Chapter 7 Vapor
Stepping into Broussard’s study, I am enveloped by the rich scent of polished mahogany and leather-bound books. The room exudes a sense of timeless sophistication, with dark wood paneling and towering bookshelves lined with classic literature and rare first editions.
A grand oak desk, meticulously organized, sits in the center, adorned with a vintage brass lamp and a crystal decanter of aged whiskey. Plush, deep-set armchairs invite one to sit and read, while the floor-to-ceiling windows draped in heavy velvet curtains offer a glimpse of the sprawling estate beyond. Every detail, from the intricate Persian rug to the tasteful artwork on the walls, speaks of refined elegance and intellectual pursuit.
And it’s all bullshit.
A laptop sits closed on Broussard’s desk. I’m tempted to just grab it and go, but he’d notice it was missing. It wouldn’t be hard to figure out who stole it, especially if he interrogated all the staff. I can’t take that risk.
I pull my phone out and call Fang. “I’m in Broussard’s office. He’s got a laptop. What should I do?”
“Open it and see if it’s password protected.”
“Seriously?” I ask, circling around the desk to check.
“You’d be surprised how many dumbasses don’t password protect their shit,” Fang says, chuckling.
“That’s just stupid.”
“Not all criminals are masterminds. Some of them couldn’t crawl their way out of a paper bag. It’s sad, really.”
“It’s got a password.” I glare at the blinking cursor.
“Try one, two, three.”
I do and nothing happens. “Didn’t work.”
“Admin?”
“Nope.” I tap the keys, frustrated.
“Try Blue.”
“Good idea.” I brighten for a second before that one also fails.
“Can you just grab the whole thing and bring it to the clubhouse?” he asks.
“Not without someone noticing.”
“I should have gone with you.”
“As my date? I don’t think we could pull that off.”
“Oh, baby. We could be convincing, sugar tits.” Fang can barely finish the sentence before bursting out laughing.
“Listen, fuckwit—”
“Pookie, is that any way to talk to your man?” Fang says, giggling like a damn girl.
“Asshole.” I contain my laughter because this shit is serious. “Any other brilliant ideas?”
“Short of jacking the laptop? No.”
“Couldn’t you have given me a virus to upload to it or something?” I ask, annoyed.
“Even if I did that, we’d still have to be logged in. Broussard’s not like other criminals. He works the books, which requires some level of intelligence. Which also means he’s probably got his tech locked up tight. I could try to trojan horse in with a scammer email, but I doubt he’ll fall for it.”
“So we’re fucked.”
“For now. I’ll go ahead and send an email and see if he’ll open it and click the link. I’ve gotten a lot of guys that way in the past, but people are getting smarter now. If I’d thought it would work, I would have sent one instead of letting you risk your ass by going in there.”
“Try it anyway.”
“You got it.”
“I sent Ice, Tank and Bones back to Black Snake to check the boats.”
“Why? We asked the girls if there were any more of them, but they said they were the only ones.”
“Not more victims. Drugs. Cash.”
“For the exchange. Fuck! I was so worried about getting out of there alive that I didn’t even consider the trade.”
“Even within the same cartel, money exchanges hands for merchandise. The money has to flow in from somewhere. No one’s going to risk international kidnapping charges until they’re sure they’re getting paid. We all missed that link.”
“We didn’t exactly have time to think shit through that night.”
“The guys are on their way right now. Hopefully they find something.” I rub the back of my neck where the bowtie is scratching me.
“You coming back to the clubhouse?”
“As soon as I get out of here.”
“Grab me some of those fancy whores-derves on your way out,” Fang says, intentionally pronouncing it wrong. It’s one of his favorite jokes.
“I’ll get a to-go box.”
“Nice!”
I end the call, shaking my head. Leaving empty-handed sucks, but I wasn’t expecting to find much. I already assumed he’d password protect his computer, but I was hoping maybe it would be unlocked. Eyeing it, I’m tempted to just take it. But then Broussard would know I want more than just a business alliance.
