Chapter 25

LENNOX

It's been a few days since Stevie was attacked in her home.

She's been staying with me, and I have to admit, I've enjoyed having her around. There's a sense of normalcy, a domestic rhythm that's oddly comforting about having her and Grim here. But today, she insisted on going back to her place. Something about her vibe felt off, withdrawn. I‘ve been telling myself she's just stressed, which is to be expected after everything she's been dealing with. So I decided to let it go.

Even if I hate every fucking second of it.

I told her I had stuff to do for the bar—not a total lie. I did need to pick up some supplies for Lloyd and drop them off at BB. But then I took a detour.

I've been coming out here a lot in the last couple of days. To the bed and breakfast out in the bayou. Staking it out, watching who's coming and going from the shit hole. Stevie did give me a brief description of Jensen the other night, and so far, I haven't seen him. Not that it surprises me.

He's a ghost. But I'll find him.

I've managed to knock off a couple of his men over the last few days. Guys who were likely looking for Stevie. They didn't give up much before they died, but it was enough to know Jensen is running the show here in the Quarter, at least for now. One of them told me something that could be valuable. Something that could turn the tables for Stevie and I.

According to him, Jensen being the sole survivor of Stevie's attack got him a little promotion. A little more power, and with it, he chose to seek revenge. He told me Jensen is working alone, and the men he's sending are men who work directly for him. That Sweet Dreams has no idea Stevie set the fire, or where she even is. All of this was set in motion by Jensen.

If that's true, then all I need to do to keep Stevie safe is take him and his men out.

Don't get me wrong I'm more than prepared to take on the entire fucking corporation, but if I can ensure her safety with the death of one man over a whole army, I'll do it.

I haven't told Stevie I've been looking into the bed and breakfast. Not that it matters; she's been ignoring me all day anyways. Taking the space she needs to figure out everything she has going on. I know the loss of her friends and not being able to go to the shop has taken its toll on her, so the last thing she needs is to hear about the shit I've been up to behind the scenes.

She doesn't know I've killed some of Jensen's men. That I bring their bodies home in the back of my trunk, and wait until she's sleeping soundly before sneaking back out, driving out to the junkyard to dispose of them.

I'm nervous she'll panic and leave if she finds out how much time I've dedicated to putting an end to all of this.

To keeping her safe.

Because I know right now, her biggest fear is losing me like everyone else.

Movement on the porch catches my eye. A tall, lanky dude steps outside from the weather beaten screen door, lighting a cigarette pinched between his lips. I watch as he shields the tiny flickering flame from the wind with his hand, before tucking his lighter back in his pocket. My mind drifts to Stevie and how she finally gave up smoking. A small smile tugs at my lips, but it quickly fades when a black SUV pulls into the driveway. The lanky guy greets the driver, bumming a smoke off him while another man climbs out of the passenger side and heads to the back of the vehicle.

My heart races as the back door of the SUV opens. From where I'm parked, I can't see inside, but dread pools in my stomach. It better not be any fucking kids. No one messes with the kids in my city.

By the looks of them, even the three of them couldn't take me on if I was to intervene. The only chance they have is if one of them manages to get a shot on me, which is a real possibility assuming they know how to use the glocks strapped to their waists.

There'd be no chance of me sitting here and watching them dragging kids into that building, especially knowing first hand what their fate would be.

The guy at the back of the SUV pulls something out, and my blood boils when I see the familiar fiery red hair. Stevie. Her hands are tied behind her back, but she's not fighting. Her face is void of fear, the defiant spark I love so much nowhere to be seen. It's like she doesn't care that they found her.

And then it hits me. The withdrawal, the coldness, the way she's been ignoring me all day. She planned this.

She turned herself in.

I grip the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. Anger simmers beneath the surface, but I force myself to stay calm. I want to rush in, guns blazing, but I can't. I need to be smart. I need to wait for Jensen to show his fucking face so I can put an end to this once and for all. I have to remember Stevie can handle herself, especially around these pieces of shit.

As they lead her inside, my heart pounds. Every muscle in my body is tense, ready to spring into action. It takes all my effort to slow my breathing, to calm myself and stay rooted to the spot. My jaw is clenched tightly, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. Now isn't the time to lose my head.

