CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MADDOX
The air is infused with dusk and zeal and savory notes of Creole cooking. Today is the day. Beneath violet clouds and white string lights, a haunting rendition of “House of the Rising Sun” kicks off the opening ceremony for our Underground Independence Festival.
Each thump of the drums revs me up, reminding me of the woman who came to La Lune Noire as a singer/guitar player in the hopes that she’d break free of her blueberry-farmer upbringing in Oklahoma and find a more thrilling life.
It ultimately reduced her to ashes, but I like to think those early years were filled with music and everything she’d dreamed they would be.
The similarities between my mother’s early path and Tessa’s are alarming. It knots my gut, but I’ll be damned if I allow the trajectory to be even remotely the same.
She dusts her thumb back and forth on my skin, our fingers twined together.
In a black minidress that hugs her curves—with pockets, which is apparently a huge win—and laced black boots that hit low on her calf and showcase her shapely legs, she’s lethal.
And nervous, standing on this stage with me.
Maybe she should be. I’ve freed her and caged her in one fell swoop. Still, she’s by my side. Willingly.
Something changed while she was bound to that throne yesterday.
She can’t fully vocalize it, but she finally envisioned herself sharing this life with me.
And when I saw that shift in her eyes, I realized all the time I’d spent avoiding intimacy was because my broken soul must’ve known she was the only one who could mend it.
I flick my butterfly knife around a few more times, soothed by the click-clack-rattle, before the final notes of the song conclude, bleeding into background jazz music. Pocketing the balisong, I step up to the mic with my hand still clasping Tessa’s and stare out at the sea of excited employees.
They’ve been trekking through a maze for the last few hours, collecting clues, solving puzzles, awestruck by holograms that heckled them with riddles, all so they could achieve entrance.
We like things to feel earned. They were pampered along the way, fed hors d’oeuvres and drinks and gifted with prizes.
But the effort to get here makes simply standing where they are a celebration.
Since I’ve just been informed that the last staff member on tonight’s list made it in, we’re good to go.
“What’s the number one rule of the Underground?”
They all chant in unison, “Never tell Axel or Ryker!”
I chuckle in response. “The numerous times I’ve been questioned by those two about the reason behind ordering twenty thousand pounds of grits tell me you all keep your word.”
The shriek of pride and laughter rips through the crowd.
“Before we go on, as a side note”—I pause for dramatic effect—“we got the damn grits.”
Hoots and hollers abound, and as I crick my neck to catch a glimpse of Cash, Jax, Mercy, Brasi, Gentry, and Bernard beaming at the overwhelming joy, preventing me from continuing, my chest balloons.
I’m an entitled billionaire asshole with very few morals, who has done some fucked-up shit that will undoubtedly score me a royal torching in the pits of hell.
But when I’m in front of the La Lune Noire staff, making their idiotic fantasies come true, I’m where I was born to be.
Tessa pumps my hand and muffles one of her infectious cackles. Her mauve-painted lips are clamped, but her eyes are creased in mirth. She gets it.
Melted vinyl and a singing knife.
But at this moment, the incessant ringing doesn’t reign.
This is my empire, built out of soot.
“All for you.” I raise my palm in the air to hush the raucous cheers.
“The best staff in the world. The chosen. The lifers. The loyal. No one is more deserving of this ostentatious spectacle than this crew.” Another pause before I announce my command and thrust the mic toward them.
“Hit me with our second foundational rule.”
“Nothing’s more exclusive than Noire Underground!”
“That’s right,” I bellow in return, placing the mic back on the stand.
“This is our most exclusive event and a whole lot of fun. Are we ready for some team bonding?” I wait through some whoops and claps before continuing, “Let’s start with an announcement that is long overdue.
It’s impossible to miss the stunning beauty at my side.
Most of you know Tessa Lockhart as our incredibly talented tattoo artist and piercer.
Some of you also know what a force she can be.
I’m happy to report that didn’t stop me.
After years of trying, I wore her down and won her over.
She doesn’t know it yet, but someday, she’s going to be my wife. ”
Screams from the crowd drown me out for a beat, and Tessa’s ocean blues open comically wide.
Alarm, surprise, outrage? Doesn’t matter.
