“Everything okay?” I ask, seeing his pace increase, like he’s hurrying to me.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, and I frown, wondering what he’s got to be sorry for.

  “What did you do?”

  He doesn’t answer but instead dips too stealthily for a giant Viking and flips me onto his shoulder like I’m a feather. “Whoa, Fury!” I yell, my world spinning as he whirls around and marches back toward the car. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Force if necessary,” he says, as I bounce up and down in time to his long strides. His answer fills me with dread, because those instructions will have come from James, and James would never tell Fury to use force without good cause. Which means he knew I would fight Fury with either speed or agility. “What’s going on?”

  “I do as I am ordered, Beau. You know that. I have been told to stop you entering the churchyard, so I’m assuming there’s danger in the churchyard.”

  I wedge my hands into his wide lower back and push into them, looking up to the church, scanning the space, looking for the danger. I don’t see a thing. But one thing I have learned, both as a cop and as James’s girlfriend, you don’t need to see danger for it to be there. I also said I would behave. He will ship me back to St. Lucia faster than I can disarm him if I do not play by his rules. “You can put me down, Fury,” I say, wriggling. “I promise I won’t go anywhere.” He laughs, although I don’t hear it, more feel it rumbling through his big body. “If I wanted to get down, I’d pull your gun from your pants and aim it at your ass.” Suddenly, a gun appears to my side, Fury waving it to show me where it is. In his hand. I narrow my eyes and reach behind me, slipping my hand under my T-shirt. No gun. “You took my gun?” His other hand appears, and in it is my pistol looking like a toy in Fury’s huge, rough spade of a hand.

  “I bet you love how I know you so well,” he says, grunting each word with each step.

  “Thrilled,” I murmur, relaxing, residing myself to the fact that I am going nowhere.

  When we make it back to the car, Fury doesn’t bundle me into the back, but instead rests his ass on the hood, getting comfortable.

  “We’re not leaving?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have been told he will be here soon.” He locks down his arms more, as if he thinks that news might have me putting up a fight. It won’t. I’m just plain confused.

  “How long will he be?” I ask, wondering how long I have to wait here draped over Fury’s shoulder. Luckily, it’s a big shoulder, padded with plenty of muscle and perhaps a little fat too. Fury doesn’t answer, telling me he doesn’t know. “Great.” I sigh, trying to push some loose strands of hair from my face and failing, so I give up, and a good ten minutes of silence passes. Silence and no apparent danger. I can’t complain. James is being super vigilant, and I have to accept that.

  “Tell me about yourself,” I say. Fury’s been my shadow for weeks on and off, and all I know is that he’s a twin, a tower of a man, with fists like boulders and a beard Santa Claus would be envious of.

  “What do you want to know?”

  I blow out my cheeks, exasperated. Let’s start with something easy. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “Who’s eldest, you or Tank?”

  “Tank. By two minutes.”

  “And your real names?”

  “Tank and Fury.”

  My shoulders drop. “Come on.”

  “It’s Tank and Fury.”

  “Fine. Parents?”

  “Our father is dead and our mother is in a residential home.” He says it with no emotion whatsoever.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. May I ask if your mom is okay?”

  “She has dementia. Late stages. Some days she recognizes us, others she doesn’t.”

  I wince. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s life.”

  “And your father?” I ask, more curious than I should be.

  “Murdered.”

  I balk at the shiny paintwork of the hood. Again, there was no emotion in there. None at all. “I’m so—”

  “Don’t say you’re sorry,” he grunts. “Justice was served.”

  I press my lips together, knowing that justice did not come from a judge. “By you?” I ask.

  “By Tank.”

  “How?”

  He laughs a little, and I roll my eyes. He thinks I’m thirsty for blood. Worryingly, he might be right. “He took off his head with a sword.”

  “Oh. Prison?”

  “Yes. But not for that.”

  “And you?”

  He sighs. “If Tank sleeps, I sleep. If he eats, I eat. If he laughs, I laugh. If he goes to prison, I go to prison.”

  I smile. “It’s cute how close you are.”

  “We’re twins, Beau. We have no choice.”

  “Stop playing it down. You couldn’t live without each other.” I poke him in the back. “You don’t have to be all macho with me.”

  “Could say the same for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, stop trying to prove to the world, and more importantly to James, that you’re always a-fucking-okay.”

  I pout. “I am okay.”

  “You’re full of shit, Beau,” he grunts. “Full of fucking shit.”

  Recoiling, I wonder if he is right. Of course he’s right. Peace is a seesaw. Up and down. Glimmers here and there, threatening to complete me and give me that elusive eternal serenity. I’m a fraud, more to myself than anyone else. Even when I thought the root of my darkness was gone, there was something else to bring me back down to earth. Something else to channel my misery into. A miscarriage. “I’m just trying to—”

  “Make James feel better? It ain’t working, Beau. You’re fooling no one but yourself.”

  “When did this turn into a therapy session?”

  “When you tried to make it about me.”

  I frown. “What do you think Rose is having?” I blurt, the question coming from leftfield. “Could you imagine twins?”

  He laughs, jolting me, and then stops abruptly. “No. I think one baby will cause enough stress, don’t you?”

  “Boy or girl?” I can’t explain my curiosity. Part of me wonders is it’s something innate that’s guiding me. A maternal instinct that’s been unearthed and needs sating. Rose is my only outlet. Until, perhaps, she’s not. We’re nearly twelve hours into today and my period hasn’t come. Will it? A weird flutter happens in my stomach, and I smile to myself.

  “Boy,” Fury says, disturbing my thoughts.

  “Do you? Why?”

  “I don’t know, Beau,” he says, exasperated. “I just do.” He rises to his full, towering height and turns toward the sound of a car coming down the track. “They’re here.”

  “They?” I ask, pushing my palms into his back and craning my neck, blowing the hair out of my face. “James and who?”

  “Brad.” He finally bends and lowers me to my feet, and my stomach flips as a result. “Do not move.”

  “Where will I go?” I ask, helping myself to my gun from his hold and slipping it into the back of my sweatpants. It’s disconcerting that he knows me so well. “It was nice getting to know you.” I smile sweetly at Fury, and he bumps me lightly in the bicep with one of his boulder fists.

  “I’d say the same, but I already knew you.”

  “Smart-ass,” I mutter, going toward the Mercedes that’s driving with a bit too much urgency for my liking. What the hell is going on? We’ve been back in Miami mere hours. What could have happened already?

  The car skids to a stop and both Brad and James dive out, both looking at my composed form with a mixture of concern and hesitance. “What?” I ask. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on? I just want to visit my mother’s gra—” I suck back air, homing in on James’s face. I hate his grieved expression. Hate it. Fury stopped me going to my mother’s grave. Why?

  Panic crawls into my throat and clogs it. I can see James’s intention to get to me. To stop me. Can feel Fury behind me moving in, ready to grab me.

  No.

  I kick my flip-flops off and bolt to my right, the nastiest feeling rooting itself deep in my gut, speaking to me, telling me to get to Mom.

  “Beau!” James yells. “For fuck’s sake, Beau, stop!” His boots hitting the ground behind me shake the earth, his bellows constant, begging for me to stop. I make it to the gate, and it takes me way too long fiddling with the latch to release it.

  “Come on!” I shout, yanking at the stupid old, rusty thing. It doesn’t want me to go and farther either. I don’t listen. “Open!”

  “Beau!”

  I look back, seeing James getting closer, his tall, powerful body sprinting, his face straining. I have seconds. Maybe three. I give up on the latch and take hold of the iron gate, getting some leverage and throwing my legs over.

  “God damn it, Beau, please!”

  I feel his hand brush my arm as I break out into a sprint across the uneven grass, taking the shortcut across the graveyard, right over the graves and mounds, rather than wasting time circling the edge. I can’t hear him coming anymore. Can’t hear his yells or feel the impact of his boots hitting the ground. But I keep going, trying to focus on the far corner where what remained of Mom rests, but being unable to because of my jumping vision. I look back. James has stopped chasing me. He’s just past the gate, and I slow when I register the look of defeat and absolute agony on his face.

