“And then we exchange with the Mexicans the next day?” I ask. “Need I remind anyone that the next day is a Saturday? We generally avoid Saturdays because they fall on a fucking weekend. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty certain Chaka said there’s a Coast Guard training day that Friday.”

  Brad shrugs. “James is dealing with it.”

  I doubt James is capable of dealing with anything right now. I’m mad, yes, but this rage would be so much worse if the casualty of this fucked-up mess was Rose. “So we need James,” I say, just as the door opens and the man himself appears.

  “You have him.” He heads to a chair opposite my desk and drops into it. Everyone’s eyes follow him there, everyone silent. So silent, I can hear the burning of the blood in his veins. “Talk,” he orders.

  I flick my eyes to Otto and Goldie, who look grave. So fucking grave. “The guns,” I say with an edge of caution.

  “Chaka’s delivering as originally planned so we can exchange earlier with the Mexicans.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Wanna give me a bit more than that?”

  “Turf war across the border. Luis is running out of time and arms.”

  “Okay. So we risk our business to save his?”

  His eyes turn slowly onto me. “You want the Mexicans on the list of men we need to kill, because I think there’s enough on our list at the moment.”

  I’ve got to give him that. And now I have been suitably distracted from my anger for a few moments to deal with regular business, I suppose we need to get back to the reason why I’m standing here fighting to control my rage and James is sitting there looking like the devil has been resurrected and is using his body as a carrier.

  I’ve said many times, but I don’t think I’ve ever meant it as sincerely.

  God help Miami.

  “How is she?” I ask, making him lift his eyes but not his head, as his thumbs circle fast. He’s keeping his hands busy.

  “Silent. Vacant. Broken once again.”

  Which means The Enigma is taking over. “And you?”

  “How are you?” he fires back.

  “On the edge.”

  “I’m with you.” He gets up and goes to the cabinet, pouring a vodka. “There wasn’t much left of Jaz Hayley,” he says, necking his drink. “More than my family, mind you, but still.” His back rolls, a sign of him trying to keep his cool. “He hasn’t stolen a body, he’s stolen a slice of Beau’s peace. I need to get her peace back.” He pours another vodka and faces me. “So where do we start?”

  He wants to get this show on the road, as do I, but first I think we need a little of something else. “Ride on the water?” I ask as he necks his second and sets his glass down, ready to pour another. Fuck knows, we both need to chill the fuck out before we wreak havoc. Alcohol isn’t the answer. Getting shitfaced isn’t the answer. Especially now we’re back in Miami. Vulnerable. Look at me being wise. And it occurs to me in this moment, I have never in the time I’ve known James Kelly, and granted it hasn’t been all that long, seen him drunk. Has he ever been drunk? Probably not. He’s too controlled. Even when he’s raging, he seems in control.

  He sets the bottle down, not pouring another, and that’s his answer. And I turn to the others and see all hands in the air. We all need a moment.

  “Meet you at the boatyard in a few hours,” I say, leaving the office, on my way to try and sort something that will undoubtedly make the need for the sea, the air, the thrill, more acute.

  “Danny,” Otto calls after me, and I stop just shy of the stairs, looking back. “Your mum.”

  “What about her?” I ask flatly.

  “She didn’t come with you.” He states it as a fact rather than asking it as a question.

  “No, she didn’t come with me.” And if you question me, I’ll fly off the fucking handle. Mum needed to stay behind with Tank and look after Daniel. It’s one less thing for me to worry about.

  I take the stairs and walk the corridor to our room, entering and finding it empty. I inhale, gathering patience, stepping back into the corridor and looking toward the endless doors to various rooms, all rooms taken up by various guests. “Hotel Casa Black,” I mutter, going to the first and swinging the door open. No Rose. The next. No Rose. I barge into James and Beau’s room carelessly, my patience gone, along with my memory, it seems. I see Beau curled up in bed, Rose spooning her from behind, cuddling her.

  Fuck.

  I swallow down my intended bellow of her name and meet her blue eyes, seeing a sadness for her friend so potent, it crushes me. Truly crushes me. I’m plain fucking raging. Beau is plain fucking devastated. Two wildly different emotions. They took my father from his resting place to push me into action. It’s low, but taking Beau’s mother to push James into action? That’s just plain fucking cruel, and they will pay for it.

