Chapter 11

ELEVEN

SALEM

T he New Orleans hotel room exuded a timeless elegance, its walls adorned with intricate fleur-de-lis patterns that spoke of the city's rich history. Soft lamplight cast a warm glow over the space, illuminating the plush furnishings and deep mahogany accents. Heavy velvet curtains with a rich burgundy hue framed the windows, drawn back to reveal a breathtaking view of the bustling metropolis below.

In the corner, a vintage record player crackled to life, filling the room with soulful strains of jazz—a reminder that in New Orleans, even the air itself was infused with magic. Fallon and I sat side by side, sipping our drinks as we meticulously applied our makeup—a ritual that had become a comforting routine in the face of the uncertainty that awaited us outside.

I glanced at Fallon in the mirror and watched her expertly blend her eyeshadow.

"So," I started as I turned back to my makeup. "Any exciting news to share?"

Fallon's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned back in her chair, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. "Actually, yeah," she replied, taking a sip of her drink. "I just wrapped up a break-in job downtown. Went off without a hitch—clean, smooth, and completely undetected."

I was always impressed with Fallon's skill set. "Nice," I said, not bothering to keep the admiration from creeping into my voice. "You never cease to amaze me, girl. Working for the Triad by day, breaking and entering by night—you're a woman of many talents."

Fallon grinned, a wicked gleam in her eye. "What can I say?" she replied, her tone light but tinged with pride. "I like to keep things interesting. And speaking of interesting, what's been going on with you lately? Any juicy gossip to share?"

I glanced up from the mirror, a faint smile gracing my face as I set down my makeup brush. "Actually, yeah. I got a cat."

Fallon's eyebrows shot up in surprise, her eyes widening with curiosity. "A cat?" she repeated.

I chuckled as I reached for my drink. "Yeah, I couldn't resist. He's a scrappy little thing—only has one eye and some patchy fur, but there's something about him that just… speaks to me."

Fallon raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at her lips, threatening to spill free. "Sounds like my kind of cat," she remarked with amusement. "What did you name him?"

"Loki," I replied fondly. "It just seemed to fit."

Fallon nodded with a knowing smile. "Well, I can't wait to meet him," she said, her tone warm with genuine affection. "But enough about cats and break-ins—I've noticed the Black Dahlia Killer has been overly active lately. What's that all about?"

I shrugged casually, a nonchalant smile playing on my lips. "What do you want me to say? I've had a lot of pent-up rage that needed to be channeled somewhere."

Fallon nodded, a hint of understanding in her eyes. "I get it," she said, her voice soft yet sincere. "But maybe take it easy for a bit. You don't want to draw too much attention to yourself, especially with everything that's going on."

I sighed, frustration slowly dissolving my being like acid. "I know," I admitted, my voice shadowed with resignation. "But sometimes it's hard to hold back, you know? Sometimes, I just need to try to right the wrongs of this world. In the only way I know how."

Fallon reached out, placing a reassuring hand on my arm. "I know," she said, her words gentle but filled with resolve. "And I'm right here to support you in whatever you need. But maybe for now, just try to lay low a bit. Let things settle down before you go on another murder spree."

I nodded and met her gaze. "Alright, I'll try to rein it in for a bit."

Fallon smiled before changing the subject. "Okay, so tell me. What's the plan for tonight?"

I leaned back in my chair and considered the evening ahead. "We'll go to the Triad party, mingle, dance a little," I explained, my voice steady but tinged with apprehension. "And then I'll need to attend the poker game on my own. It's only players in the room, so they won't let you in with me."

Fallon raised an eyebrow. "And miss out on all the fun?" she replied with faux indignation. "Fine—I'll keep myself entertained while you're off playing cards with the big boys."

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a grin at her irreverent humor. "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Fallon placed a hand over her heart, her expression mockingly earnest. "Cross my heart and hope to die. But you better kick some ass in there. I'll be rooting for you."

Her eyes softened as she noticed my worried expression. "I get it, Salem," she added, her voice gentle but filled with steadfastness. "You do what you need to do. Don't worry about me, I'll be right there waiting when you're finished."

I nodded, a wave of gratitude washing over me as I met her gaze. "Thanks, Fallon," I said. "I'm glad you strong-armed your way onto this trip with me."

Fallon smiled, a silent promise passing between us as we finished getting ready for the night ahead. Whatever dangers awaited us, I knew one thing for certain—with Fallon by my side, I was ready for anything.

The New Orleans night enveloped us as we stepped onto the grounds of the historic plantation, the air heavy with the heady scent of magnolia blossoms fused with the subtle fragrance of old money. The grandeur of the estate loomed before us, its opulent architecture a showmanship of Southern splendor. Fallon and I navigated through the throngs of elegantly dressed guests, their laughter and chatter melding with the pulsating rhythm of jazz music.

I stole a glance at her and took in the sparkle in her eyes and the mischievous grin that played on her mouth. I had opted for a black, figure-hugging dress that fell mid-length, paired with my most comfortable heels. Fallon, on the other hand, looked absolutely stunning in her short, red number.

She was determined to have fun tonight despite the task that had brought us here.

The music encased us in its sultry embrace, and Fallon seized my hand to pull me into the center of the dance floor.

"Come on, bestie," she urged, her eyes alight with mischief. "Let's show these fancy folks how it's done."

I grinned, unable to resist the lure of Fallon's infectious energy as I followed her onto the dance floor.

Her movements were fluid and graceful, a whirlwind of elegance and charm as she twirled and spun effortlessly. I followed her lead, my body swaying to the intoxicating rhythm of the music as we lost ourselves in the enchantment of the night.

The soft glow of lanterns cast a warm, ethereal light over the dance floor, illuminating the faces of the guests as they moved in time with the music. Laughter and conversation filled the air, and for a fleeting moment, I forgot the dangers that lurked just beyond the edge of the festivities.

For now, I pushed aside the weight of the world and allowed myself to be swept away by the magic of the night.

The warmth of the alcohol seeped into my veins as I took a sip of my drink, the burn of whiskey a familiar comfort. Fallon laughed beside me, her voice filled with dizzying joy as she danced with reckless abandon.

As we continued to dance, a part of me couldn't help but stay vigilant, my senses on high alert as I scanned the crowd for any signs of trouble. The Triad party was a delicate balancing act—a masquerade of smiles and laughter that concealed the danger lurking just beneath the surface.

The music faded into the night, and eventually, Fallon and I made our way to the edge of the dance floor, our breaths coming in ragged gasps as we leaned against the ornate railing of the plantation's veranda.

My gaze wandered, and from the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a familiar figure—Asher Mieoli. The mysterious poker player who had given me a false name back in NYC. What the fuck was he doing here?

Without hesitation, I turned to Fallon, urgency coursing through me. "Come on," I said, my voice low but determined. "I need to chat with that fucker real quick."

We made our way through the crowd, our steps quickening with each stride as we approached Asher.

Tall and commanding, he was a striking figure amid the opulence of the New Orleans plantation. His dark hair fell in tousled waves, framing a chiseled jawline and piercing green eyes. Dressed in sleek dress pants and a shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his attire exuded an air of casual elegance, accentuated by the intricate tattoos that snaked across his exposed arms.

To my surprise, he didn't seem the least bit startled by our presence. In fact, a knowing smirk played on his lips as we confronted him.

"What are you doing here, Asher?" I demanded, my voice sharp with suspicion.

"You didn't know?" He chuckled, the sound low and mocking. "This right here," he gestured to the sprawling plantation around us, "is all set to be mine."

My eyes widened in disbelief, a surge of rage rising within me. "You're one of the heirs to the New Orleans Triad?" I exclaimed, incredulous.

Asher nodded, his expression smug. "That's right," he confirmed, his voice laced with arrogance. "Stirling King, at your service." He gave a mocking bow.

Fallon scoffed, but I was too focused on the implications of his words to respond right away. The New Orleans Triad was a force to be reckoned with—a web of power and influence that stretched far and wide throughout the city. And now, standing before us, was one of its heirs—a man whose intentions remained unclear.

"What do you want, Stirling?" I asked, my voice steady but filled with suspicion. "And why are you telling us this now?"

Stirling's smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve as he met my gaze head-on. "I wanted to warn you," he replied with a hint of urgency. "If you are smart, you'll send your pretty friend here home before she gets caught in the middle of tonight's game."

Fallon bristled beside me, her eyes flashing with anger as she stepped forward to confront him. "I'm not going anywhere," she challenged, her voice sharp.

Stirling's gaze hardened, his jaw set in a firm line as he stared at her with unwavering resolve. "Then you'll find out what happens to innocent casualties in New Orleans," he replied, his tone icy and filled with a promise of danger.

I felt a chill run down my spine as I realized the gravity of the situation. I looked into Sterling's cold, calculating eyes. Beneath the facade of wealth and power lurked a darkness—a hunger for control. But could he be trusted?

Stirling's expression was inscrutable as he regarded us, his voice low and urgent as he spoke. "Salem, you need to get Fallon out of here. Before it's too late."

I felt a surge of apprehension wash over me at his words, uncertainty grinding down the edges of my resolve. Could I trust Stirling, the man whose intentions remained shrouded in mystery?

"And why should we listen to you?" Fallon demanded, her voice sharp with suspicion.

But before Stirling could respond, I intervened, my voice calm. "Fallon, he might be right," I said, my gaze meeting hers with unwavering tenacity. "We can't afford to take any chances."

Fallon's expression softened, a mixture of concern and reluctance flickering across her features as she turned to face me. "But Salem, I don't want to leave you alone," she protested, her voice infused with uncertainty.

I reached out and clasped her hand, squeezing it gently. "I'll be fine, Fallon. I promise."

Reluctantly, she nodded, her expression filled with resignation as she turned to face Stirling. "Fine," she growled. "But if anything happens to her, you'll answer to me."

Stirling's gaze heated as he nodded in acknowledgment. "I understand," he replied.

With a final glance at me, Fallon turned and made her way toward the exit, disappearing into the crowd as Stirling and I watched her go.

Before I could dwell on her departure, Stirling's voice cut through the silence, pulling me back to reality "Come on," he said. "The game is going to start soon." With a nod, I fell into step beside him, and we made our way through the depths of the plantation.