CHAPTER SEVEN
TESSA
Mercy and Jax are crowded in a booth with me at Café L’Ambroisie.
Sometimes, we eat lunch in one of the Underground restaurants, but if no other employees are joining us, we often opt to come here.
That’s an advantage of being besties with the Noire queen, I suppose.
We frequent the places she likes, whether employees are supposed to hang out there or not.
Café L’Ambroisie has an eclectic atmosphere—more rustic than the rest of La Lune Noire’s upscale debauchery vibe, with brighter colors, aged brick walls, a polished concrete floor, and bronze accents, like some of the places on Bourbon Street.
And like many of those, it’s noisy, even when the dueling pianists aren’t playing.
Aside from that, the food is everything New Orleans cuisine should be.
Mercy sets her po’boy sandwich back on her plate, wipes her hands, and glances my way. “So, have you decided what to do about Hunter?”
We talk openly in front of Jax. He’s got a slew of my secrets, and he hasn’t let me down yet. Maybe because I have a mountain of his too.
Mercy’s asking if I’ll appease my family and make nice with my ex at my sister’s engagement party.
I’m not great at pretending, but there is a lot of history there.
And it will make everyone happier if I hear the guy out, though I can’t imagine what there would be left to say.
I’m not who he wants, and I’m unwilling—unable—to become that person.
“I haven’t thought much about it. I’ve got two days to decide, and you never know. They could uninvite me by then.” I curl my lips into a blasé smile, as if none of that bothers me, but while those words are the truth, that armor veiling them is a flimsy veneer.
“Their loss,” Jax barks, and Mercy echoes that sentiment.
I appreciate that perspective more than they could possibly grasp. It soothes the agony of being stuck here.
“Well,” Mercy begins, “maybe that’s your answer. If you haven’t thought about it, then your decision is more finite than you realize. It’s okay to want to move on and insist that he and your family let it go.”
As if to emphasize her point, the female guitar player breaks into a rendition of Taylor Swift’s “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.”
I push a piece of buffalo gator around my salad before pointing my fork at the stage. “The universe’s decision seems pretty finite.”
She laughs at that. “Ryker and Cash have a theory about the musicians here. They’re convinced there’s some sort of voodoo magic or witchcraft going on because the song selections are always relevant.”
That’s ridiculous, but sounds about right. This town’s obsession with the supernatural runs deep. It’s one of the things I love about New Orleans. The supernatural, not the obsession. Ghosts only come out when it’s quiet. I respect them.
Jax shoves his crawfish etouffee aside and checks his phone. “Cash is headed over.” He gestures toward me. “Looking for you.”
“For me?” I sigh. “Great.”
That’s all I need—another Noire breathing down my neck about something.
This morning didn’t go as planned, and I’m at my wits’ end. I need to either figure out what the hell is going on or find Maddox a new cause because time is running out before I have to deal with my family. And I want him as far from that as possible.
Mercy side-eyes me. If she wasn’t already suspicious, Cash wanting to see me will certainly nudge her into full-blown preposterous notions. Though based on her recent behavior, I’d say she’s already there.
Last night, she needed to stop by the banquet center, which made very little sense, but she fed me some bullshit story about her queen duty, only to have us show up and find that Maddox was master of ceremonies for a group of medical professionals.
Everyone is fucking corrupt. Apparently even OB-GYNs who have five kids of their own.
Maddox ran to the front, lifted his drink, and grinned in that life-of-the-party, king-of-the-world, always-up-for-some-trouble way of his as he opened the banquet with a mildly relevant and somewhat inappropriate toast. “Here’s to the storks that bring good babies.
The crows that bring bad babies. And the swallows that bring no babies at all.
Welcome to La Lune Noire. Drink and conspire. ”
The room erupted with cheers and … swallows.
There is a treasure trove of ancient toasts floating around here. He didn’t come up with that himself, but his ability to choose the most befitting one and deliver it with such panache was … something.
“Well, that was better than what I had prepared,” Mercy said, elbowing me as she gauged my unfaltering expression.
I gave her nothing, nor will I now, which is why I launch into a story about the one subject she can’t help but indulge in. “Remy and I had so much fun working on his ABCs the other day. He’s so smart.”
