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It’s dangerous and weak. I told myself I’d never make this mistake again, wrapping up my desires in a woman.
That night in the tower, I fucked Cat viciously, telling myself I was only using her, that I didn’t care about her at all.
I never should have told her about my mother.
I never should have told her anything at all.
Cat didn’t seem to care that I was in an awful mood. She didn’t mind that I was rough with her. She bit and scratched me back until we had scattered the cushions and rubbed our backs raw on the floor.
When we lay there after, panting and sweating . . . I felt nothing but peace.
Sunday,I go hunting for Lola Fischer.
I find her lounging in the common room of the Gatehouse, with Dixie Davis and a half-dozen other members of the Dixie mafia.
They’re a motley group, all ages and appearances. The Dixie mafia is one of the only mafia groups not connected by family or country of origin. They recruit out of prison, and their members include both wealthy entrepreneurs who run the businesses along the Strip in Biloxi, as well as decidedly less-reputable members operating riverboat casinos, strip joints, and bingo parlors all through the Appalachian states.
Hence why Lola dresses like a dolled-up debutante, while her henchmen Carter Ross and Belkie Blintz look like they’ve never encountered indoor plumbing.
She notices me at once as I enter the large and cluttered common room, messy with abandoned shoes and pullovers and the detritus of forgotten snacks. I can see from how she sits up a little straighter and tosses back her fair hair that she knows why I’m here.
“Dean Yenin,” she says, batting those big blue eyes at me. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“I doubt it’s pleasant, or a surprise,” I reply coolly.
“Oh, it’s both, I assure you.” She smiles sweetly. “After all, when have you ever broken that brooding silence of yours to speak to me before?”
“I’d prefer to keep it that way,” I say flatly. “But you’ve been putting your hands on something that belongs to me.”
Lola pouts. “You can’t possibly mean Cat Romero.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“That shy little mouse . . . she’s not worth the time to walk over here.”
“And you’re not worth the breath that sentence took. So let’s cut this short. Cat is under my protection. You don’t talk to her. You don’t touch her. Is that simple enough for you?”
A flicker of anger crosses Lola’s face. She quickly smooths it away, putting out a hand to still Carter and Belkie, who shift menacingly in their seats.
“And what do I get in return?” she inquires. “After all . . . Cat lost theQuartum Bellumfor us.”
“You did that to yourself,” I say coldly. “In fact, I should break your fucking neck for trying to break hers. As for what ‘you get’—how about I let your henchmen keep their arms. Unless they try to stand up from those seats again, in which case, I’ll use Carter’s fist to beat Belkie’s fuckin’ head in.”
Lola toys with a lock of her shining hair, her eyes bright with interest, as if she’d enjoy watching that happen, even to her own friends.
She stands up, crossing the space between us with an unnecessary swaying of hips.
“I’ve always thought you had a certain spark that I find quite . . . fascinating,” she says, trailing her fingers up my arm.
Her floral perfume fills my nostrils. It stinks.
I shake her off, roughly.
“There’s nothing interesting about you.”
Now Lola isn’t smiling at all. Her face is pale and pinched, her lips disappearing in one thin line.
“Stay away from Cat,” I warn her. “Or suffer the consequences.”
