Chapter Twenty

 

Cat awoke to the sun streaming in the window. She rolled her head to the side. Blood lay on his back, his body bare to her gaze. Dear Lord, he was beautiful. Her eyes stopped on his cock. Even in it’s flaccid state, it still reached halfway to his belly button.

A grin formed on her face as an idea took hold.

She slid down the bed, taking care not to wake him. Tucking her hair over one shoulder, she lowered her mouth to him, stroking from root to tip along his shaft, and then again, repeating the long lick. Her eyes lifted to find his heated gaze.

With their eyes locked, she did it again, and felt his dick lengthen and harden under her mouth. She continued teasing and tormenting him until he slid a hand to her hair, guiding her to take him. Grabbing his erection with her hand and stroking, she brought it to her mouth, wrapping her lips around it as a groan escaped his throat. She took him deep in her throat and felt his whole body stiffen.

Up and down she caressed him—long deep strokes she could tell were really getting to him, and she loved that. She loved the hooded, dark, fathomless eyes glittering back at her when she dared to peek up at him. She loved the way his fist tightened in her hair. She loved the way the muscle worked in his jaw.

Evidently, she’d awoken the bear, and he’d had enough of the torment. He grabbed her by the arms and dragged her up his body to straddle his hips. His hands went to her waist, and he jerked her down, impaling her on his dick in one thrilling thrust that had her gasping.

“Good morning, pretty girl.”

She grinned back at him and winked. “It is now.”

He huffed out at laugh as his hips thrust up. “You want a ride?”

She put her hands on his chest and began to rock against him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

 

Half an hour later, they were dressed and ready to go. As they were leaving, Cat gathered up the poetry book and bible to take with them.

“Go wait by the boat,” Blood said. “I’ve got something to do before we leave.”

She frowned, wondering what he could possibly need to do, but she did as he instructed. She walked down the pier and carefully stepped into the boat, taking up her seat again, the books tucked tight in her lap.

From her vantage point, she watched as Blood walked inside. The sound of breaking glass carried to her, and she realized he must have been smashing something. The only things she remembered being made of glass in the house had been all those kerosene lamps. He came down the stairs and moved around behind the house, returning with a large rusted gas can. He began splashing gas all along the exterior of the house, finishing with the porch and making a trail of gasoline out into the grass. Tossing the empty can into the littered yard, he stood back and lit the trail.

Igniting, it flared to life and raced toward the building. Seconds later, the structure was burning, the flames licking up the sides. A trail shot up the stairs and soon the inside was glowing with fire as Cat realized Blood must have soaked the inside with all the kerosene.

The pier shook under his booted feet as he calmly walked toward her. Untying the boat, he shoved them off and jumped aboard. As they floated backward and he fired up the outboard, Cat watched the blaze grow higher. She could now feel the heat radiating toward them. She understood his need to do this, to destroy the place that held nothing but bad memories for him. She supposed it must be very cathartic.

Blood idled the motor a moment, watching as the structure was fully engulfed, then he turned them around and headed off, the outboard shooting a plume of spray in the air as they sped away.

 

***

 

Fifteen minutes later, Blood took them out of the dense swamp and across the open water. They pulled up to another house—this one built high up on the bank with green lawns and big oak trees around it. A crushed shell drive led up to a road behind it. The dock was well kept, and a retaining wall met the water. The house was lovely—bright white with green shutters and a gallery porch across the entire front, facing the water.

He tied them up and helped her from the boat.

“This is my Tante Marie’s.”

“Tante?”

“Aunt. Promised I’d stop by. Pierre probably already told her I was coming, so I can’t let her down.”

“When was the last time you visited?”

“It’s been years. Better cover your ears. She’s probably gonna cuss me up one side and down the other. Though it’s probably gonna be in French, so you might not understand anyway. She’s a sweet lady, my favorite aunt. She was my mother’s sister.”

“I see.”

