2. Never White Roses
“ D amn, her tattoos are sick. I don’t know if I could draw them that well,” my brother, Hatch, murmurs behind me, his rough voice low. But I can hear him loud and fucking clear. “Especially the one on her thigh. I mean, look at that. When her skirt rises, you can see how far up it––”
“Watch it,” I growl.
He snorts. “This guy’s too easy, Dash. He needs some of your ‘Dr. Dashiel’ monkhood discipline.”
“Not like you have any discipline to speak of, Hatton,” Dash mutters as he taps his tablet.
I’d think it was med school shit if I hadn’t caught him checking a certain someone’s daily post earlier. None of us have social media, but that hasn’t stopped us from watching on burner accounts the past few years. With time almost up, keeping tabs is more necessary than ever.
I tune them out, leaning forward with my forearms resting on the golden railing lining box six.
My thumb traces my mouth as I mentally count.
Twenty-nine.
“You were right,” Hatch tries again. “She’s pretty good.”
Thirty.
“Swinging her leg out like that can’t be easy.”
Thirty-one.
“Bet she’s bendy. Tattoos, red hair, probably a freak in?—”
Thirty-two.
Her raised foot lands, and I turn to slam my fist into Hatch’s thigh, forcing a mix of a groan and a cackle. It doesn’t matter that I’ve thought all those things already. What matters is she’s going to be my fucking wife.
“Damn, man,” he rubs his leg, his face contorted in a pained smile. “The closer you get, the easier you are.”
“You’ll feel it soon enough,” I warn.
“Give it two years,” Dash grunts, swiping his screen. With Brylie’s birthday only a couple of months behind Luna’s, Dash’s part of the pact is coming up soon. The wait’s gotta be getting to him too.
“Trust me, I’m beginning to fucking feel it,” Hatch grumbles, still rubbing his quad. “Being charmingly funny helps the madness. Y’all should try it sometime.”
Luna’s radiant smile lights up as everyone from backstage swarms her. My reckless little rebel has gotten quite the fanbase. But there’s a sadness at the edge of her eyes, and I’ve been trying to figure out why this entire show.
She has no plans that I know of after graduation, and I know everything about Luna Bordeaux.
Maybe she’s sad this part of her life is over?
In the same beat, though, she’s happy too, ecstatic even.
Throughout the night, there’ve been glimpses of grins I’ve seen countless times right before she does something impulsive that I have to clean up.
Her mischievous side makes her the life of the party, but the girl should at least think before she acts once in a while.
Then again, she wouldn’t be my Luna if she did.
The curtain falls on the celebrating seniors, making my heart stutter with anxiety that she’s out of my sight so close to midnight.
“Where’s that after-party again?” Hatch asks, pulling my thoughts away.
“Masque. The speakeasy underneath the opera house,” I answer.
“Underground? I thought New Orleans is below sea level,” Dash pipes in.
“Everything but the French Quarter. The Bordeauxs built underground tunnels during Prohibition. It’s how the speakeasy is still just a rumor…”
I drift off as something in the air changes. My brothers shift, setting off alarm bells in my head.
“Mind if I join you, boys?”
The blood in my veins freezes solid. I push off the railing slowly, leaning back in my seat, arms crossed.
“It’s your place, Bordeaux.” I toss over my shoulder, loud enough to be heard over the music. My brothers remain silent.
I’m the eldest, which makes me in charge in our father’s absence. And if anyone’s going toe-to-toe with my future father-in-law, it’s me.
“You’re goddamn right it’s my place,” Sol Bordeaux growls as he slides into the seat to my left. “And it’s neutral ground, in case King didn’t mention that before you entered my territory unannounced and without permission.”
“You forced my hand.” I shake my head. “I tried reaching out last year. You know what tonight is, and you’ve still refused to see me.”
“Correct. Because I’d have to be in my grave before I let a Fury near my daughter.”
The amount he doesn’t know about his daughter is hilarious. The Phantom’s princess is pirouetting circles around her father, and he has no idea.
I scoff. “You didn’t even ask her if she wanted to meet me, did you?”
He shrugs. “Didn’t need to. I know my daughter. She’d never want to involve herself in your feud. She’s my little rebel, but in matters such as this, she’s?—”
“Innocent.” I finish quietly, nodding. “I know. I don’t want to corrupt her. Despite what you think. I want to save her.”
“She doesn’t need saving,” he snaps. “She’s perfectly safe here. The last person she needs to be around is an Appalachian outlaw. Your dairy farm and real estate holdings don’t fool the Troisgarde.”
“We prefer to think of ourselves as the Robin Hood of Appalachia.” A sly grin lifts my lips. “Robin Hood needs his Maid Marian.”