I watch as they disappear into the house, Stevie's fiery hair the last thing I see before the door closes and she's out of my sight.

Shit is about to get fucking real. I'm going to end this, once and for all.

For Stevie. For us.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. I can't afford to screw this up, I need a plan. Stevie's life is on the line, and I'll be damned if I let anything happen to her. My hand tightens around the gun in my lap, and I vow to myself: Jensen won't know what hit him.

When the coast is clear, I slip out of the car and make my way around the back of the bed and breakfast. The building is old, with peeling paint and creaky wooden boards. The light from upstairs shines through the gaps in the shitty flooring, giving me just enough light to see. Spider webs hang in the corners, dust clings to every surface, and I can hear rats scurrying in the shadows. The air is thick with the sounds and smells of the bayou—croaking frogs, buzzing insects, the earthy scent of damp wood and moss.

I find a back window and carefully pry it open, slipping inside. I land in the basement, my boots kicking up dust as I move. The basement is cluttered with old junk—rusted tools, broken furniture, and stacks of dusty crates. An old country song plays faintly on a shitty radio, the tinny sound mixing with the muffled voices coming from upstairs.

I move through the space, my eyes scanning for anything useful. In one corner, I find old mason jars of moonshine stacked in dusty cases. Nearby, I spot jugs of paint thinner and other flammable chemicals. A creak from above catches my attention, and I realize they're directly overhead.

I smirk, a plan forming in my mind. Reaching into my pocket, I grip my lighter firmly in my hand. I can hear them above me, their footsteps creaking the old wooden floorboards. Each step sends a small cascade of dust falling onto my shoulders. Their voices are a low, indistinct murmur, the kind you hear through a wall when you can't quite make out the words, just the tones and the occasional burst of louder sound. Stevie is up there, with those bastards holding her hostage. My rage intensifies with every muffled word I can't decipher.

Every dust particle that lands on me like a fucking taunt.

I ignore it all and focus on the task at hand, spreading out the supplies I found down here. The moonshine is potent, the clear liquid sloshing in its glass jar as I shake it around. It's strong enough to knock out a grown man with a single gulp, but I'm not using it to drink. This homemade firestarter is perfect, and it'll burn hot and fast. I uncork the bottle and start pouring it in a line along the base of the walls. The smell of alcohol is sharp and pungent, filling the confined space of the basement.

Next, I grab the paint thinner. It's an old can, rusted at the edges, but still full. The liquid inside is even more flammable than the moonshine. I twist off the cap, and the harsh chemical smell hits me right away. It stings my nostrils and makes my eyes water but I pour it over the moonshine, letting it soak into the wood and the dirt floor with a smirk on my face.

This shit is going to go up in flames like dry tinder.

It's going to be fucking beautiful too.

I work quickly but carefully, laying out my incendiary cocktail across the entirety of the basement. My hands move with a purpose, driven by the rage bubbling inside me. Stevie's up there, and I need to get her out. But first, I need to flush out these rats.

With everything in place, I take out my lighter and brush my thumb across the name Arceneaux that's carved into its side. I think he would've understood why I have to do what I have to do, despite being such a believer. Sometimes, the good have to do bad things to protect the people they love.

Not that I claim to be a good guy.

But I'm sure as fuck not as bad as the men I'm about to barbeque.

My heart pounds in my chest, the sound of it nearly drowning out the horrible music and the muffled voices above.

I flick it open, watching the flame spring to life. The small light dances in the darkness, casting long shadows on the walls.

Now I just need to wait for the right moment.

I settle into the shadows, keeping the bottom half of my face covered with my shirt as my heart pounds with anticipation. I can't stay down here long, not with the fumes as strong and toxic as they are. The voices above grow louder, but I focus on my breath, on the feel of the lighter in my hand. I hate that she's up there. I hate that she thought her only fucking option was to turn herself in. That she doubted us being able to take this on together.

But, what she doesn't know is that I won't let her. There's no giving up. No surrendering herself back over to the monsters who ruined her life.

The voices grow louder, and though I can't make out what they're saying, the crash of something hitting the floor tells me it's almost time.

The game is about to change, and when it does, they'll never see it coming.

Shit, Stevie won't even see it coming.

In the stillness of the basement, I wait. For the right moment. For the perfect opportunity to ignite the spark that will set everything ablaze.