  I enter and close the door quietly, unable to reprimand Rose for not being in our room resting like she should be. Walking over to the bed, I crouch down in front of Beau. Her glassy eyes look straight through me. Wisps of her blonde hair are stuck to her cheeks, her lips dry, her usually peachy cream skin sallow. Empty. Fuck me, hasn’t this woman been through enough? Haven’t we all?

  I reach for her face and stroke across her skin, dropping to my knees and wrapping my big hand around one of Rose’s that’s clenching onto one of Beau’s. “We’ll get her back for you, Beau, I swear,” I whisper, dipping and kissing her cheek. “Are you hearing me?”

  She doesn’t even blink. I can’t even be sure she’s heard my vow. I have my own personal drive, but seeing Beau like this, the hardy former cop, the fierce warrior, so fucking hollow, is driving me harder. I heard of the darkness she was immersed in when she met James. I’ve seen glimmers of it creeping back into her, but she’s always fought it with everything she has. Now? She’s a shell.

  I hear the door open behind me, and I look back, seeing James on the threshold. I can’t comprehend how he’s feeling seeing her like this, and I wince at the thought of seeing Rose’s eyes so completely dead. We’ve had our moments over the years, yes, but Beau truly looks like she has departed from this world, despite still breathing.

  I stand as Rose starts to unwrap herself from Beau, climbing up off the bed. I take her hand and lead her out, leaving James and Beau alone.

  “Fuck,” I breathe as I walk us to our room, running a hand through my hair. I get us inside, close the door, and immediately pick Rose up, ignoring the returned pain on my chest, carrying her to the bed and laying her down. I just need to cuddle her. Be close to her. I can’t imagine feeling as helpless as James does right now, and I hope I never do. Loving Rose has made me weak and vulnerable. Something I swore I’d never be.

  “I hate you,” I whisper, feeling her hands all over my back, stroking me everywhere. “I hate you so fucking much. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Rose.” I lift my face. She’s crying. “Don’t cry, baby,” I say softly, wiping away her tears. “It doesn’t suit you.” These tears aren’t for her. For us. These are for her friend, but it hurts me no less. “She’ll be okay,” I say, sure of it. We’re all here for her. “We will find her mum, Rose, I promise.” I wince to myself. There doesn’t sound like there’s much to find.

  She smiles through her sadness and strokes my rough cheek, and I nuzzle into her touch. “I know you will,” she says resolutely. “And your pops.”

  I nod, swallowing, needing this moment, so I force the rising anger back. “God, how I wish I could be inside you right now.” I need it. Need her. Need to stabilize and reconnect. Remind myself of what I have to fight for. But I can’t. Take it easy, Doc said. Don’t stress out. She didn’t have nearly enough bedrest. I bury my face in her neck and lick her, my tongue not getting the message that sex is off the menu for now.

  She moans, doing me no favors, and yet I continue licking, biting, sucking at her flesh. Another moan, and I feel blood rushing to where it should not be rushing. But, fuck, can I stop? I lift my hips, giving my growing cock some space, but . . . my jeans.

  “Rose,” I growl, moving my mouth across her cheek to her lips. “Stop me,” I order. “Before I go too far.”

  Her hands find my hair, gripping, her tongue finds my mouth, twirling. We both need this. And we can’t fucking have it. Fuck. I rip my mouth from hers, breathing down on her raggedly, as she pants up at me. I slowly start to shake my head, my hard-on throbbing. “We can’t.” I won’t risk it. Never.

  “But . . .” she says, taking my hand and guiding it to her jean-covered pussy. “Your mouth here. Gentle. Licking. Kissing. Sucking.” She bites her lip, and I’m a goner.

  I groan and push myself up, taking her jumper and lifting it over her head, tossing it aside, and then working the fly of her jeans and dragging them down her legs. She kicks her legs, helping me, sitting up and taking the bottom of my T-shirt, pulling it up over my head. I grit my teeth when I stretch the skin on my chest, breathing in deeply, exhaling slowly. My jeans are next, and I roll to my back, lifting my arse, wriggling free of them.