He snorts. “Robin Hood dies in the old versions, you know.”
Prick.
“Bordeaux, I’m not doing this with you,” I growl. “You know the pact. If you try to ‘remove’ me, you’ll lose an ally in King Fury’s bloodline. And trust me. Right here, at this very moment… You want allies.”
He stills for a second, chin tilted in my direction, like he’s waiting for me to elaborate.
When I don’t, he settles back, playing it off like he was never interested in the first place.
I’ll tell him when my wife is safe by my side.
Not a second before. If I tip my hand, he could hide her away from me, send her to the Lucianos in Italy like I heard he wanted.
There’s no chance in hell I’m letting that happen.
“You’re arrogant and self-important, Orion. You’re forgetting I know everything that goes on in my city. With how many shadows followed you after your arrival this morning, you might as well have had a Second Line welcome party.”
This morning?
I don’t let my surprise show, but Sol smirks anyway. “Like I said. I know everything that goes on in New Orleans. Never forget that.”
Not everything.
“Your point?”
“My point is that I know when you arrived, and I already know when you’ll leave.”
“Oh?” I raise a brow, resisting the urge to smirk back.
“I want the three of you gone by dawn. The Troisgarde never agreed to King’s pact. As far as McKennon, Luciano, and I are concerned, it is null and void. Three drunk men have no business betting shit like that.”
“On that, we agree. But… you did. And the Wildes are picking us off one by one, and the other Fury kin are too conceited to work together. We need the blood of three on our side.”
“The blood of three, boy. Not four.”
“It won’t be four once the pact is fulfilled. It’ll be one unified alliance, connected by King Fury’s bloodline.”
“The Troisgarde are not Furys.”
“Not yet. It’s your vow we’re calling on you to uphold. We’re just trying to make honest men outta y’all, Bordeaux.” My lip quirks, unable to stop myself this time.
Unamused, he scowls, but the killer scars on half of his face barely move. Those wounds are nothing we haven’t seen before, but my own tight, rough palms itch in empathy. I wonder if Hatch feels it too.
I look away, wishing the curtain would rise already and unveil my little bird again. I need her to help me ignore the ghostly scream in my mind.
Even six years later, it’s deafening.
As if he hears it, Sol’s voice lowers reverently. “I’m sorry about Queenie.”
I bristle and feel my brothers doing the same.
“She was a good woman, and the reason I didn’t have you kicked out immediately,” Sol adds, no heat behind the statement, just facts. “It’s hard when they’re gone. The loss…” He shakes his head.
The lump in my throat feels more like a serrated blade as I clear it. The suffocating guilt remains, though, its weight caving my chest in since that night.
“I heard you’ve suffered the same losses,” I offer. His mother died a few years ago, and, more recently, Madam G, a woman Luna considers a second grandmother, passed too. “My condolences.”
There’s a beat of silence in box six as pandemonium reigns below, the contrast as stark as two enemies confronting the other’s humanity.
This is why I believe in the pact. The Troisgarde may despise us, but we’ll do whatever it takes to ally with men who have the capacity to both kill for their family and mourn with the enemy who’s lost his. Those are people the King Fury branch can trust.
At this point, Troisgarde or not, after watching Luna Bordeaux as long as I have, I’ll do anything to make her mine, even if she hates me for it.
It’s not exactly a new concept in the King Fury playbook, after all.
My phone vibrates in my hand.
Speak of the devil .
I peek at the screen.
King
Midnight.
My eyes roll. Of course he’d send this reminder.
Only catch is, I’m not the one who swore to be hands-off until the stroke of midnight on her twenty-second birthday.
I tried, I really did. Hell, I’m still trying.
King would skin my hide if he ever found out I’ve already broken that part of the pact. Not that it’ll matter after tonight.
“How’s King?” Sol asks dryly as I slide my phone inside my pocket unanswered.
He couldn’t have read past the privacy screen, but he filled in the blanks. Or the Phantom’s fucking psychic. Wouldn’t be surprised, honestly.
“Did you tell him that my daughter will never marry into a family that ranges from professors to criminal lowlifes?”
Can’t argue with that one.
“Sounds like she’ll feel right at home,” I drawl, earning another scowl. “And that we’re the perfect fit to protect her.”
“So you say, but if my daughter needs protecting, it’s only because King started this war.”
“No. You did, with a vow you’re now trying to break.”
“Vow or not, you’ve lost. If you knew anything about my daughter, you would’ve known she’s in love with someone else. The Thrashers are good folks. Ozias’s father and I have been friends for years. Shame you wasted your time?—”