AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A lot of people were around. Maybe we would be okay. “Luc, any ideas yet on the payment for Geneviève?”
“I have the sacrifice. We only need the other two. But if we’re going to figure it out, we need to get rid of your problem first so we can even think. As clever as you’ve been at avoiding them. This is making things difficult. And to be honest, I don’t like the idea of people hurting you.” Damn, he was sweet, and it made me want to taste if that mouth was as flavorful as his disposition.
“We’ve been running around the city all night. I’m sure we’re good now.” An authentic gas light on the building flickered as I walked beneath a balcony.
“Austin, being good for now isn’t good enough. Why are these men chasing you?”
“I don’t think they’re men, exactly.” Not after Lady Geneviève’s comment about the Deadman Mafia. “But also because I owe money. Gambling debt. And whoever the boss is, he’s decided it’s time to collect. And…I don’t have it. Told you. I’m broke.”
“You don’t know the boss?” That seemed like a valid question, but there were circumstances.
“No. The family running the city was falling apart for a while, but suddenly, they weren’t. No one is sure exactly what happened or who is actually in charge now. And honestly, I don’t want to know.”
The Garden District
We walked along until we came to Esplanade, then we turned there and headed up to Decatur. No one gave us a second look. There were a few tattoo parlors in this area that tourists and locals alike sought out. It meant people and cover. Then we stopped to cross the road and so did everyone else.
A line of fancy black cars drove by in front of us. Not fast, but not slow either, and not stopping for anyone or anything. They drove right through the red light. I heard someone nearby whisper, “Deadman’s procession.” Though I didn’t know what that meant. I spent way too much time running and not enough paying attention to all the legends and stories of the city. Hell, I didn’t even know much about mambos. Sure, I’d heard of them and voodoo, but it never mattered enough to dig deeper. Money. Gambling. That was all I’d cared about for way too long now. The cars came from Frenchman and drove down Decatur.
A hand on the back of my neck made me jump. It squeezed. “Boss wants to speak with you. And you’ve been dodging me all night, you little shit. If it weren’t for the boss, I’d tear you apart for the trouble.”
“Shit.” Caught.
I was unceremoniously tossed into the back of a black car that very well could have been a part of the procession. In fact, I think it was. The goon climbed in the back beside me and shut the door. The driver took off, following as the procession crawled along, ending up in The Garden District and finally going through the gates of a grand New Orleans house. I knew where we were, though this wasn’t my normal stomping ground. We were, in fact, not too far from Lafayette Cemetery No. 1. That made me super nervous with everything else that had been going on tonight.Deities!What the hell could I do?
The head goon who grabbed me was a big mother fucker, and deceptively fast.
We sat there in the car and waited, but not terribly long. I leaned forward and caught a better glimpse of the house. It looked pink in the low lights, and the second story was decorated with all the typical New Orleans architectural finery—fancy corbels and trellis and big ferns hanging from the ceilings. Thisone had multiple balconies over three stories in the front and side, but that was about all I could see.
Finally, someone tapped on the glass, and I nearly jumped out of the car without the door being opened. The goon rolled down the window. “Boss is ready,” the window knocker said.
“Thanks.” The goon opened the door and reached back in for me. “Come on then.” He grabbed my arm, yanking me out of the car. If I dragged my feet, I was pretty sure he would carry me. And he gripped my arm as if I were going to try and escape. Well, I probably would have tried.
We entered a dark space through a side door and the goon pulled me farther in. Though I could hardly see in the darkness—where the heck was Luc when I needed that glow? Finally, we passed through a set of gigantic pocket doors and into what could only be described as a Victorian parlor complete with golden walls and maroon curtains hanging over floor-to-ceiling windows. There was a settee against one wall, upholstered in the same fabric as the curtains, maybe, but definitely the same color. None of it felt welcoming.
But it was the man who sat in the center of the room at a table beneath a large crystal chandelier that made Lady Geneviève’s look like cheap glass strewn together with twine who truly dampened the mood. “Thank you, Jude.”
The goon, obviously named Jude, bowed and walked away, leaving me here alone with who I presumed was the boss. “Uh…hello?”
“Come in, Mr. Broussard.”
Tentatively, I took a step toward the table. Honestly, I was scared. Luc had disappeared. I couldn’t see him anywhere, and I had no idea what I was doing. I felt very alone. As ever. “You can call me Austin.”
“Austin, then. Do you know who I am?” He had a slight accent that I couldn’t pinpoint.
“Yes and no.”
“Hmm…well, I’m the man you owe two hundred grand for starters.”
That’s when Luc showed up, and he yelled, “Two hundred thousand dollars!”
“Yes, I know how much.” I refrained from rolling my eyes at Luc, but barely. But after taking another look at the man, I knew exactly who he was. Falling back on my smart mouth as a defense, I jumped right in. “And I’m surprised because you’re supposed to be dead.” He was most definitely the old mob boss, Carlos Marcello. That history I knew about. Marcello died at his Metairie, Louisiana, home on March 2, 1993. I had been fascinated with it at the time. Despite his known death, it was definitely him sitting in the fancy chair in front of me, acting like he was very much alive and well. And hadn’t I been warned about him? I should have listened.Fuck my life.
“Yes, but I’m not. You see, I’m, well, I’m here. And the good thing is I get to take your life to help sustain me. In payment for your debt.”
My life? Sustain him? “Are you a vampire?” Another thing I’d heard about and knew was possible but had never paid enough attention to. But now I’d met one, and possibly two?
Marcello chuckled ominously. “No. I’m not a vampire, but I do need others’ lives to sustain me. Not hard to get, actually.” He waved a jeweled hand around. I imagined he got whatever he wanted as head of the Deadman mafia, which all made total sense now.