  Desperate.

  Both of us.

  I remove my boxers, pull her knickers down, and ease myself down onto my front, burying my face between her thighs, ravenous. Her yelp of surprised pleasure echoes around the room, as does my groan of satisfaction, my senses getting a hit of her scent, the taste of her, the warmth. “You.” Lick. “Taste.” Suck. “So.” Bite. “Good.”

  “Fucking hell,” she breathes, her legs stiffening, her hands clawing my hair.

  “Good?”

  “God.”

  “Yes?”

  “God!” she screams, vibrating already, her legs kicking out, forcing me to shift and pin her down. “No!” She bucks, and I immediately pull away, dazed, her essence coating my mouth.

  “What?” Shit. “Did I hurt you?” Fuck, is she thinking about the other day? When I was crazed? It won’t ever happen again, I know it, but how do I convince Rose?

  “No, baby,” she whispers, pushing into my shoulders, sending me to my back. “I want to see you.” She looks down at the bandages on my chest. Swallows. Then takes my hand and guides it to my cock, straddling my thighs, sliding her hand down her swollen tummy to her pussy.

  “Oh, fuck,” I breathe, circling my girth, holding my breath. Nothing could ever beat being inside her. Nothing. But this? I blow out my cheeks, reaching for her bra and pulling the lace cups down, my eyes passing between her hard nipples. Darker nipples. Rounder, bigger nipples. I drop my dick and sit up, snaking an arm around her back and taking one in my mouth, sucking gently, kissing, then tracing the edge with my tongue as I look up at her. She’s getting more beautiful by the day. Tastier. Sassier. I rest my hand over hers as she strokes herself, helping her, continuing my tongues assault on her boob, moving to the other, some attention there, back again.

  “Enough.” She withdraws and pushes me back down to the bed, and I arch an eyebrow as she reaches for my hand once again and puts it where she wants it.

  “You want to watch?” I ask, wrapping my palm around myself.

  She bites her lip and brings her fingers to her mouth, licking them. Fuck. Me. Then walks them slowly down between her boobs, across her stomach, and into her wetness, her breath hitching. I swallow, take one arm above my head, and start thrusting my hand, my eyes unmoving from the juncture of her thighs, watching her fingers scissor her clit. “Slow down,” I order, and she does, whimpering, as I speed up my pace, the throb of my cock sinking into my palm. “Shit, Rose,” I breathe, my lungs straining, my thrusts naturally speeding up. I glance down, seeing the crown of my dick glistening. Blood pounding. Veins throbbing. Heart racing. My eyes drag up her body. I find her lips parted. Eyes glistening. Love emblazoned across her face.

  My thrusts speed up. Her back arches, pushing her chest out. Her stomach. Fuck, her stomach. “Rose.” I choke over her name, grabbing the pillow under my head, yanking at it.

  “Oh,” she whispers. “Yes,” she breathes. “Shit,” she hisses, her body convulsing. Blood. Heat. Stars in my vision.

  I clench my eyes closed briefly, my body stiff, as the pleasure creeps through me, slowly at first, painfully slowly, but then faster. Faster. Faster. “Fuck!” I bellow, breathing short, fast breaths, releasing the pillow and slamming my fist into the mattress.

  “Oh God!” Her body jacks, her chin dropping to her chest, her hand shaking, struggling to remain between her legs, her hips starting to thrust into her touch.

  Urgency.

  Desperation.

  Need.

  “I’m going,” I hiss. Fuck, am I going.

  “Yes!” Her head tosses back violently, wafting her hair through the air, and she yells to the ceiling, going rigid, stilling, whimpering quietly, before her body loosens and she slumps forward, slapping her palm into my stomach to hold herself up.

  I just about manage to hold off my release until she opens her eyes. “Look,” I order, and she turns her drowsy gaze down at the moment I explode, cum shooting upwards and hitting her stomach, her chest, her boobs, in powerful surges. And with the explosion of my dick comes the deflation of my chest. I exhale, my body rolling, every muscle stiff, aching, painful.

  But it’s the best kind of agony out there.

  Spent.

