With a weak smile on my face, I pushed open the back door and stepped into the alley. The air wasn’t the freshest, but it wasn’t clogged with the sugary sweetness from inside.

What the hell is going on?

Vincent had told me Dom wanted me gone, and sold me that spiel about no one knowing where I was, which I didn’t even question at the time. And now? Now, I had no idea what the hell to think.

I stared down at the phone, my thumb hovering over the CALL BACK button, but I remembered Vincent’s warning. The number was to be a direct line to him, not Dom. And what good would that do me? I’d followed orders like the good little mobster’s daughter that I was and had left my phone behind, which meant I didn’t have anyone’s contact information except for the few numbers I’d memorized.

I didn’t have Dom’s personal cell phone number memorized. No one had ever bothered to give me the number to the Hell’s Kitchen brownstone. I could call my aunt . . . but there was no way she’d give me any information that would allow me to disturb Dom. She wouldn’t take the chance of earning his displeasure.

Did I even want to get in touch with Dom? If he hadn’t given the orders for me to leave New York on my own, then wouldn’t his first order be for me to come back? I couldn’t honestly say I knew my father, but my gut said yes. As soon as he figured out where I was or how to contact me, he’d have his guys here to collect me and put me on a jet back to New York before I could even pack my suitcase.

Back to the gilded cage.

No more New Orleans.

No more experiences.

No more Bishop.

No. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to go. But how long would it take for Dom to find me? Vincent knew what credit card he’d given me, which meant he knew exactly where I was.

He’s always known where I am. The realization swept over me.

From the second I’d booked my ticket with that credit card, he would have known where I’d gone. How could I have been so stupid to not even think about that?

There had been a few times I’d felt like I was being watched, but I’d brushed it off as my overactive imagination.

What the hell is going on?

Like the person in the alley last night. The one who’d been watching me and Bishop and then run.

Who was that? One of Dom’s goons here to watch over me, even though I was supposed to be on my own? Or maybe the FBI had pulled the credit card records?

Too many questions and not enough answers.

The back door to Voodoo banged against the brick wall of the building, and Bishop stepped out with a ladder.

He stopped when he saw me leaning against the back of Your Favorite Hole.

“Hey. What are you doing?”

I shoved the phone into my apron pocket and crossed my arms over my chest. “Nothing. Just . . . needed some fresh air.”

Bishop looked around the alley. “Not the freshest back here.”

I shrugged. “It was the best I could do for the moment.”

He leaned the ladder against the wall and came toward me. “Are you okay? You look upset.”

“I’m fine. Just . . . tired.”

A smile tugged at the edges of Bishop’s mouth. “Some of that is probably my fault.” He pressed a palm to the wall on either side of my head. “I’m staying at your place tonight, cupcake. We’re not done by a long shot.”

The heat in his eyes and the husky tone of his voice pulled me from my mini meltdown.

“Is that so?”

“Damn right. And before we do that, we’re checking a few more things off your list. Although I probably should make you slow it down, because I don’t want you runnin’ out of town as soon as you’ve hit them all.”

The lightness that had begun to take over when he’d spoken was momentarily doused. More than likely, before I could check them all off, I’d be dragged out of town. But that also sent a shaft of urgency through me. I needed to soak up every moment. I didn’t get to keep this man. I didn’t get to keep this city. I didn’t get to choose my future.

My face must have reflected my thoughts, because Bishop frowned. “Hey, what’s that look for? You already making your plans to bolt?” His posture tensed as if waiting for me to deliver the hard truth.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t want to leave.”

“That doesn’t exactly sound like you’re planning on staying.” The hands on either side of my head clenched into fists.

How honest was I going to be? He deserved more than my lies. “I might not have a choice.”

“You’ve always got a choice. It all depends on how much you’re willing to sacrifice to get what you want.”

“I want to spend tonight with you.”

His smile came back, but his posture didn’t relax. “Good, because you’re going to. Stop at the shop when you get off.”

“Okay.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips across mine. “So fucking sweet.”

AFTER HOURS OF SERVING DONUTS and making coffee drinks, I’d come to a decision. I would focus on living every moment in New Orleans like it might be ripped away from me at any time. When I hung up my apron and walked toward Voodoo, I made an impulsive decision.

I wanted a tattoo, and I wanted Bishop to be the one to do it.

That way, when I was alone in my apartment in New York, watching the world pass me by, I would have a permanent, tangible reminder of the amazing memories I’d made here.

Shaking off the depressing thoughts of what would certainly be my future, I smiled as the chimes on the door tinkled to announce my entrance. Delilah leaned over a man, no doubt creating some awesome piece of art, but Bishop stood at the counter, his arms crossed over his chest while he talked to a woman I’d never seen before.

“I don’t have the money right now. But I swear I’ll pay you soon. Or we could trade . . .”

Why was someone always hitting on him? Seriously, it was getting old.

“I’ve got a woman. No trades.”

A sense of déjà vu swept over me. How many times would this happen after I was gone? It pushed me to embrace the time I had even more.

With a burst of confidence and attitude, I walked toward the counter. “I bet I could get you to do mine for a trade.”

Bishop’s attention cut to me, and his lips twitched. “You’re the exception to the rule, cupcake.”