They walked across the yard and up the stairs onto the porch. Cat glanced over to see white wicker furniture to the side. Blood knocked on the door. A moment later, an older woman with a short gray perm came to the door. She yanked the door open and screamed, her hands going to her cheeks. “Holy Sac-au-lait! Who dat standin’ on my porch? Etienne!”

Cat noticed she couldn’t have been more than five feet tall and came no higher than Blood’s chest. She was dressed in a pair of leggings painted to look like jeans that hung on her bony legs and knobby knees. A white t-shirt that said Hot to Trot on the front in neon pink and red high-top Nikes completed the outfit.

Blood stooped down and grabbed her up in his arms, her feet dangling off the floor.

“Set me down, Son.” When he did, she slugged him in the arm. “Poo-ey! Whass that smell? You stink like gas-leen and wood smoke. What bad bizness you been up to?”

“Good to see you, too, Tante Marie.” Blood grinned.

Her hands landed on her hips. “Where you bin all dis time? Why you haven’t visited yer favorite Tante Marie?”

“Don’t lie, Cher. You knew I was coming.”

“Course I did. Pierre told his wife, who told Tee-John who told everybody in the damn parish, prob’ly. I heard it from Sylvie at bingo last night. You oughta know, ain’t no keepin’ a secret in the bayou, boy.” Her eyes moved past Blood to Cat. “Heard you had a pretty thing wit you, too. Ow-ee! Look at dat blonde hair. Talk about!”

“Tante Marie, this is Catherine Randall.”

Cat held her hand out. “Please, call me Cat.”

“Cat? Why I call you dat, chile?” She turned to glare at Blood. “Well, doan keep her out here in dis heat, Etienne! Bring her on in. It’s been hot, hot, hot, even dis time of da mornin’.”

Blood led Cat inside. There was a main entryway with a parlor off to the left, a kitchen to the right, and a staircase leading to a second level. Tante Marie hustled into the kitchen. She took down a faded rosebud print apron, put it over her head, and tied it on. “Get her a café au lait, Etienne. I just heated some milk before you got here. I make you sumpin’ to eat.”

She began bustling around the kitchen, banging a cast iron skillet on the burner and slapping gobs of butter into it. “I make you pain perdu.” She peeked over her shoulder and winked at Cat. “Is Etienne’s favorite.”

“Pain perdu?”

“Louisiana French Toast,” Blood clarified as he moved to the cupboard and took down two mugs. He picked up the saucepan on the stove with one hand and the coffee carafe with the other and filled each mug with equal measures of both the hot milk and the dark, rich chicory blend of coffee, pouring them simultaneously, the hot liquids blending together. Setting the pan and carafe down, he carried the mugs to the small table covered with a floral tablecloth, and they both sat.

“Can I help you?” Cat asked Tante Marie.

She looked over, banging the wooden spoon on the side of the skillet. “Non, petit Cher, you sit an’ drink. Get the fruit I cut up out da icebox, Etienne. You like café au lait, Cher?”

Blood got up and moved to the refrigerator to do her bidding. When he did, Tante Marie moved to sniff him. “Go wash up! Bon Dieu!”

Blood looked to Cat. “Ladies first, Tante Marie.” He lifted his chin toward the entryway. “You can get cleaned up if you want, Cher. There’s a bathroom top of da stair.”

She grinned over the rim of her mug as he slipped into the Cajun dialect.

He moved toward her with a bowl of fruit as she set her mug down. He popped one of the strawberry slices into her mouth, and they exchanged a smile. Then she slipped from her chair and went to find the bathroom.

 

***

 

Tante Marie stood at the cutting board slicing French bread at a diagonal, dunking them in batter, and then dropping them in the sizzling butter. She looked sideways at Blood.

“Heard you went out to dat old place.”

Blood nodded over his mug.

“And?” she prodded.

“Lookin’ for something.”

“Lookin’ for sumpin’? Out der? Only bad juju out der, Cher.”

“You ever remember my mama having a ring that belonged to my father?”

That had her pausing and turning. “We doan talk about dat bastard Black Jack in dis house.” She wacked the skillet again, then murmured, “You talkin’ bout dat ugly thing, dat gaudy emerald da size of a bayou barge?”