  Because he can see what my eyes are failing to let me see. Because he’s standing still. Steady.

  I breathe in and turn toward Mom’s grave, breathless, sweating, my muscles aching. Something’s different, the shape, the layout, there’s something not right. And then I realize.

  “No,” I breathe, stepping forward, my eyes unable to comprehend what they’re looking at. A pile of dirt. A pile of dirt by Mom’s grave. I shake my head, refusing to believe it, as I walk forward, my stare unmoving, until I see a hole in the ground. “No.” It gets bigger as I get closer, deeper, until I’m standing on the edge looking into a dark, black pit of nothing.

  It's exactly how my soul feels now. “No!” I scream, dropping to my knees, my palms slapping the ground hard. Fat teardrops fall, drenching the mud, my hair sticking to my face, my heart cracking. “Why?” I screech, throwing my head back, screaming to the sky. “Why, why, why, why!”

  I suddenly can’t move, can’t breathe, as James seizes me in his arms and hauls me up, and I fight him with all I have. Problem is, I have nothing in this moment. Empty. Broken. Back to square one. My sanctuary has been destroyed. My calm place robbed from me. It was the only thing I had. Mom never wanted to be cremated, so I buried what was left of her. A few ashes and her invisible spirit.

  I want to crawl into that hole and die.

  I’m carried to the car and James slides onto the back seat with me cradled in his lap, holding me tightly, never letting me go.

  I clench his T-shirt in my balled fists, burying my face in his chest, my body wracked with sobs. I can hardly draw breath. Can’t swallow. “Why?” I croak, pushing myself deeper into his chest. He says nothing.

  He knows why.

  Because of him.

  9

  DANNY

  The next morning, I’m onboard my jet on my way back to Miami far sooner than I expected or wanted.

  With my wife.

  On top of the untamable rage simmering, ready to boil over and erupt, is my untamable worry. I can hand on heart say I have never been so stressed. Rose protested, of course she protested, when I told her I was returning to Miami. She saw the monster inside rousing, but she didn’t know why. I spat it all out while shaking uncontrollably. Worst thing I could have done. She got out of bed and dressed, then packed both our cases. I didn’t stop her. Was incapable. She looked as determined to come as I felt determined to kill, and manhandling Rose is out of the question right now. So is arguing with her. I didn’t want to bring her. I also didn’t want to leave her behind, especially on bad terms. Rose doesn’t want to be in Miami. She doesn’t want to leave Daniel behind. That fucker The Bear didn’t take my father from this life. Beau will be inconsolable. She’ll need Rose. And Rose can see the unbridled rage inside me. She’s my calm. I’m going to need that. Fuck.

  I see Ringo on the steps of the mansion as we’re crawling down the driveway, his tall, sturdy body static and oozing menace. It reminds me that I am not the only one who loved and respected Carlo Black. Fucking hell, The Bear’s move isn’t only the lowest of the low, it’s the most hard-hitting message that could be delivered, and meant to be.

  No move is too low.

  I pull to a stop and look up at my rearview mirror to Doc in the back. He looks as impeccable as ever, his tweed suit pristine, his gray beard freshly trimmed. “Take her to our room and get her settled,” I say, and he nods, getting out and rounding the car. I can feel Rose’s eyes on me.

  “Call me anything but my name again, Danny . . .”

  I close my eyes, hearing Doc open her door, and she gets out, leaving me behind the wheel once again trying to get my head on straight. It feels like it’s constantly spinning on my shoulders.

