He didn’t want that for Lucien.
He glanced at his watch, then bent his neck from side to side to side, stretching out the stiffness in his muscles.
He contemplated, for a brief second, knocking on Barrett’s door. But he knew better than to bother his Pack Master when he had a meeting behind closed doors. Barrett would rip Jaxon a new one and make him enjoy the trip to the ER.
If Lucien needed to talk, then he knew where to find him.
***
“Home sweet home,” Lucien mumbled as he pulled into the busy city of New Orleans a little after four.
The heat from the engine of his Harley rose up and mingled with the heat from the asphalt. Sweat beaded and rolled down his head to his T-shirt, where it was quickly soaked up in the cotton material. The streets were lined with motorcycles, and he knew the dangerous pull of New Orleans had made them gravitate to the city.
The light switched to green and he revved his engine, heading in the direction of Bourbon Street. The plan was to scour the city before heading over to his hotel. Barrett had made arrangements for a low-rent room because he’d look out of place in a high-end hotel.
He needed to keep a low profile and gather information, then find his brother and take his revenge.
The smells of Cajun food and Hurricanes saturated the thick air as he passed by rows and rows of restaurants.
He knew the aroma wouldn’t last. The second he got near Bourbon Street, he would be faced with the familiar scent of vomit and urine from last night’s partiers.
He turned the corner onto the notorious street. The stench hit him and he grimaced. With his heightened sense of smell, it was overpowering as the odor baked in the summer heat. He wondered how humans could even stomach walking down the street.
New Orleans. Home to the all-night bender and never-ending street-pissing contest.
“And they think animals are nasty,” he grumbled and pulled into a parking lot. Killing the engine, he set the kickstand and eased off the Harley.
He slid his assessing gaze across his surroundings. People moved at a slow pace, wandering, drinking, and laughing. They seemed immune to the heat.
The temperature bore down on him, like a demon from the sky, as it tried its best to bake him alive.
His lips curled into a slight smile as he imagined Jaxon standing beside him bitching about him wearing his leather jacket in this Southern heat. Jaxon wouldn’t hesitate to rip off his T-shirt and walk around bare-chested in the city for all the females to admire.
The sounds of car horns, the heartbeat of jazz, and the rumble of laughter reminded him of an old familiar friend. It’d been a while since he last visited New Orleans, but suddenly he found himself back in the flow of things.
New Orleans. Attractive and inviting, and once it got you liquored up and addicted to the sounds of the street, you had to make a choice. Stay or leave.
Unfortunately, he’d never had a choice. It was taken from him, along with his destiny.
Now he had a chance to make things right.
Now he had the chance to settle a score.
Chapter Five
“Finally. Food.” Barrett eased into the chair at the head of the dining room table. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten all day. Between attempting to gather intel on why his Guardians were being targeted and getting a positive DNA for Heimy on the tattoo, he hadn’t had the time or the appetite for food.
“Where’s Lucien? I made a coconut cake for him, his favorite.” Granny frowned as she looked around the room while the Arkansas werewolves took their seats around her table.
“Said he was taking off for a while.” Jaxon’s sharp tone had Barrett cutting his eyes at him. “Said that he was heading to the Pig Trail.”
“Pig Tail? I haven’t heard of it.” Granny pursed her lips and looked at her grandson, Jayden. “What’s the Pig Tail? Is it a strip club for large women? I don’t think Lucien needs to be at some strip club.”
“Jesus, Granny. It’s called the Pig Trail. Not Pig Tail.” Jayden scrubbed his hand across his face.
Damon snorted.
“Jayden, watch your language.” Granny’s eyes almost disappeared behind the wrinkles in her frown.
Barrett sat back in in his seat at the head of the dining room table and watched the interaction with slight interest. He knew his Guardians wouldn’t have the balls to ask him where Lucien was. But there was one werewolf who wouldn’t hesitate.
“Barrett.” Granny turned her hawk-eyed gaze on him. “Where’s Lucien?”
And she never disappointed.
“Where he said he was. Riding the Pig Trail.” He forked a large piece of roast beef onto his plate. Eating Sunday dinner at Granny’s house had become a tradition for their group. Since Granny had moved to Arkansas from Louisiana, the Guardians had kind of adopted her as their matron figure. Or mascot. He couldn’t decide which.