Hating You to the Grave

My father and Jules’s mother died in the same bed.

When the police kicked down the door, their bodies were still tangled together, like water weeds strangling each other at the bottom of the Mississippi River.

In that moment, the world Jules and I knew collapsed completely.

He drove his Dodge Challenger straight into the funeral home’s viewing hall, crashing right into my father’s casket.

Guests screamed and scattered. Glass and lilies exploded in the humid New Orleans air.

I didn’t say a word.

I just went to the industrial docks, took his mother’s urn, and smashed it.

I watched the gray ash drift into the murky currents of the Mississippi.

Our hate was too crazy, too hot. It was like the toxic fog in the Louisiana swamps, swallowing us both whole.

After ten years of tearing each other apart, we were finally exhausted.

He took his men and fled to Colombia, building an arms empire there.

I stayed in New Orleans and became the number one bounty hunter—hunting down the scum who thought they could hide in the gray areas of the law.

...

After dealing with today’s target, I rushed back to the beignet shop in the French Quarter.

It was my cover.

I needed to clean my wounds.

The vintage TV on the wall was broadcasting the news of Julian Devereaux’s return.

"The heir to the Devereaux crime family, now an international arms dealer, makes a strong return to Louisiana..."

Of course. Great news for the bloodsucking media.

I bandaged my arm haphazardly and planned to light a candle for my father by the fireplace, as usual.

Suddenly, a girl with short black hair stormed in like a whirlwind.

She looked cool, but her voice was surprisingly loud. She held a bouquet of red roses and pointed at the display case.

"I want all the beignets you have!"

Following closely behind her was Marcus Cole, Jules's right-hand man.

He saw me and froze. His expression turned unnatural. "Eva... maybe we should go somewhere else?"

The girl refused immediately. "No!"

"I brought Jules beignets from here before, and he said they were delicious. Today is his birthday. I have to buy everything."

The girl blinked her big doe eyes, looking at me with teary innocence.

"Boss, my fiancé is back in the country today. He loves your beignets. Can I borrow your shop to set up a birthday surprise?"

I couldn’t refuse. I just nodded.

"Can you add some extra powdered sugar?"

I murmured a yes. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw fresh blood seeping through the bandage on my arm.

I hid my hand under my apron and walked toward the kitchen with trembling steps.

It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t nostalgia.

It was my sickness. It was flaring up again.

The kind of sickness that has no cure.

"Marcus, I'm running out of time! Help me decorate! Jules will be here soon, and I don't want him to be unhappy."

Marcus didn’t move.

He knew perfectly well that Julian Devereaux was never happy to see me.

On the news screen, Jules smirked at the camera, but his eyes were ice cold.

"She must be watching the news, right? I'm looking forward to... our reunion."