After checking to make sure the hall is clear, I slip out of the office, closing the door tightly behind me. The lock clicks back into place.
I glance over the railing to where the servant’s waiting below. He hasn’t moved, but he’s sure as fuck checking his watch.
Ambling down the stairs, I hold my belly as if it’s hurting.
“Did you find the bathroom, sir?”
“Yes, but I’m going to have to leave. Something just isn’t sitting right.”
“Can I call you a ride?” he asks.
“No need, I’ve got one.”
“Very well, sir. Good evening.”
“You too.”
I hand my ticket to the valet. He pulls the SUV up a minute later. I hated having to leave my hog behind, but I couldn’t exactly come roaring up on it. That would blow my image right to shit. Broussard knows I’m a biker, but I also want him to realize that I can move in the same circles he’s in without drawing a ton of attention. It’s just one more part of my plan to get closer to him.
As I drive away from the house, I glance in the rearview window. The servant who was inside is standing on the porch, watching me go. Damn. I hope he doesn’t report my fake bathroom rouse to Broussard. Maybe he’ll just be happy I didn’t blow up the shitter and let it go.
By the time I get back to the clubhouse, it’s almost midnight. The club bitches are passed out around the living room. A couple of guys are still boning chicks, but I don’t watch that shit anymore. Once you’ve seen enough people fucking, you get bored of it. It’s just more ass, and there’s plenty of that to go around.
Fang’s upstairs in his room. Alone. I swear he’s still a fucking virgin because he’s too busy jerking off to lines of code instead of banging real live pussy.
He looks up from his computer. Instead of using his laptop in bed, like he usually does, he’s sitting at his small desk.
“Well, that was pretty much a bust,” I grumble, plopping down in the chair across from him.
“Pretty much? Sounded like you didn’t get much out of it.”
My mind flashes back to kissing Blue in the gazebo under the moonlight. Yeah, I got something alright, but I’m not ready to share it with anyone. I don’t know what’s going on with her, or with us, but I want her. Not just for a few stolen kisses. I want more.
“Anything from Ice yet?” I ask, keeping my other thoughts to myself.
“No, but there’s no cell signal in the bayou anyway.”
“True.”
“What about Vasquez?” I ask, referring to the New Orleans head of the Los Serpientes de Cristal cartel.
“Nothing new. At least nothing I could find.”
“Keep looking.”
“Always.”
My phone buzzes. I check the screen. “Ice says they should be back in twenty minutes. Any grub left?”
“You didn’t eat at the fancy-schmancy shindig? Where’s my to-go box?” Fang snickers as he pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Fucking nerd.”
“You know it, baby!”
“I’m going to see if Babet’s around.” I push out of the chair and head toward the door.
“She made some jambalaya earlier. And skillet cornbread. Oh, and those green beans with bacon.” Fang imitates a chef’s kiss. “Perfection.”
“Right on.”
I head downstairs toward the kitchen. One of the club sluts blocks my path.
“Vapor, baby. Want to go upstairs and fuck like minks?” Jolene asks.
“No.” I brush past her, but she grabs my wrist.
“I’ll let you put it in my ass if you want. I know you like that.” She gives me a coy smile.
In the past, I would have tossed her over my shoulder and taken her upstairs to rail all night. But not tonight. I’ve got someone else on my mind and Jolene doesn’t appeal to me at all.
“No, thanks.”
“Are you tired, baby?” She walks up behind me and grabs my shoulders, massaging them. “I could make you feel so good.”
“Fuck off!”
“You’re such a fucking asshole. I don’t know why I even bother,” she whines.
I don’t know what the hell I ever saw in her. Sure, she’s got a nice tight cunt, but that’s the only thing she’d got going for her. She’s catty with the personality of a viper. Not my type at all. But I’ll admit, I did fuck her more than a few times. Sometimes a guy’s got to nut in someone, which is why we keep the club sluts around.
When I walk into the kitchen, Babet’s standing at the stove, smirking her ass off at me. “Never thought I’d see the day. So, who is she?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie as I take a seat at the long kitchen table.
