“I changed my social media to private and made a break from my past. Maybe it was survivor’s remorse.” I shrugged. “That’s what the counselor at the University of Pittsburgh said. For whatever reason, I made the decision to make that break. It helped me start over by not constantly facing reminders of the life I lost.”
“You’re saying you’ve had no contact with Kyle’s friends after that celebration of life—after you left North Carolina for good?”
I nodded and shrugged at the same time. The contact didn’t directly involve Greyson, and it wasn’t any of Rett’s business.
“Is there more?” he asked.
“Nothing that matters.”
Rett’s gaze narrowed. “Now isn’t the time to call out that lie, Emma, but just know that I know.”
“What lie? I haven’t...hadn’t seen Greyson in over four years.”
“That statement I believe.” Rett turned and began to step toward the bedroom.
“Wait. Are you leaving?”
Emma
When Rett continued to walk away, I called out again, “Rett, wait.” My command stilled his steps as he turned back my way. I hurried closer and reached for his arm. “Tell me why Greyson is dead. Tell me what the hell is going on.”
Inhaling deeply, Rett spun in place until we were again eye to eye. “Fuck, Emma. I have told you. Your inability to either listen or comprehend seems to be a problem we will need to resolve.”
I lifted my arms in the air and let them fall to my thighs. “What the hell are you saying? I am listening. I’m able to comprehend, but you aren’t telling me shit.”
Rett’s chin rose. “Sit down, Emma.”
Letting out a breath, I recalled his comment about treating me like a child and decided not to cross my arms and pout. Instead, I went back to the lounge chair and again sat on the edge. “Talk.”
“Listen and listen closely. Do I have your attention?”
As I took Rett in, seeing and hearing his domineering presence encased in a toned and sexy body, I wanted to hate him. I wanted to demand my release and tell him that his theories of made-up danger were outrageous.
With each step of his jeans-clad long legs and the way his chest inflated with every inhalation, I questioned my presence in his home. And yet a small part of me believed I heard more than authority in his tone. There was also genuine concern. That element, whether imagined or real, was the component that kept me from running—well, that, the barricaded windows, and Ian on the other side of the door.
“Undivided,” I replied.
“You are in danger,” Rett began. “As I said last night, you’re a marked woman. Kyle O’Brien, who now uses the name Isaiah Boudreau II, wants my city—New Orleans. He believes he can convince others, those who support my authority, that as Isaiah’s son he is entitled to rule. His claim is nullified by your presence, by your being alive. If he can eliminate you, it will help to substantiate his claim as heir. That promise of future power is how he’s enticing others to work against me. In short, he’s orchestrating a coup.”
“What will he or anyone else gain by taking over New Orleans?” I shrugged. “This isn’t the Wild West orGame of Thrones.”
“You’re right, Emma. This is now and this is real life. There is a de facto hierarchy that is constantly in flux around the world, one that most people choose to ignore. People assume that in a democracy they are participants in choosing their leaders. This isn’t a political statement about those leaders but more about the masses.
“What I’m saying is that the people elected are figureheads, not the ones with the true power. That true power lies in dark allies and dimmed rooms.
“That power has been around since before our young country was a country, before Louisiana was a territory. What I’m talking about isn’t limited to the United States. This hierarchy is present all around the globe. Those who reign don’t come into that position bywe the peopleor by votes. The ones who truly rule take their position by force and maintain their power with the same force.
“New Orleans became mine the night my father, Abraham Ramses, and your father, Isaiah Boudreau, decided they could no longer co-rule—no longer share what had been shared for generations. They both underestimated their true opponent.”
“What happened?”
“They both succumbed to their injuries.”
He had my attention. “Did you become who you are because you were Abraham’s son?”
“My lineage helped, but as I just said, this position doesn’t come easily; it must be earned.”
“So if what you say is true,” I said, “my father is dead.”