Page 83 of Debt of My Soul

A man in front of us winks at Fleur before pinching the ass of a woman walking by.

Fleur’s wide eyes look at me, and I lean down, letting my mouth graze the soft rim of her ear. “Trust me and follow my lead.”

She isn’t going to like who I am tonight.

I inhale and plaster a smirk on my face before making my way back to the guys.

Darrin watches as we work our way toward him. He gestures a hand to another leather chair beside him and Blitz. I take it, leaving Fleur to stand. Confusion teeters on her brow until she notices the other women around the group also standing. Most of them have a hand or two stroking leisurely. An arm, a finger dragging on a thigh—sensual touches to appease the lazy men in their chairs.

Fleur tucks herself between me and, unfortunately, Blitz’s seat. She angles her body in order to scan the floor. Sheriff Motley sits at a Texas hold’m table and enthusiastically waves in our direction. I nod then sneak a glance at Fleur who’s clenching her fists tight, eyes narrowing on the sheriff seated next to the mayor.

It’s impossible for outsiders to truly comprehend how embedded Darrin’s reach is in town. Questions are often raised by newcomers. Why doesn’t the sheriff arrest him? How come the mayor doesn’t take back his town?

The answer—well, the answer is simple. Boiled down to one word. Corruption.

From the look of faithlessness on Fleur’s face, she’s realized how deep the well really goes.

“Yo, D. Why were we called here tonight?” one of the men asks.

I don’t catch who it is, and their voice is drowned out as I’m watching Fleur scan the crowd. Is she looking for someone?

After several seconds, I finally catch up to the conversation going on around me, and I realize that we were, in fact, told to come here. All of the six, and even some others, from the looks of it.

“Four dealers have turned up dead in the last few days,” Darrin says.

Silence.

In the immediate area around us, no one speaks. No one breathes. Four dealers?

“Dumped in town. All baring the horseshoe. I’ve IDed them. All shot at point blank range.”

Fleur fidgets. Similarly, the other women do too.

“Is it Raven?” I ask. Raven is the drug lord from over the state line in Alabama. We’ve had territory issues before considering our dealers work in nearby circles but murdering four of them …

“I believe so,” Darrin continues. “Our meeting with the Cartel, the joining newer networks—they’re threatened. More potent Jackpot means more business for us and less for them.”

Blitz growls next to me and Fleur jumps in response. He finds it funny and chuckles, running a finger from her knee up her thigh. I steel my face, trying to look as impassive as possible while my inside is screaming to shove his hand in a meat grinder for touching her.

Fleur leans away and his hand drifts back down to the arm of his leather chair, smiling as he stares where his fingers touched her.

“Let’s repay the favor,” Blitz offers to Darrin, his eyes finally moving away from Fleur’s short shorts. A building full of half-naked women and he still has eyes for Fleur. Rage simmers beneath my skin and I itch.

“I already have,” Darrin says, swirling a glass beer bottle in his hand. My gaze snaps to his and I smirk in approval. Or at least I try to convince him of my affirmation. But deep down I’m struggling not to demand an answer to why he’s decided to start a war with Raven.

This muddies the water. I’m supposed to be passing along information to my handler about the Cartel and the bigger network. That’s the information they need. Getting sucked into a border war is dangerous and not what the DEA is looking for right now.

Internally, I’m strategizing. How can I redirect Darrin’s attention? How can I keep my mission in play? Can I keep Fleur safe if this happens?

“Cheers to that,” Trip says and lifts his drink in the air. His boisterous words seem to lighten the too tightly wound group of men. The women begin their movements again, and several men motion for new drinks to be delivered to them.

Two beers are delivered to me on a tray, and I thank the woman, putting on a show of admiring her for Darrin, who’s staring at me, but I’d rather cut off my own limbs than touch another woman. I turn and hand one of the bottles to Fleur. “Here.”

“I don’t like beer,” Fleur says unapologetically.

A snicker from across the wide circle of men in chairs has me grinding my teeth.

“Drink it anyway,” I demand.

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