Babet’s a fixture in the house, but not because she’s a young piece of ass. She’s fifty-five and acts like a grandmother to everyone in the club, even the sluts. I’ve seen her giving those chicks advice that they should take, but they never do. But I listen to Babet all the time. She’s seen a lot of shit, which makes her wise as fuck.
She’s wearing one of her wildly colored muumuu dresses. Her spiky white hair is gelled up, giving her a punk-grandma vibe. And if that’s not a thing, she’s sure as hell going to make it one.
Despite the hell she’s been through in her life, she’s the most caring, compassionate woman I’ve ever met. She was working as a madam in a local brothel when we met. Drugged out of her fucking mind and a total mess. I guess you could say we saved her.
We shut down the house of prostitution she was running and gave her an ultimatum. Get clean or die. She got clean. We kept her locked up for a few months until we were sure she was over the addiction. She’s been clean for eight years now and has never looked back.
Something bad happened to her a long time ago, but she’s never told me about it. You don’t get that hooked unless you’re trying to outrun your demons. She’s got them. I just don’t know who or what they are. Maybe one day she’ll tell me.
“Cornbread’s in the oven. Popped it back in there when I heard you come home. It’s still warm.” Her deep brown eyes study me before she goes back to stirring spices into the gumbo she’s making for tomorrow.
“Anything going on in the house I should know about?” I ask her.
The woman’s got eyes in the back of her head and misses nothing. I check in from time to time to make sure I’m not missing anything. There’s so much shit going on outside the clubhouse that I could miss something happening here. Because of that, I don’t like to be gone too much.
“Tank and Vicki are fucking like rabbits. He’s going to knock her up if he doesn’t watch it.”
“Can you talk to him about it?” I ask.
“About covering his dick? I duct-taped a super-size box of condoms to his bedroom door. I think he got the message.”
I laugh as she moves to the side so I can open the oven door. Using potholders, I pull the steaming cornbread out and set it on a trivet on the table. She shuts the door for me before grabbing another handful of spices for the gumbo broth.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“Jambalaya’s in the fridge. Scoop out what you want, and I’ll heat it back up.”
“I can microwave it,” I tell her.
She makes a face like I just suggested she start World War III. I’m trying to make less work for her, but I think I accidentally insulted her instead. Definitely not my intention.
After scooping a heaping mound of jambalaya into a saucepan, I hand it over so she can reheat it. Ultimately, she’s right because reheating it this way just tastes so much better. Also, you don’t end up with a cold part in the middle.
“So, who’s the girl?” she asks casually.
“Don’t know what you mean.” I open the fridge and grab a beer, popping the top open with the edge of the counter.
“Please tell me it’s not Blue.”
“How do you even know about her?” I ask.
“I hear things.”
“More like overhear.” I smirk before taking another sip. “She’s engaged to Broussard.”
“Figures you’d fall for someone who’s already taken.”
“I didn’t… She’s not… We’re…” I sigh. Try as I might, I can’t lie to Babet. It’s one of our unspoken rules. However, that doesn’t mean I need to spill my guts either. “That’s a complicated situation.”
“Sounds like it.”
“Her father set up the wedding. As in, he’s making her marry Broussard like it’s one of his business deals.”
“What’s her father into? If he’s working with Broussard, then it’s got to be bad.”
“You know those girls we brought back to the clubhouse a couple nights ago?” I ask.
“Yeah. Did you find them homes yet?”
“They’ve been either handed over to our allies in Mexico so they can go back to their families, or they’ve been put in the underground system so they can find families in different chapters.”
Babet’s been around long enough to know how this works. We take the people we rescue—men, women, and children—over to another chapter. Then that chapter transfers them to another and then they do the same until there are too many degrees of separation for anyone to track them. They disappear. Get new identities. New lives. Freedom.
“Blue told you where to find them, right?” Babet asks.
“Yes. She’s assisting us, which is why I want to help her get away from her father and Broussard.”
“You’re fixin’ to make some powerful enemies.”
