This fucking deal isn’t going to be worth doing soon, what with discounts and bonuses. But making money we do not need isn’t the purpose of this deal. Smoking the Russians out is the purpose of this deal. And yet the exchange is creeping closer, has been set up for weeks, and there’s still been no sight nor sound from them. Of course, the whole criminal web is undoubtedly regrouping and restructuring after the demise of so many significant members, but we know The Ox, Sandy, and Volodya are still breathing. It was the Poles and Irish that bore the brunt of our killing spree, all in the name of finding The Bear. Slimy arsehole. We won’t get it wrong next time. Not that Perry Adams didn’t deserve to die. Every man who fell victim to us deserved to die, so it’s not a total loss. The world is less a few pieces of shit.

  But The Bear? He isn’t just a piece of shit. He’s the king of shits. The puppet master. The man who is the root of Beau’s injuries and my baby’s death. I blink back the dark spots in my vision. Swallow down the burning anger rising.

  Fuck.

  I wander over to the drinks cabinet and pour a vodka.

  “All right?” Brad asks tentatively as I neck the lot, hoping the liquid will cool the fury brewing. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the rage that used to rule me.

  “Yeah.” I clear my throat and look down at my mobile when it rings again. “Higham,” I say quietly, looking up at Brad.

  “What the fuck does that FBI prick want?”

  Good fucking question. The last time I saw him, he let me walk free after Beau’s ex-boyfriend cop, Oliver Burrows, arrested me for the murder of Agent Frank Spittle. It didn’t go down very well with Burrows, and it didn’t go down all too well with me to find out I was being followed by The Hound after Higham let me walk free. I smile, remembering that Polish fucker’s tattooed face the moment before the grenade I’d bowled under his vehicle blew up. He thought he’d got The Enigma. Idiot.

  I answer my mobile and hit the loudspeaker icon. “Black’s not answering.” Higham says, getting straight to the point.

  “He’s busy.”

  “So you’re back.” he muses, and Brad rolls his eyes. News sure does travel fast.

  “Danny did warn you we would be.”

  “You’ve hardly given me time to prepare for your return.”

  “How can I help you, Agent Higham?”

  He laughs lightly. “You could help me by disappearing off the face of the earth and taking The Brit with you, but we all know that’s not going to happen, is it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Thought not. So let’s start with why you’re back in town.”

  “We’ve missed you.”

  “And why are things going to kick off?”

  “Oh, the anticipation must be killing you.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, James. I’m standing here looking at Carlo Black’s empty grave.”

  I recoil, and Brad flies up from his chair. “Excuse me?”

  “You heard.”

  “I think I heard.”

  There’s silence for a few uncomfortable moments, until Higham breaks it. “This wasn’t Danny’s doing?”

  “Danny’s not in town. And why the fuck would he dig up his dead father, Higham?”

  “To stop some other fucked-up psycho digging him up, I assumed.” A car door slams in the background. “Danny’s not in Miami?”

  “No, he’s not in fucking Miami.”

  “You’d better get over here.”

  I head to the door, Brad on my tail. “On my way.”

  “The fuck?” Brad says as I race down the stairs to the club. “Someone could have moved him, right?”

  “Like who?” I snap, jogging through the club.

  “I don’t know. The fucking grave keepers. Fuck me, I am not putting that call in.”

  “One of us has to,” I say quietly, breaking out into the sunshine. “We’ll draw straws.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Brad breathes, looking a bit pale.

  * * *

  We pull up to the small churchyard on the edge of town, seeing it swimming with cop cars, blue lights on full whack, the peaceful place far from peaceful. Brad’s had his mobile in his hand the whole journey, spinning it, tapping it on the wheel, constantly locking and loading his thumb ready to push down on Danny’s number but thinking better of it each time.

  I seriously do not envy him.

  Brad pulls over, and we slowly get out, taking in the scene as we do before meeting at the front of the car, bracing ourselves. We walk side by side over to Higham, passing through a dozen or so cops, all of whom eye us warily or with looks of derision. We ignore them all. I bet their hands are twitching to reach for their cuffs. Even their guns.