  On a deep breath, I get out and follow Rose into the house, Ringo flanking me. He doesn’t speak. I come to a stop at the bottom of the large sweeping staircase, watching her climb the steps. She’s wearing jeans and my favorite jumper with the Union Jack emblazoned across the front, her dark hair tied up in a ponytail. I’m momentarily taken back to three years ago, when I watched her walk down these steps before I took her to the boatyard for the first time. To the time she was my prisoner. My bargaining chip. Love fucked me over then. And it’s fucking me over now, because I will not make one move without first considering Rose. And that hampers me. She’s my Achilles heel. And I love her as passionately as I hate bringing her back to war. I hate that I yelled at her, suggesting she was never happy.

  What do I bring to this relationship? I make your life even more difficult. Cost you money, time, stress, and what do you get in return?

  I hate that she doubts herself. Doubts how precious she is to me. She brings everything I never thought I’d have to my life. Love. Acceptance. Purpose. How can she not see that?

  “Danny?”

  I blink and see Rose disappear at the top of the stairs and turn to face Ringo. He’s motioning toward my office down the hall. “Talk,” I say as we walk side by side.

  “James is upstairs with Beau.”

  “How is she?”

  “I don’t believe there’s an adequate word.”

  I inhale, knowing that to be true. There’s not an adequate word for my anger either. “And James?” He’ll be in my camp. Ready to go psycho. All we both fucking want is peace. Calm. Not just for our women, but for us, and every time we think it’s ours, the rug is pulled from under us. We both accepted getting out of this world was impossible. That we’ll always need to rule it and eliminate all enemies. Easier said than done when you don’t know who the enemy is. And on top of that, Tom Hayley is running for mayor and, fuck knows, he hates us and is likely to make our lives as difficult as possible. Or even more so.

  “Don’t ask,” Ringo sighs, opening the door to my office. I stand on the threshold for a few moments, as ever having to brace myself to enter. It still smells of him. Like brandy and cigars are embedded into the walls. Today it smells more intense.

  Goldie and Otto are on the couch, and Brad is walking in circles. Our eyes meet, and he shakes his head mildly. “Things are about to get very messy,” I say, striding to my desk, laughing to myself. Whenever have things been clean in my world? “If you’re not up for messy, you can leave now.” I take a seat and cast my eyes across the office to the unmoving bodies of my closest, lacing my fingers and taking them to the back of my head, stretching. It’s an impulsive move, as if I’m widening my chest, giving my pounding heart more room to beat. The pain from my slashing mission has lessened, a deeper, more potent pain replacing it. Brad reaches into his pocket and comes to me, setting something on the desk before me. Green eyes stare back at me, dulled by mud.

  My throat begins to close as I snatch it up and put it in my top drawer, slamming it shut. “Are we waiting for James?”

  “He won’t leave Beau,” Goldie says, her face a picture of disquiet. She knows what James is capable of. Add Beau’s hurt and grief into that mix? Between James and me, we’re all in for one hell of a showdown.

  “Someone get Higham to the club later,” I say, standing, needing to keep moving or risk imploding. Ringo goes straight to his mobile. “How’s the boatyard?”

  “Ticking over nicely,” Otto says. “Liam and Jerry need a raise.”

  He’s right. They do a grand job between them. “Fine,” I mutter. “The club?”

  “All good,” Brad chimes in, and I look at him. Vague, to say the least.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He’s not sure at all, but I know Brad better than anyone, and this stance he’s taking is familiar. Whatever it is, it’s trivial, and he won’t bother me with trivial, especially now. And that’s fine by me. “The shipment?”

  “It’s sorted,” Brad practically sings.

  “What the fuck is going on?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” he protests, a little high-pitched. “Nothing is going on.”

  “Talk,” I order. “Give me another problem, Brad, because it’s taking everything in me not to leave this house with a machine gun in each hand and shoot my way through Miami until I find him.”

  “We’re exchanging earlier with Luis.”

  I frown, and Otto, Ringo and Goldie all look at Brad like he’s lost his mind. “Why?”

  “The cash arrived at Hiatus.”

  “He paid early?”

  Brad nods.

  The fuckers. No one settles before they get all the goods. They’ve backed us into a fucking corner.

  “James spoke to Chaka,” Brad continues. “He’s meeting the original delivery date of a week this Friday.”