She beams. “He told me all about it. It seems your crafts are the bestest.”
After she shares a bit more about Remy’s tales of our time together and all he’s been learning, Jax fills us in on how Rena has been handling her last weeks of pregnancy while we finish eating.
By the time the plates are cleared, Cash is swaggering over to our table.
He greets us all, but within a minute of his arrival, Jax and Mercy are sliding out of the booth to get back to work.
And the blond Noire is flashing his wily grin at me.
He makes himself comfortable, swirling his midday cocktail. “I have a proposition.”
I huff a humorless laugh, raising my glass of sweet tea. “Of course you do.”
“Don’t give me that cynical glare.” He leans against the back of the booth, his blue eyes twinkling and his arm draped behind my head. “This is the kind of deal that will serve us both. I don’t know what Maddox has on you, but I might be able to undo it.”
Well, now, that is interesting. I wonder how much he can undo.
In an instant, that night smacks me in the face, reminding me how one moment in time has a ripple effect on all the ones that follow.
Stepping out of a restroom in the members’ urgent care at La Lune Noire, I comb my fingers through my wet strands, my eyes connecting immediately with Maddox.
He scans the oversize T-shirt and sweats I’m dressed in before landing on my face. I probably look like a different person to him—freshly showered, no makeup, and a sickly pallor to my skin from shock.
Sauntering over to me, he glides his hand along my arm. “She’s gonna be okay.”
In a moment of both frailty and relief, I grip my chest and release a shuddering breath aimed at my bare feet. “That’s good. She was so … I don’t know how to thank you. We’d be … I don’t even know how we would’ve survived this if you hadn’t come.”
He slips a finger beneath my chin, lifting it so he has my full attention. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a force, Tess, but I’m glad I could help. You can always call me.”
That’s humble and sweet and nothing like what the outside world believes the Noires are.
This must be one of those trauma-bonding experiences because all I want is to melt into him and let him hold me. I’m not a hugger, and I have a boyfriend, so … my mind is clearly messed up.
To keep myself from reaching for him, I fold my arms across my torso. “When will I be able to go home?”
“About that”—he moves us toward the corner, where it’s quieter, because some of the staff are discussing a patient—“I’m going to need you to do a few things for me.”
“Of course.” I nod, wondering what covering this up will entail and how long this nightmare will be hanging over my head.
“You can never speak about this again. Not to anyone.”
My heart thumps to the thundering cadence of my no-turning-back reality. “I understand.”
He stares at me for a beat, deliberating whether my answer is adequate before he must decide to trust that I’ll keep my mouth shut. “I have cleaners sweeping the house. They’ll pack up all your things—everything that can be saved—but you’ll need to find another place, just to be on the safe side.”
He’s so calm, spilling all of that. This is what they do, why they have people throwing money at them.
They host lavish parties, off those who cross them, and clean up messes.
I’m standing in a medical facility, located where bootleggers used to smuggle alcohol, and now the Noires use it so the criminal underworld can be treated without scrutiny.
I heard tales of it when I used to work for them, but to be standing inside it, witnessing the collected cleanup of a crime, and being the recipient of such—it’s more than my mind can process.
My stomach bottoms out, so I squeeze myself tighter. “I guess that makes sense. I’ll start looking tonight.”
“Great.” He offers me a consoling grin before he delivers the next directive. “And you need to return to work here.”
“What?”
His brows knit together in what appears to be a subtle warning. “You start Friday.”
“No, I don’t.” I drop my arms, the shock wearing off and a wrathful strength rushing through my veins. “I resigned eleven months ago. It was approved by Ryker. I have another job, another life. I’m not coming back here.”
I can’t. It’s the one thing I can’t do. Everything I’ve been working toward the past year will be washed down the drain.
They don’t let employees just quit, not if they think you have any intel.
And I did. I do. Nothing huge, but I was here for years and heard enough.
I made my promises though. I earned my exit interview.
It took me three months to convince Ryker to let me go.
I’d thought he was my best bet, but Jax had to intervene on my behalf. It’s done.
Maddox bends slightly to get closer to my face, though he’s still towering over me. “You called me, and I showed up like I would have for any staff member in trouble. It’s a perk of employment; therefore, you need to be employed.”