Page 132 of Dirty Pleasures

The bar itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, the wood polished to a high shine. Bottles of various shapes and sizes, filled with liquids of every hue, were meticulously arranged against a mirrored backdrop.

Behind it, black and white photographs of jazz legends decorated the walls.

I approached the bar with one purpose. My fingers itched for the familiar cold touch of a vodka bottle.

Hmmm. Where is it?

I rifled through the selection, my frustration mounting with every passing second.

None? Did they not know that I would be here?

King David told me that New Orleans had a great history for bourbon and recommended that I should try it on my visit.

I smirked.

David probably also thought the liquor would keep me calm.

Let’s see, King. Will it?

I selected a bottle of bourbon that boasted an age statement impressive enough to pique my interest. The amber liquid glowed seductively in the dim light.

This better taste good.

I poured the bourbon into a heavy crystal glass, lifted it, and took my first sip.

Well. . .not bad at all.

The warmth of the bourbon caressed my insides. Notes of vanilla, oak, and a hint of caramel danced together on my tongue.

I carried my glass over to one of the couches and collapsed in exhaustion.

And what is my mouse doing?

I turned to the left.

Emily played with the paint, mixing colors and dabbing globs of dark hues onto a palette.

Are you going to paint like Baba suggested?

From this vantage point, I watched my mouse and contemplated the chessboard of the criminal underworld laid out before me.

Hmmm.

I took a gulp of bourbon and pondered my next moves.

The game was always the same—power, loyalty, and death.

Tonight, the question of how to best eliminate a new possible enemy hovered above my head.

If this Cartel continues to piss me off, then they will be destroyed.

It wasn’t a matter of if, but of how.

I watched Emily begin to paint.

Many options played out in my mind like a macabre ballet—bombs, flames, poison, sniper bullets. Each method had its own artistry, a lethal elegance that required as much finesse as Emily applied to her canvas.

It doesn’t matter what the Cartel tries, no one can defeat me or my mouse.