EPILOGUE
Brick
One month later
Bringing Starlet to New Orleans with half the Iron Norsemen for our honeymoon was the greatest idea I’ve had so far. She hasn’t been here in ten years, and this is my first time to visit. Tonight we’re attending a memorial concert at a popular bar where Lucius de Vezin, one of my favorite blues singers, got his start. All of his original band members are expected to perform.
“Are you excited?” Starlet asks, smiling at me.
“More excited about sitting here with my beautiful wife. But yeah, sweetheart, a front row table in the VIP section, doesn’t get any better than that, does it?”
The lights dim and a lone guitarist takes a seat on a stool in the middle of the stage, his acoustic guitar weeping the minute his fingers stroke the strings. I close my eyes, taking in every note of one of my favorite tunes—Wild Child.
The guest musician plays another de Vezin original, and just as I’m starting to lose myself in it, I notice a commotion at the back of the room. Goddamnit. Those are Iron Norsemen patches—Roman Rivard to be exact. The sonofabitch has a long history in the Big Easy, one filled with bloodshed and heartache. Bringing him here was a mistake. I lean over and kiss Starlet’s cheek.
“I’ll be back in a second, okay?”
“Something wrong?” Shorty asks.
“Roman.”
“Jesus Christ,” Shorty complains. “Sit down, I’ll grab him.”
“Not your responsibility, brother. I talked Eagle into letting him come here. I need to rein him in. Stay with Starlet.”
He nods and I slip out of the bench seat, pissed I’m going to miss a minute of the show. I walk past the bar, down a long hallway, and find an exit that opens into the alley. There’s two overhead streetlights. Not sure what I’m looking at yet, but there’s a beautiful girl crying in the middle of the alley while Roman is straddling some guy in a purple suit, punching him repeatedly.
I rush out the door, determined to end the fight before the cops show up and arrest Roman.
“Roman! What the fuck?”
He splays his big fingers across the guy’s face and slams his head on the concrete before looking at me. “What are you doing out here, Brick?”
“Funny,” I say, “was going to ask you the same thing.”
“Found this asshole slapping around that sweet girl.” He gestures at the tiny blonde.
The man underneath him struggles to get away, pissing Roman off even more. For every word Roman says, he lands an accompanying punch. “Didn’t. Your. Daddy. Teach. You. Not. To. Hit. Women?”
That last bone-crunching blow makes me grit my teeth. “Pretty sure he’s done.”
“Yeah.” Roman stands up and rubs his hands together. “What did you say his name was, darlin’?” He gazes at the girl.
“I-I didn’t,” she says.
“Can you tell me now?” he asks.
She nods and scoots closer, still shaky. “They call him Ron the Don.”
“Italian?” I ask her.
“No—he’s as Cajun as you can get. Moved to Beaumont a few years ago, I think,” she answers.
“And what about you?” Roman asks. “What’s your name, beautiful?”
“Lucky.”
“Not your nickname, your real name.”
Then it hits me, I know her, well, of her. She’s Lucius de Vezin’s only child, Lucky de Vezin. “I admire your father’s work,” I say, hoping to ease the tension. “He died too young.”
Her posture straightens and her face lights up at the recognition I’ve given her father. “Thank you for your kind words. I want everyone to remember my father’s talent. But some people seem determined to take advantage of his legacy.”
Lucky glares at man on the ground, who’s finally starting to show signs of life.
“What do you mean?” Roman asks, showing a little too much interest in a girl who’s so far out of reach I can’t find the words to explain it to him without making him look like a fool.
“My father didn’t always make the best choices, especially when he was younger.”
“Sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” Roman offers.
“Something like that,” she says.
“What’s Ron the Don have on you, sweetheart?” I ask.
“Not on me,” she explains. “He wants a hundred thousand dollars by next week or he plans on releasing damning evidence of my father having sex with minors to the media.” Tears stream down her cheeks. “I know my dad wasn’t an angel, but he’d never take advantage of children. Never.”
Rage contorts Roman’s features and he kicks Ron in the ribs a couple times. “Blackmail?” he growls. “Worthless piece of shit.”
Ron the Don groans in obvious pain.
“How well did he know your dad?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. The first time I remember him mentioning Ron was when he bought a Harley five years ago. Ron and his friends used to show up at the house on the weekends and my father would ride with them. Get drunk. Pick up women. The usual.”
“Are you sure your father didn’t…” I start.
“Never. That’s an absolute. Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Brick.”
She offers her hand and I shake it.
Then she turns to Roman. “Thank you for intervening, Roman.”
He grins like a love-struck adolescent. “Was the least I could do. Is there somewhere I can put him?”
I look for a spot. There’s a dumpster a few yards away. “Trash,” I say, gesturing up the alley.
Roman laughs and scoops Ron up like he doesn’t weigh anything.
“Wait!” Lucky says, following us. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Is it even legal?”
I stop and hold her back while Roman does what he needs to do. “Leave it to us, okay? Why don’t you go back inside and forget anything happened tonight? We’re here to celebrate my marriage, and I’m certain my wife would like to meet you. She’s a big fan of your father’s music, too.”
She considers it, still leery of what Roman is doing. “What table are you sitting at?”
“VIP section, next to the stage.”
“Consider it a date.” She heads inside.
“Can’t take you anywhere, Roman.”
“Probably not.” He drops Ron in the dumpster, then pulls out his cell phone. “Apparently this guy likes to commemorate historic moments with photography.” He snaps several pics and grins. “Should I climb in and take a dick pic—put my junk in his mouth?”
I shake my head, not entirely against the idea. Lucky is a sweet girl, obviously not used to violence of any kind. I’d like to give her a strategic advantage over Ron the Don—fucking loser name. “Do it.”
Roman jumps in the dumpster, whips his dick out, and poses. The flash goes off several times and I’ve had enough. “Put your shit away, brother.”
He zips his jeans up and hops out of the dumpster. “Let’s go have a drink with that pretty girl.”
“Hold on,” I say. “She’s not your typical woman. Her father is a national treasure, which makes her high profile.”
“I don’t care about that. I just want to fuck her.”
“Roman…”
“What?”
“There’s three hundred people inside that bar. Pick another woman.”
“Can’t do it, brother.”
I give up. Let him make a fool of himself. Might be the hard lesson he needs to keep his fly zipped for longer than ten minutes. We return to our table where I find a waiter opening up a bottle of extremely expensive Champagne. “Where’d that come from?” I ask Starlet as I take my seat.
She points at the bar. Lucky smiles and waves at us.
“Should I be worried?” my wife asks.
“No. Never.” I drape my arm across her shoulders. “That’s Roman’s crush, Lucky de Vezin.”
Starlet’s brows arch with curiosity. “Lucius’ wife?”
“No, his daughter.”
Starlet gazes at Roman and kicks him under the table. “Great taste, Roman. You don’t have a chance with that girl.”
He frowns and slams a shot of Jack Daniels. “Funny thing—your husband told me the same thing. Guess I’m going to have to prove you both wrong.” He slides out of the booth and heads for the bar where Lucky is sitting.
I watch as they talk for a few minutes, and then much to my surprise, he takes her hands and leads her onto the crowded dance floor.
“Roman dances?” Starlet asks.
“He does now,” I say, knowing that tonight is just the first taste of whatever trouble follows Lucky de Vezin around. Roman is hooked. And as I take a second look at them holding each other close on the dance floor, I can’t blame him for trying to win the girl.
* * *
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