“Not like we don’t already have those.” I shrug.
“True. Just be careful,” she warns. “The whole ‘it’s complicated’ relationship status takes on a whole new meaning when you’ve got a pissed-off father and equally malicious fiancé gunning for you.”
“I can handle it. She needs to be protected from them.”
“And you’re the one to do it?”
“Yes.” My tone leaves no room for argument. While I value Babet’s opinion, I don’t always take her advice. She’s more cautious in some ways and more reckless in others, so I pick and choose depending on the situation.
“Did you kiss her yet?” she asks in that innocent voice that really makes me wonder how the fuck she can see right through me. Not just me, all the guys run into the same wall of truth whenever they talk to her.
“Kiss who?” Ice asks, walking into the kitchen with Bones.
“No one,” I say, giving Babet a look that tells her she’d better keep her mouth shut. And to her credit, she does. “Did you find drugs or cash?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tank says, walking into the kitchen with a huge trash bag. He drops it on the floor. “Might want to fumigate this shit first to kill any creepy-crawlies that got in there.”
“Cash?” I ask, opening the bag. “And lots of it by the looks of things.”
“You know what’s fucking funny?” Ice asks.
“What?”
“We could give this to Broussard to launder for us.”
“Not a bad idea,” I say. “I was going to get it a different way, but this works. That way if he takes it and fucks us, we’re not out anything.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
Normally we’d never discuss club business in front of a woman, but Babet would take club secrets to her grave. I have complete faith in her. That’s why I’m okay with talking about it. Also, the jambalaya’s almost ready.
“Did you boys eat yet?” she asks.
“I could have more,” Bones says.
“Me, too,” Tank adds.
They gather around the table with me. Babet smiles and goes to the fridge to get more jambalaya to heat up. While she works on that, Ice and the others fill me in on what went down in the bayou.
“It’s been two days. I can’t believe the money was still there.” I shake my head in disbelief.
“We couldn’t understand it either. Guess we got lucky,” Bones says.
“I wouldn’t call it lucky. The place smelled like death.” Tank shudders.
“Maybe because of all those dead bodies,” Ice says sarcastically.
“Surprised the gators didn’t eat them,” I say.
“They did. But they left a few limbs laying around,” Tank says, turning a particular shade of green. “Uh, I think I’ll pass on dinner.”
“What happened at the party?” Ice asks, changing the subject before Tank can hurl.
“Not much.” My gaze slides to where Babet’s standing. She’s still stirring the pot, but the edge of her mouth is turned up in a half-smirk. I’ve always wondered if there was something magical about the way she always knows shit. I’ve just never asked because I really don’t want to know the answer to that question.
After filling them in on the party and the failed attempt to get into Broussard’s computer, we dig into our food. It’s so different from the fancy shit they were serving at the mansion. This feels more honest. More real. Less pretentious and showy. I’d rather eat a single bowl of anything Babet makes instead of sitting down for a feast at the mansion.
I look around the table at the guys then over to Babet. The weight of taking care of this family sits on my shoulders. As the club’s president, I have to make life or death decisions that will affect everyone. I do it every day, but some days, it takes a toll.
“I’m heading up.” I carry my bowl to the sink and rinse it.
“Leave it,” Babet says. “I’ll take care of the dishes.”
“Get one of the club girls to help you,” I tell her.
“If any of them weren’t drunk and/or naked, I’d ask for help.” She laughs. “I’ll just make them make breakfast for you guys instead.”
“Waffles and eggs and bacon,” I say, making it sound like a suggestion instead of an order. I can’t boss Babet around. She’d beat the shit out of me with a rolling pin. Gotta respect a woman like that.
When I close the door to my bedroom, I lock it. I don’t need Jolene trying to climb into bed with me tonight. Not interested at all.
Tossing and turning, I can’t get to sleep. I can’t stop thinking about kissing Blue. Her lips. Her skin. Her smell. It’s killing me not to have her in my bed. I’m going to have to figure out how to make that shit happen. Soon.