Blood shrugged. “Don’t know. Some ring that belonged to his father.”

“He lose it?” She grinned.

“You know about it?”

“I remember it.” Then she turned and waved a bony finger at him. “You engaged in some his bizness? You gettin’ dumb or sumpin’?”

“Non, Tante Marie. Just tryin’ to make a deal to get something back from him.”

“Whass dat? He got nothin’ you need, Etienne.” She moved to slicing more bread.

“He’s got Cat’s little sister, Holly.”

She paused mid-slice, her mouth falling open. Then she set the knife down, wiped her hands on her apron, and came to sit at the table.

“Tell me everythin’.”

Blood shook his head. “You know I can’t do that, Tante.”

Tante Marie folded her arms and glared.

“She helped me.” He jerked his chin to the second floor. “I owe her. Promised I’d help her. I need to help her.”

“’Course you do.” She eyed him. “She helped you? Been a long time since a woman’s done something good in your eyes, huh?”

Blood stayed quiet, but shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“She provin’ all those ideas in your head wrong, huh, Cher?”

“What ideas?”

“You know what I’m talkin’ bout.”

And he did. Everything he’d always thought about women, Cat was proving that all wrong by doing the opposite of what he expected at every turn. She hadn’t abandoned him to the Death Heads, she didn’t run off again to the cops—not after she’d promised, not like he half-expected her to. She put other people before herself, time and time again.

“Mebbe she change the way you think. It’s not all about a debt, eh? I see the way you smile at her.” She tapped her temple. “I see what you doan see.”

Blood shook his head, not willing to admit any feelings in regard to Cat yet. “There’s more.”

“Not good, I’m guessing.”

“Non. I found out the truth about what happened to my mama.”

Tante Marie folded her hands on the table and studied them. “Do I wanna know?”

“Found out she’s buried in Metairie Cemetery. He killed her, Tante.”

Her eyes got watery. “Knew she dint run off. She dint leave you, Son. Always knew dat.”

Blood’s hold on his mug tightened.

After a long moment, she whispered, “Yer mama, you gonna take care of dat, Cher?”

“You bet.”

“What you gonna do ‘bout dat?”

“I’m gonna kill the sumbitch and feed him to the gators.”

She nodded and patted his arm. “Bon. Jist doan get caught, Etienne.”

He grinned. “Nope.”

She got up, moving to stand next to him, and stroked his cheek. “You look like her, Cher. You have her same eyes, same thick dark hair.”

“I didn’t save her, Tante Marie.”

Her hand moved to tug his hair, pulling his head up. “I doan wanna hear that, understand? Dat was Black Jack. Dat wasn’t you. Dat’s not on you, Etienne.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You listen to me, now. Thass done, you know da truth. Now mebbe you can finally move past it. You got a gift, sumpin right before your eyes.” She pointed upstairs. “God dropped a gift in your lap, Son. I been prayin’ to St. Jude for you, and he finally come through.”

“The patron saint of lost causes? Is that what I am?”

“Not anymore, mon Cher. Not anymore.” She hugged his head to her chest. “When dis over, we gonna visit your mama’s grave, oui? We gonna put flowers. You take me?”

“Oui, Tante Marie. I’ll take you.”

Cat came down the stairs, and Tante Marie moved to the stove again, wiping her eyes with her apron and hiding her upset by busying herself with cooking.

“Your turn,” Cat said, smiling at Blood.

He took another gulp of coffee, tousled her hair, and went upstairs.

 

***

 

Cat took a sip of her café au lait, finding it delicious and addictive.

Tante Marie looked over at her. “You so little the crows gonna carry you off, Cher. I’m gonna feed you good.”

“It smells wonderful.”

“You like my Etienne?”

“I…I…”

She studied Cat. “My Etienne, he carry a burden. Carry it ‘round like a stone. See, his mama, she loved da wrong man, and it killed her.”

Cat didn’t know what to say to that. She nodded. “My sister, Stacey, loved the wrong man, and it got her killed, too.”

“I see. And you doan plan ta let dat happen ta you, huh?”

“I don’t plan to love the wrong man.” She lifted her chin.

“He’s not da wrong man. He’s the right man. Mebbe you jist haven’t figured dat out yet.” She went back to slicing bread. “You will.”

 

***

 

When they’d finished eating and the dishes were in the sink soaking, Tante Marie suggested they take their coffee out to the gallery so her Etienne could smoke. They sat on the dingy white wicker furniture on the side porch. The laundry out on the lines flapped in the breeze.

Blood grinned. “You always did like to air dry the laundry. I remember as a child coming over here and running through it.”

Tante Marie smiled at the memory. “Your mama would chase you through da rows and catch you up and tickle you. You would giggle and squirm to get away.”

The laundry flapped up with a big wind, and Blood saw an old rusted car peek through. It was parked in the tall grass at the edge of the property. He ground out his cigarette in the ashtray, his eyes like a hawk. “Is that her old car?”

Tante Marie looked at him as he stood, then followed his gaze. “Oui, the rusted old Chevelle? She left it here before she disappeared. I think she was planning to take you and run again. Didn’t want your father to take it from her. I was going to give it to you one day, den about da time you were old enough, you took off with dem motorcycle boys.” She nodded to his black leather cut.

Blood connected eyes with Cat, his meaning clear. The photo of the car in his mother’s book.

Cat whispered the thought in both their heads, “Do you think…?”

Blood moved off the porch and headed across the yard to the car, a weird sensation moving through him as he walked between the lines of laundry. It was almost like his mother was leading him to it.

There were pine needles piled on the hood, and the windshield was cloudy with dirt. The rusted door creaked as he yanked it open. The black vinyl seats were splitting, and dust coated everything.

He looked through the car, seeing nothing. He leaned over and yanked the glove box open. Rummaging through it, he found the car’s registration and some old, yellowed service receipts. As he dug through them, a prayer card fell out. He bent and picked it up. It was the same as the one that had marked her place in the poetry book. Then his eyes slid from the picture of the Virgin Mary to the small statue of the Madonna that was glued to the dashboard. He’d forgotten about it, how it had always been in his mother’s car.

There was a roaring in his ears as suddenly everything clicked. He tore the statue from where it was mounted to the dash. As it ripped free, the bottom tore off, and an item fell into his hand.

Emerald green and gold sparkled up at him as a beam of sunlight shone into the car. “Holy shit.” That weird cold feeling moved over him again as his fist tightened around the ring. “Thank you, Mama.”

Blood studied the emerald ring. All these years this old car had sat rusting in Tante Marie’s yard, and all these years this was hidden inside. Hopefully it would be enough to bring Black Jack to the negotiating table.

He took the Madonna statue and shoved it in his pocket as he climbed out of the car. His eyes connected with Cat’s over the roof of the Chevelle, and he nodded. Through the flapping laundry he saw her put her hands to her mouth and burst into tears. A moment later she was running across the yard to him. He met her halfway, picking her up as she jumped in his arms.

“I found it, Cat. I’ve got it.”

“Oh my God. I can’t believe it.”

He set her down and pulled his phone out, moving his thumb over the screen. He snapped a picture of the ring, and then typed out the text to Black Jack.

I’ve got something you want, you’ve got something I want. We should talk.

He shoved it in his pocket and looked down in Cat’s eyes. “It’s still no guarantee, babe.”

She nodded. “I know.”

 

***

 

As they approached the dock at Jean Michel and Pierre’s shop, Blood cut the motor and coasted the boat in. He needed to set her straight on something.

“Hey.”

Cat looked back at him in the silence left when the outboard cut off. She had renewed hope in her eyes and that was a good thing. She was happy, and he hated to dampen her spirit in any way, but she needed to know.

“This doesn’t mean it’s a done deal.”

She nodded, her smile fading a bit, her excitement tempering. “I understand, Blood.”