“Or you could do it in New Orleans!” Holly’s face brightens with a look of pure glee. “Eden has a whole crew of friends, and it would be awesome! You could do the parade through the French Quarter and everything.”
Through it all, Memphis is quiet, a small smile on her face as she toys with the ring that’s been newly added to the fourth finger of her left hand. When I suggested catching a flight next week to the South Pacific and getting married, just the two of us, her eyes lit up with excitement. I know what my girl wants. Even if it’s not traditional, it’s perfect for us.
Memphis’s gaze lifts to mine, and I see that same anticipation on her face now as she speaks. “We’ll let you both know when we decide. Promise.”
After dinner is finished, and the women have hugged and said their good-byes and we’ve helped them into my Bentley and Creighton’s new Rolls Royce Cullinan, my brother and I stand on the sidewalk facing each other.
“You’re not getting married in Ibiza or New Orleans, are you?” Creighton asks me.
“Not if you let me borrow one of your jets next week.”
Creighton shakes his head at me. “You would fucking do that.”
I shrug, but a smile tugs at one corner of my mouth. “I’m doing whatever the fuck she wants for a wedding. Dom’s in Florida. You and Holly are heading back to Tennessee. Cav and Greer are in LA. Eden’s in New Orleans—”
“And you don’t want to wait to make Memphis yours,” Creighton says with a crooked grin of his own. “I get it. I really fucking do. If that’s what you want, I’ll make sure there’s a long-haul jet fueled up and waiting on the tarmac at Teterboro when you need it.”
“I appreciate that, brother. Because I’m not waiting any longer. I’m ready. She’s the one. No need to wait and plan all the stuff. I just want to go do it and make her mine.”
“Then that’s what you’ll do. I’m fucking happy for you, Cannon. Really damn happy. You deserve it. But you better believe that we’re throwing you a hell of a reception when we can get the whole family together after you get back. It’s happening.”
“Fair enough.”
He holds out his hand and I take it, leaning in to give him a back-slapping hug. Having Creighton back in my life means the world to me. It’s like regaining a missing limb.
As we separate, I notice a man walking up the sidewalk toward us in jeans, a dark hoodie pulled up over his head and obscuring his face. I reach for the piece tucked into my waistband, but he hits the pool of light cast by the streetlight just behind my Bentley and lifts his head, revealing a familiar face.
“I ain’t gonna jump you. Not when I’ve been hoping like hell I’d run into you both. And now here you both are, like fate put me in your way,” Gabriel Legend says, pushing back his hood.
Creighton puts himself between Legend and the Cullinan—just like me, always moving to protect his woman first.
“What the hell do you want, Legend?” I ask the man as he shoves one hand in his pocket. The other looks like the knuckles are busted, and he flexes it as if he just walked away from a fight.
His shakes his wild mane of hair free from where it’s caught in his hood and lifts his chin. “Got a business proposition for you. Opening a new club.”
Like the underground club he owns where Teal got in trouble, I’ll bet.
“Casso family is clean. We’re not interested,” I tell him.
Creighton stays silent, as if answering is beneath him because it’s ridiculous to expect he’d give money to the street fighter turned illegal club owner.
“No. Not a dirty club,” Legend says, shaking his head. “A high-class one that’ll attract every celebrity in town, especially the ones who can’t get into your damn cigar bar.”
“You’re going legit? I don’t buy it,” Creighton says, his tone rife with skepticism.
Legend lifts his chin at me. “Cassos did it. Shouldn’t be so hard to believe.”
“Sounds like a bad investment to me,” my brother says, pushing back at Legend.
“What if I’m willing to pay you back at double the market rate?”
I gotta give the guy credit. He’s asking the right people. If he could get our money behind his club, he’d have no problem attracting more investors.
“You that sure it’ll succeed?” I ask him.
“Yeah. Fuck yeah, I am. I’m doing this, with or without investors. I got a plan, and it’s not gonna fail.”
Knowing what I do about clubs in this city, I should disagree with him. But he already runs what I understand is one of the most profitable underground enterprises in the city. Although going legit is a different proposition altogether, some part of me is still intrigued.