I feel my guns against my back, begging me to put an end to one more obstacle. Except . . .

  I can’t.

  Not only because he’s surrounded by ignorant idiots who don’t deserve to die. We need information.

  I push my way through the crowd of youngsters crowding the VIP space and step over the red rope holding them back. My presence gets the other guy in the area, who also has a woman on his lap and cocaine dressing his nose.

  And suddenly, the woman isn’t on his lap, being shoved aside for something else. His gun. I pull both of mine at lightning speed, before he’s even figured out where the fuck his trousers are, and have one aimed at each of their heads. Two pairs of hands rise into the air, and screams overpower the music. “Pleasure,” I say, gesturing with my guns. The music stops, so very conveniently. “And if anyone moves a muscle, that bag by the door will take this club and everyone in it into the next galaxy.” All eyes fall to the rucksack by the door. “Let’s go.”

  “Feck, you’re The Enigma,” he breathes, lifting his glasses, confirming what I thought. Pupils the size of fucking Mars. Fuck me, they’re really scraping the barrel to build this fucking web again.

  “And guess who I’m taking you to see?” I whisper, cocking my head.

  “The Brit and The Enigma?” his mate says, full of dread. “Fuck ’dat.”

  I see it coming a mile away, and just as he bolts, making it approximately two feet, I turn my gun and put a bullet in his back. More screams. “Your chances of survival are stronger if you cooperate.”

  The Leprechaun, hands still up, stares at his drugged-up mate now bleeding out on the floor as he edges out of the space and walks to the door. “Aye, I’ll cooperate.”

  I collect my bag, give the doormen a polite nod, and lead him to my car with my gun pushed into his lower back.

  “I’ve always admired ya, you know,” he says, stumbling along.

  “Shut the fuck up.” I pop the boot and present him with a tennis ball.

  “I’ll tell ya every-tin you wanna know, I swear it.”

  I shove it in his gob and hold up a cable tie on a tilt of my head, and his wrists are held out in a second. I bind them and shove him back, taking care of his ankles before putting some tape around his mouth and a bag over his head.

  I close the trunk, get in the driver’s seat, and head back to Hiatus.

  I’m still tense after my meeting at the hotel bar, and I’m fucking pissed I can’t shake it off. That Irish fucker’s lucky I need information more than I need his blood.

  * * *

  I get the biggest fucking scowl from Danny when I find him at the bar. “Where the fuck have you been?” he yells over the music, turning to face me.

  I ignore him and order a vodka, perching on a stool. The music is so loud, I can’t hear myself fucking think. It might be a good thing.

  “And who the fuck is Beth?”

  My vodka lands on the bar and I neck it, slamming my empty down. The bartender, Mason, a younger version of Otto but with extra piercings and added tattoos, immediately pours another. I take the glass, looking over to the DJ booth, seeing the resident DJ, his name escapes me, holding one side of his headphones while working the decks with the other. David Guetta gets the crowd pumped with Love is Gone, the bass brutal, the endless speakers pulsing.

  Beau.

  I should go home to Beau. Try and coax her back to the land of the living. My face screws up, my hand reaching for my temple. Why so fucking loud? I look at Danny seeing his mouth moving, but not hearing a fucking word. Necking my second, I slam the glass down, growl, and stand, marching to the booth and taking the six steps up to it in two strides. I don’t bother speaking, he won’t fucking hear me, so I shove him aside, my ears ringing, and start turning all the dials I can see, until the volume comes down to a more bearable level and my mind no longer feels so chaotic. I exhale and turn, finding the DJ behind me looking absolutely petrified. “That’s your max,” I grunt, passing him and going back to the bar, Danny’s eyes following me the whole way until I’m sitting back on the stool.

  “Better?” he asks, as Brad pulls a stool over and joins us.

  I don’t answer. At least we can talk without yelling. “Where have you been?” