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Yet again, she shook her head, struggling against the hold I had on her, and those brown eyes were wide with an unspoken plea.
I stopped walking and scowled. “You were on the floor with snakes slithering over you.”
That memory shivered through me.
“We are going back to Russia.”
She waved one hand from side to side.
“Goddamn it, mysh.” I bared my teeth. “You want to stay?”
She bobbed her head.
Maxwell let out an exasperated breath. “Come on, Em. This shit is bugged out. Aunt Delphine scares me. Plus, she had Kazimir looking like a fucking chump down in the basement—”
“No one had me looking like a chump,” I snapped. “However, you were about to piss your pants several times—”
“Damn right I was! Shit. I think I might have pissed in my pants just a little bit. The normal amount of piss for a normal person dealing with crazy shit.”
Emily waved her hand again, letting me know that she absolutely did not want to leave New Orleans.
“Goddamn it!” I returned to getting us to the car. “We stay tonight, and once you get your voice back in the morning, we will talk.”
She sighed. The sound was so filled with fear it nearly broke me.
I gazed at her and lowered my tone. “But, your voice back or not, I will not budge on this. I want you far away from Delphine.”
“Eh, one more thing.” Maxwell hurried back to my side, dove his hands into his pockets, and produced a joint. “Take this, Em. She said you can smoke and that you would want to. Now. . .I wanted your first time to be just you and me on Bourbon Street, but—”
“Just give her the damn joint and get out of here.” I was ready to break someone’s neck.
“This motherfucker.” Maxwell handed it to her.
She gave him a sad smile and then took it.
“See you both at the hotel.” Then, Maxwell headed off with Tisha, leaving us to face the uncertain night ahead.
Soon, I helped Emily into the backseat of the car.
Next, I slipped in. “Get close to me, mysh. You are freezing.”
She curved those lips into a smile.
“You are smiling?” I slammed the door behind me and wrapped my arm around her waist. “I was terrified. My heart is still pounding in my ribcage.”
She placed her hand on my bare chest.
I turned to the driver. “Why aren’t we moving already?! Get us out of here!”
“Sorry, sir.” The driver rushed with starting the car. No sooner did it start up and the tires crunched over gravel, and we were speeding off.
“And put on some music. Surely, New Orleans has a proper jazz station.”
“Yes, sir.” The driver fiddled with the radio and then stopped on a smooth jazz channel.
The soothing sounds of a melodic saxophone and piano filled the car.
Keeping her hand over my heart, Emily watched me.