  With that thought, I stand taller, knowing a slight slump will have the Heckler tucked into the waist of my jeans protruding. I look out the corner of my eye seeing Brad is obviously having the same thoughts I am. Any one of these arseholes could cause us the greatest of inconvenience if they decide they’d like to go on a power trip. And any one of them could be bent. I cast my eye over each and every one. We know for a fact The Bear had men on the inside. Beau’s uncle Dexter being one, the two cops that stopped Nathan Butler by the side of the road being two others. Spittle. All now dead. But are there more?

  “Gentlemen,” Higham says, his arm held out to the empty hole in the ground. His tone is grave. He understands the ramifications of this situation. A very angry Brit on the loose.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Brad breathes on the edge of the grave, looking down at the dirt. I join him, feeling his grief. I didn’t know Brad’s uncle and Danny’s father, he died three years before I dragged Danny from the dead to fight this war with me, but I know Danny loved the barbaric fucker with everything he had. Carlo Black took Danny in off the streets. Raised him as his own. Taught him everything he knows, which is why Danny Black has the deadly reputation he has. This is not going to end well.

  I see forensic investigators poking around in the dirt. “Anything?” I ask, circling the grave.

  “Nothing.”

  “Do we know when this happened?”

  One of the investigators looks up at me, pulling down her facemask. “The temperature of the unearthed soil indicates very recently. It’s still cool, the height of today’s sun not yet reaching it. So, yes, within the past twelve hours.”

  “Cameras anywhere?” Brad asks, and I look at him tiredly. “What?”

  “God’s the camera, Brad. I’m pretty sure most dead people rely on him to watch over them.”

  “Well, he’s not doing a very good job, is he? You can cremate my ass when I’m gone. Burn me until I’m ash and throw m—”

  I flinch, closing my eyes.

  “Fuck, man,” Brad says quietly. “I’m . . . fuck.”

  “It’s nothing.” I shake my head clear, pushing back the memories. The sounds of my family’s screams. The sight of the roaring fire.

  I find Higham, who’s noting a few things down on his pad. “Does Danny know?” he asks.

  Brad shows him his mobile. “I’m bracing myself. You should too.”

  Higham laughs lightly, but it is a laugh of complete despair. “Oh, I am.” He holds something up. A ring.

  “What?” Brad breathes, taking the gold and emerald piece from Higham.

  “Is that a snake?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it’s a snake.” He pockets the ring and wanders off, dialing, and Higham comes to me on the other side of the empty grave. “Any ideas?” he asks, tucking his pad away.

  “A few.”

  “Care to share?”

  I look at him seriously. “That would make me an informant.”

  “You owe me.”

  “Yeah, you never did explain why you overruled Burrows and let me walk free without question.”

  “An anonymous tip-off wasn’t quite enough on this occasion.”

  “He was tipped off? Tipped off that I killed Frank Spittle?”

  “Yes, like I said, it wasn’t enough given the circumstances.”

  “Circumstances?”

  “Well, lack of evidence aside and the fact you’re dating Burrows’s ex-fiancée so it was obviously personal, unbelievably, you and The Brit are the lesser of two evils.”

  Dating? Fucking dating? “Lesser of two evils,” I muse. Interesting. “How’d you reach that conclusion?”

  Higham motions to the other side of the graveyard, an indication to walk with him, away from the listening ears of the other cops. I catch Brad’s eye. He shakes his head and mouths “not picking up.”

  “You have time to change your pants then,” I call, earning myself the middle finger. I walk on with Higham. “So, the lesser of two evils.” I’m insulted, to be honest.

  “Don’t misunderstand me, James. Most of the Miami Police Department and FBI know you two foreigners are the most dangerous men in America. I know one of you killed Spittle, we just can’t prove who.”

  I ignore most of his statement. Truth be told, if Danny hadn’t decapitated Spittle, I would have. “You telling us to fuck off back to our own country?” I ask.

  He laughs. “I know your citizenship is fake.”