As soon as she can muster the three words she’s terrified to say, I’ll marry her on the spot.
There’s no sense in hiding that I’m hopelessly in love with her. She needs to catch the hell up.
I plant a kiss on her temple and move back to the microphone.
“She wasn’t expecting that, but no worries.
I’ll wear her down before the nuptials.” I wrench my Karambit knife out of my pocket, swinging it in a circle and winking at my girl.
“I have my ways. Please give it up for your newest Noire queen.”
Tucking my knife away, I haul her against me and capture her lips as the din of the reception encompasses us. But of course, ever the gentleman, I keep it clean.
She smiles into the kiss, peering at me beneath the fringe of her fanning lashes when she pulls back. “Your hands are migrating to areas they shouldn’t.”
“There is no such place on your body in which that applies to me.”
“We are in front of everyone,” she snaps, though it’s woven with levity. “And you’re groping me.”
Ahh. I see what she’s getting at. One hand squeezes her ass while my thumb on the other brushes the underside of her phenomenal tit.
I’m not fooled. My little exhibitionist is turned on right now.
“Just making sure there’s no confusion about who you belong to, baby.
I’d hate to roast my s’more over an employee bonfire.
” I peck her nose as her eyes roll at the reference to my romantic death threat and return to our audience to issue my final greeting, my hands respectfully on her hips.
“I’ll see you on the dance floor in forty-five minutes.
Have a hell of a time. You are La Lune Noire. Drink and conspire.”
As I tow Tessa away, Gentry passes us with a nod and finishes the announcements. “Teams, rules, times, and frequently asked questions are all addressed at Central Hub, the grand tent in the middle. The Last Man Standing dance competition will begin …”
We stride off the stage, and Brasi and Bernard both embrace Tessa enthusiastically, each whispering something in her ear.
She has an employee bond with them, and I’m grateful it comforts her, so I only get slightly jealous when she laughs at whatever Brasi says.
He and Bernard scurry away to help with registration, and we make our way to Cash, Jax, and Mercy.
Cash and I have to partake in the beginning of the swing-dance-a-thon, so we all plod that way.
The massive lawn behind the resort has been transformed into a carnival space, 1920s-style.
We have all the main attractions—a Ferris wheel, palm and tarot card readers, a haunted house, food and games, live music and entertainment.
And a slew of competitive events. White tents add elegance while the grit of that era prospers.
Champagne fountains and beef on a stick.
It’s casual and opulent. Something for everyone.
Cash and Jax each hug Tessa, welcoming her to officially being one of us and telling her she has to be more upbeat about the festivities now.
“Right,” she deadpans. “That’s why I’m perfect for this role. You can always count on me to be a ray of sunshine.”
Jax flashes her a lazy grin. He’s always adored her. “You can deny it, girl, but you were fucking glowing up there.”
He’s right. She’s ethereal today, like always with her doll-like features. But there’s a halo of contentedness encircling her that I’d do just about anything to keep in place.
Mercy is smiling ear to ear, so it’s no surprise when she elbows my girl. “Queen announcement, huh? Did you know it was coming? Noire men have a way of making a statement.”
Tessa laughs. “Don’t you try to relate to me on this.
Ryker and Maddox are not the same. Your man bought you seven engagement rings so you wouldn’t have to choose.
That’s how he gave you a taste of your new life.
Mine stripped me down, tied me to a throne, and hammered me with his intentions as an example of becoming Noire royalty. ”
She delivers it all so dryly and straight-faced that everyone loses it.
“I bet that was worth at least a few rings,” Mercy counters.
Tessa bites her lip and peers at me. “All seven.” Her prowling blues drop to my crotch with a sly reference to my captive bead ladder. “Or at least six.”
We got her settled in her suite last night.
It was complete with a whole new wardrobe, an art studio, a tattoo chair, and a place for all her things.
I even had her laminated lists framed. Of course, next to my name, I added some words like I’m infatuated with, or is the most attractive man on earth.
That was a more accurate portrayal of what had pissed her off.
She hugged me, thanked me, and assured me she was grateful, but didn’t need any of it. I had already known that, but it was still nice to hear it.
“I’d choose you without all of this. Because you make me laugh and tell me I’m enough and remind me of music. Home is where you are, Drac. That’s all I need.”