into the basement. I hadn’t seen a lot of it, but I’d seen enough to know what was happening.
I’d even tried to save them, once. That little adventure had cost me enough that I still had nightmares about it. It had also turned me into who I was now.
And speaking of which...
I drew myself up to my full height and met my father’s eyes. “Dad.”
“Brooks,” he said with a slight inclination of his head. “It’s been a long time. I thought you’d deserted us. Gone to LA to make your fortune. Or was it LA for a vacation and back to New York to make your fortune?”
Right. So he knew I’d been in LA and that I was back in New York. Of course he did. Nothing got past Dominick Landry. Including the list of people arriving at Louis Armstrong Airport, apparently. I cursed myself for not having thought of it—he’d probably known I was coming since I first booked the ticket—but then let it go.
I didn’t have time for a fight, and I didn’t have time for all this casual catching-up bullshit.
“Both, actually,” I said, fighting to keep my voice even. “But now I’m back. And I need a favor.”
One perfectly plucked eyebrow lifted. “A favor? You’re gone for ten years without a word after you threw my generous offer in my face and now you come back, again without a word, and demand a favor?”
My hands clenched at the reference to the last time I’d seen him, when I had in fact thrown an offer he made in his face, but I carried on. “That was a long time ago, and I was a different person then. But I’m still your daughter.”
He moved around the desk and sat in the chair, his hands steepled in front of him. “Still my daughter, yes. But the last time I checked, you were no longer my problem.”
I marched right up to him, too angry to stop myself. Not his problem? Not his problem? I slammed my hands down on the desk and leaned toward him, letting every ounce of my anger shine through my eyes. “Not your problem? You tried to sell me to the highest bidder, Dad, and use me as a spy to end one of your wars. You didn’t see me as anything more than a fucking tool, and now you’re going to pretend to be upset that I saw you for what you were and put a stop to it? You thought I’d just keep my mouth shut? You didn’t raise me to be that girl, and you know it.”
He got to his feet so quickly I nearly stepped back in shock, and shoved his face toward mine. “I raised you to understand that family was the most important thing, Brooklyn Landry. I raised you to do as you’re told when the family needs you.” His voice was a hoarse rasp, the smooth elegance long gone.
Ah. There was the father I knew.
I gave him the coldest smile I could summon. “In that case, you’ll appreciate the reason I’m here. I have family in trouble, and I mean to save them. But I need your help. I need that army you promised to give me if I ever needed it.”
He leaned away, his face going from furious to confused in a heartbeat. “You have family in trouble?”
Okay, so they weren’t actually my family. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
“Yes. There’s a war brewing in New York and the people I love are in the middle of it. I need men, Dad. And you’re the first person I thought of.”
Would that be enough? He’d always wanted to be the number one man in my life. The guy I thought of first in any situation. I’d always laughed at him when he said it, but I was handing it to him now. The gift he’d been asking for since I was old enough to withhold it.
He dropped into his chair again and pasted a mask over his face. “The first person you thought of was a man you hadn’t talked to in ten years?”
“Yes,” I ground out, my skin itching at how long this was already taking. I thought I had a few days to get back to New York, but that wasn’t going to happen if my dad insisted on carrying this on forever. I needed men and I needed them now. I wanted to be back on my way to New York five minutes ago.
I did not want to discuss my feelings about my father with him. Or my ten-year absence and the decision that led to it.
His eyes flickered like he’d been able to hear what I was thinking. “How many men do you need. Where? When?”
“One hundred,” I said, the number already clear in my head. “Soldiers that know how to shoot and fight on the streets. I need them now. I’ll be taking them with me to New York. I’ll return them next week.”
I saw the respect grow in his eyes, the surprise that I’d been able to give him details that quickly... and then I saw it fade.
“One hundred men at the drop of a hat? Immediately? Brooks, you ask the world.”
Okay, time for the flattery. “Only because I know you can deliver.”
He snorted at that, then stood and walked toward the door. Opening it, he took a moment to look back at me over his shoulder. “At one point, Daughter, I would have done just that. But you turned your back on me, and my operation. So I don’t think I’ll be able to satisfy your request this time. I’m not going to risk any of my men on a daughter who ran out on us the first chance she got. You can see yourself out.”
I watched him slide through the door and disappear, my mouth dry and my blood burning. He couldn’t satisfy my request?
He couldn’t satisfy my request?
That fucking son of a bitch. Granted, he’d never been someone I could count on. He’d been hot and cold, a constant source of emotional whiplash. Abusive one moment and loving the next, and never someone you’d want handling anything for you.
It was why my mother had left him, and why I’d chosen New York over New Orleans, even after he offered me everything he did.
I’d hoped for better this time. Hoped maybe he’d changed.
But evidently I still couldn’t count on him.
Typical.
I got my feet back under me and headed for the door, already thinking about the next move. So I couldn’t depend on him. As usual.
Fine.
Luckily, he wasn’t my only option.