  “Prove it.”

  He waves a dismissive hand. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

  “Like sharks?” I ask, cocking my head, getting another laugh.

  “Yes, like sharks. What do you know about sharks?”

  “I know sharks don’t last long out of water, so if I find one knocking around the streets of Miami, I’ll make sure it finds its way back into the ocean.” I smile at Higham, and he deflates.

  “Let me have The Shark.”

  “What shark?”

  “For fuck’s sake,” he says on a sigh. “James, you and Danny want The Bear for personal reasons. You’re popping off fucking animals left and right. Let’s start with the Irish—The Snake, The Eagle, The Crocodile.”

  “It was The Alligator,” I say. “Vince Roake was The Alligator, and he was set to take over the Irish drugs ring. Whoever killed him did you a favor.”

  His eyebrows are so high he’s got a new hairline. “You made a real fucking mess of that club.”

  “They did?”

  “Fuck me,” he sighs, losing his patience, but what the fuck does he expect from me? Confessions written in blood? “The Dodo?” he asks. “He was set to take over from Roake but conveniently disappeared.”

  I look out the corner of my eye. Higham would throw up if he had the gory details of The Dodo’s death. “I know nothing about any Dodo,” I say casually. “And aren’t they supposed to be extinct?” I smile on the inside, seeing all of us laughing our arses off at the boatyard after the poor Dodo’s grisly end.

  “So who’s fronting the Irish now?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. No one’s heard anything. In fact, Higham, Miami is scarily quiet.”

  “Who was in the Escalade that blew up on a side street not long after I let you walk out of custody?”

  Oh? So they couldn’t identify him? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  “Look, Higham,” I say, getting tired of the interrogation. “You and I know the best chance the FBI has of getting rid of the scum crawling around Miami is me and Danny.”

  “Yes, and the problem with that, James, is that you and Danny have collectively killed more people than all the inmates of Florida State Prison put together.”

  “Oh, now, come on, Higham, that’s giving us a little bit too much credit.”

  “Fuck me, you’re an arrogant cunt.”

  “Watch it, Higham,” I warn lowly, and he breathes in deeply, nodding to himself, as if coming to terms with what we both know he needs to do.

  “You’ve gotta leave a few for us to put on trial, James.”

  My lip curls. “The lethal injection isn’t slow enough for me, Higham.”

  “I will stop breathing down your neck. No raids on the club, the boatyard, nothing.”

  “You planning on raiding?”

  “Not me, but you can bet your bottom dollar someone is.”

  “Are you trying to crawl into my pocket, Higham?” I ask, wanting to hear it.

  “I want the war in Miami to stop. We have to get crime rates down, and that’s not going to happen with the Russians, Polish, and Irish in town. Or you two, for that matter. You’re like a magnet for trouble.”

  “Let’s simplify this, Higham,” I say tiredly. “With The Bear gone and us in Miami, your crime rates are gonna drop tenfold, trust me.” I pout. “They just might peak beforehand, but it’s got to get worse before it gets better, right?”

  “Jesus.”

  “We’re not traffickers, Higham. Not drug dealers or rapists or bank robbers. The people dying around you deserve to die.” I shrug. “Or so I’ve heard.”

  “This really is personal, isn’t it?”

  “It couldn’t get more personal if it tried.” I back away, nodding my respect, because, actually, I do have some for Higham. “We need to find Carlo Black’s body or there will never be peace in Miami.”

  His cheeks puff out, and he starts waving his arms above his head, barking orders to his men. I head over to Brad. “Any luck?”

  “Still no answer.” He looks as concerned as I am starting to feel. The news we have is not the kind of news we should break if Danny’s unwell wife has taken a turn.

  We start heading toward the car, and just as I drop into the passenger seat, about to call Beau and check in, Brad’s mobile rings. He slumps back in his seat and takes a deep breath. I’m not going to lie, I take one too.

  “Everything all right?” he says in answer, switching it to the car’s Bluetooth.

