Chapter 9

NINE

SALEM

T he dim light of dusk filtered through the curtains of my apartment, casting long shadows across the floor. I sat cross-legged on the soft living room rug, absently scratching behind Loki's ears as he purred contentedly in my lap.

Loki, with his black fur singed in patches and one piercing yellow eye, had already brought me so much joy in the week I'd owned him. His playful antics provided a brief respite from the chaos of my thoughts, but the tranquility was soon shattered by the shrill ring of my phone.

I sighed, reluctantly setting Loki aside as I reached for the device, my heart sinking at the sight of my father's name flashing on the screen. With a sense of foreboding, I answered the call, bracing myself for whatever new burden he intended to heap upon me.

"Father," I greeted him, my tone devoid of warmth.

"Salem." His voice crackled through the line, the sound grating on my nerves. "I have a job for you."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he did. My father's definition of 'job' typically involved coercion, manipulation, or outright violence.

"What kind of job?" I asked, my voice betraying none of the apprehension swirling within me.

"There's an annual poker game in New Orleans," he explained, his tone clipped and businesslike. "The New Orleans Triad extended me an invitation in an attempt to build bridges."

I scoffed, bitter skepticism rising like bile in my throat. "Since when do you worry about building bridges?"

"Since now, Salem," he snapped, his patience wearing thin. "There will be a party before the game and I need you to represent me at both. Assure them that my absence is not a sign of disrespect and do whatever it takes to smooth over any tensions."

I bristled at his command, my fists clenching at my sides. "And if I refuse?" I challenged, daring him to assert his dominance over me once again.

"You know better than to question me, Salem," he warned, his voice cold and authoritative. "Your plane leaves in two hours. Don't be late."

With that, he hung up, leaving me seething with redundant irritation. I tossed my phone aside, the screen cracking against the hardwood floor as I struggled to contain the tempest that now raged within me.

I glanced down at Loki, his amber eye staring back at me. With a heavy sigh, I scooped him up in my arms, his warmth a comforting presence against my chest. "Looks like I'm going to New Orleans, buddy.".

I glanced around my apartment, the ticking of the clock reminding me to hurry. With reluctant energy, I started rushing around, throwing clothes and essentials into my suitcase. I didn't know what awaited me in New Orleans, and I couldn't afford to be unprepared.

I grabbed different outfits, each carefully selected to convey power and authority. In my line of work, appearances mattered, and I needed to make the right impression. But more importantly, I made sure to pack an array of weapons—knives, guns, and other tools of the trade. Flying private meant bypassing airport security, which I was awfully thankful for in situations like this.

As I zipped up my suitcase, my gaze fell on Loki, who lounged lazily on the couch, his one yellow eye watching me with curiosity. "I'll be back before you know it, buddy," I muttered, my voice soft. "Try not to get in too much trouble."

With a heavy heart, I set up an automatic feeder for him, ensuring that he would be taken care of in my absence. But I needed someone to check on him while I was gone. I considered asking one of the guys but ultimately decided against it. Instead, I reached for my phone, scrolling through my contacts until I found the number I was looking for: Zoe. She was a dancer at the club I used to work at, and while we hadn't spoken in months, I knew I could count on her in a pinch.

With a deep breath, I dialed her number, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for her to pick up. "Zoe," I greeted when she answered, my voice betraying none of the turmoil raging within me. "It's Salem. I need a favor."

The air outside my apartment building was fresh, the quiet of the night interrupted only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves. I stood on the sidewalk, my breath forming small clouds in the chilly air as I waited impatiently for the cab to arrive. My suitcase, standing at my feet like a faithful companion, held all the essentials for my journey—a mix of carefully chosen outfits and an assortment of weapons.

Finally, the cab pulled up to the curb, its headlights casting long shadows on the pavement as it came to a stop. With urgency, I hurried forward and tossed my suitcase into the trunk. I slid into the backseat, and we were just about to merge into traffic when the door beside me swung open with a sharp creak. I was greeted by a head of fiery red hair. Fallon. Her eyes were alight with mischief as she settled into the seat beside me, her presence like a jolt of electricity in the confined space of the cab.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, my voice loaded with confusion.

Fallon smirked, her lips curling into a sardonic smile as she met my gaze with an unyielding sense of purpose. "Like I was going to let you avoid me forever bitch," she retorted sarcastically. "I'm coming with you."

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. Of course Fallon would find a way to call me on my shit. There was no escaping her relentless pursuit, no matter how hard I tried. Although I had been avoiding her, I couldn't deny the flicker of relief that enveloped me at the thought of her joining me on this trip.

"Fine," I conceded, trying to hide the happiness in my voice. "But don't expect me to share my poker winnings."

Fallon laughed, the sound like music to my ears as the cab took off toward the airport.

As we rolled through the streets, Fallon's presence beside me was a constant reminder of the tangled web of alliances and betrayals that defined our lives. The tension between us crackled, thick and palpable, as we hurtled toward the private airfield that would whisk us away to New Orleans.

Fallon leaned back against the seat, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window. "So, avoiding me, huh?" she teased, her voice light but laced with an undercurrent of something deeper.

I sighed, my fingers tapping nervously against the armrest. "I wasn't avoiding you," I insisted with a shadowed defensiveness. "I just had a lot on my mind."

Fallon arched an eyebrow, her expression skeptical. "Sure, sure. Because avoiding your best friend is the best way to deal with things."

I winced at the accusation, guilt gnawing at my heart. Fallon had always been there for me through thick and thin, and I had shut her out when I needed her most.

But then, with a sudden shift in tone, Fallon's expression softened, her gaze meeting mine with unexpected sincerity. "I'm sorry, Salem," she said, her voice quiet but filled with genuine remorse. "For what Cohen, Mateo, and my brothers did. I had no idea, and I gave them hell when I found out last week. I'm on your side, so just let me know how we are getting revenge, okay?"

Her words hung between us, heavy with unspoken implications. For a moment, I was speechless, caught off guard by the depth of her apology. Fallon had always been fiercely loyal, but this was different. This was her acknowledging the pain and betrayal that had torn through our lives and offering her unwavering support in its wake.

"We?" I echoed, the weight of her words sinking in.

Fallon met my gaze head-on, her eyes blazing with displeasure. "As far as I'm concerned, those dummies are on their own," she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. "But you? You're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I looked at her, a rush of gratitude swelling within me. In a world where trust was a scarce commodity and alliances were forged and broken with the flick of a wrist, Fallon was a constant—a beacon of loyalty in a sea of uncertainty.

"Thanks," I said, genuinely appreciative. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She grinned, her smile lighting up her face like a star in the night sky. "Don't mention it," she replied, her tone light but filled with an unspoken promise. "Now, what trouble do you think we can get up to on this little vacay?"