  I peel my grip away, letting my semi-erect cock fall to my stomach, and let my arms rest above my head, closing my eyes as she lowers onto my front, but she doesn’t settle on my wounds. So I force her down. And we lie, quiet, peaceful, exhausted, for over an hour, snoozing, holding each other, reconnecting in another way.

  “I will never leave you,” she whispers, forcing my arms to come down and hold her. She looks up at me, taking a finger to my scar and tracing the length. “Only death will separate us.” Her touch moves to the bullet wound by my collarbone.

  “Will it?” I ask.

  She blinks slowly and settles back on my chest gently, stroking one of my cuts. “No.”

  Because we cannot exist without each other. It’s a hard fact. A frightening fact. Which means I have no choice but to be careful with my life.

  “I should get Doc,” I say, making to move.

  “Why?” She lifts, giving me a look somewhere between tiredness and humor. “Are you going to have him check me over every time you fuck me?”

  “I didn’t fuck you,” I say, pressing a hard kiss on her lips. It’s the only hard thing I can do to her right now. “Your fingers fucked you.” Holding her around her back, I pull her stomach onto my mouth and kiss her gently there, smiling at her small bump. It’s hope when it feels like it’s limited. Happiness when it feels like misery prevails. “Rest,” I order, getting up and going to the bathroom, flipping the shower on. “I’ve worn you out.”

  “You talk yourself up, Danny Black.” I only just hear her pathetic insult over the water. “I did all the work.”

  I smile into the mirror at myself and pluck my toothbrush from the holder. I can’t say I like the man staring back at me today. But he’s a much better version than he used to be. Still a killer. But a killer with more purpose. More drive. It’s a blessing and a curse, because my drive and purpose are what my enemies will now use against me. I load my brush with paste as I stare at my bandaged chest, and I am reminded that my wife can cause me more damage than my enemies ever can.

  I scrub my teeth before I get into the shower and do my best not to get my bandages wet. Impossible. I keep my back to the spray and make fast work of washing before getting out and patting myself dry. I peel away the soggy dressing and grab some fresh bandages, refusing to look at the damage as I wrap myself back up, holding my breath, the biting pain back. I walk into the bedroom, and the post orgasm sparkle in Rose’s eyes vanishes the moment she sees my fresh bandages. Which is exactly why I refuse to let her redress my wounds. “Where are you going?” she asks from the bed, where she’s curled up on her side, the sheets caught up between her legs.

  “I’m taking James to the boatyard. He needs to let off some steam.” I pull on some jeans and button the fly before slipping my feet into my boots. “Then we’re going to the club to sort some business.” I go to her and dip, kissing her forehead. “Text me and let me know what Doc says.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Text me and let me know what Doc says.”

  “Okay.” She exhales over the word. “I will text you and tell you what Doc says.”

  I wrinkle my nose and rub it against hers, then grab a T-shirt and pull it on as I walk to the door.

  “Danny,” she calls, making me look back over my shoulder. “I still want to find something to do. A hobby, a job. Something.”

  Absolutely not. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” I leave the room before she can counter my dismissal, pulling the door closed behind me. I find James waiting outside. He shakes his head, telling me not to ask. So I don’t. I don’t need to.

  He gets moving, and I join him. “Ready to race?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer.

  He doesn’t need to.

  10

  ROSE

  I stay on the bed for another half hour, not physically exhausted, but definitely mentally. You’d think by now, after weeks of constant worry and swaying emotions, my body would be used to it. Accustomed to it. And yet I feel as exhausted now as I did the moment James resurrected Danny after being peacefully dead for three years.

  A knock on the door pulls my attention there, and I hear Doc calling through the wood. “One minute,” I say, scooting to the edge of the bed and reaching for one of Danny’s T-shirts on the chair. I slip it on and rummage through the sheets for my panties. “Damn it, where are they?” I mutter. I give up and rush to the closet to find a fresh pair. “Come in.” I climb back into bed and pull the sheets up to my waist.

  Doc pokes his head around the door and smiles. “Morning, Rose,” he chirps, pushing the door open to make way for the scanning machine to be pushed in by Fury.

  “Morning, Doc,” I reply, catching Fury’s eye. Just the fact he’s helping Doc speaks volumes. He’s without anything to do because Beau is hiding in her darkness. My heart squeezes.