  “Yeah, fine.” Danny sounds as cautious as he should. “I’ll ask you that question. Eight missed calls in ten minutes? What’s going on?”

  Brad looks across the car to me. I have nothing for him. No advice, no encouragement. It is what it is, and it is going to cause fucking anarchy. Brad takes a hand to his forehead and smooths over his damp brow. “We have an issue,” he says, staring out of the windscreen to the swarm of cops around Carlo Black’s empty grave.

  “What?” Danny’s tone says it all. He already knows whatever he’s about to learn will send him into orbit.

  Brad needs to just spit it out, not try to sugarcoat it. Nothing could water this down. “Your dad’s missing.” He flinches, and I look at him like the dickhead he is. “His grave. The body.”

  “Someone’s exhumed your father’s body,” I say in a matter-of-fact tone that earns me a look of disbelief from Brad.

  Silence.

  “We’re at the graveyard,” I go on. “Higham’s here, a forensics team, cops.”

  Silence.

  “We’ll find him, Danny,” Brad says, slumping back in his chair. “And when I find out who’s done this, I will cut their flesh away with a blade in wafer thin slices.”

  I truly believe he will. If Danny doesn’t get to them first.

  Silence.

  Brad and I look at each other, all out of words. I can literally feel Danny’s bubbling anger dripping through the line. This is a message, like the call from The Bear, like the newspaper article, to entice us back to Miami. He can’t end us if he doesn’t know where we are. Now he’ll definitely know.

  He’s in for the win. But does he know that moves like this only drive us harder? Stirs the beasts inside? Shakes up the darkness that’s dormant?

  I can feel it rousing within me, and it’s not even my father’s grave. My teeth grit. My father couldn’t have a grave. There was nothing left of him. Or my mum. Or my sister. My fist clenches, and I wedge it into the door, pushing my weight through it before I put it through the windscreen.

  My phone ringing saves the glass, and I try to clear the rage fogging my sight to focus on the screen. And when I see the number, I exhale slowly. “It’s him,” I say quietly. “Can you keep your mouth shut or does Brad need to hang up on you?”

  Danny snarls in answer, and I go ahead and connect the call.

  Silence.

  We’re back to that game, me waiting, him waiting. I’ve got all the time in the fucking world. He, however, does not. Not if he doesn’t want me to trace him.

  “James,” he says, the distorter making me wince.

  “You have the pleasure of us all. Say hello to Danny and Brad.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have all come back on my account.”

  He doesn’t need to know that Danny isn’t physically here. Something tells me he will be soon, anyway. “I,” Danny hisses, “am going to fucking kill you, and it will be the slowest I have ever killed a man, I promise you.”

  He laughs, and it’s like blades across my skin. “We’ve already established that none of you are very good at killing me.”

  “Where the fuck is my father’s body!” Danny bellows, losing his shit.

  The Bear laughs harder, tormenting us all. “Oh, your father’s? My apologies. I thought you were looking for someone else’s remains.” He hangs up, and Brad looks at me, confused.

  But I am far from confused.

  What. The. Fuck?

  “Beau,” I say quietly.

  “Fucking hell,” Brad whispers.

  “No,” Danny says, and I hear his deep inhale, along with Brad’s low curse.

  I stare out of the window, my brain on the drag, my body seeming to fail me, nothing working, my mind refusing to give my hands the directions they need to call her.

  “James!” Brad yells, and I look at him. “Wake up, man.”

  I blink down at my mobile. I don’t dial Beau. I dial Fury instead, and he answers swiftly. “Where are you. Exactly?”

  “Ten paces behind Beau. Walking into the churchyard.”

  “Stop her,” I order, as Brad starts the car and skids off. “I don’t care how you do it, force if necessary, but do not let her get any closer.”

  “Got it.”

  “Keep her safe, Fury. I’m on my way.”

  I drop my phone into my lap and scrub down my face.

  It couldn’t get any more personal.

  Famous fucking last words.

  8

  BEAU

  “Roger that,” I hear Fury say from behind me, and I turn back as I get to the old, dilapidated gate, my hand on the catch.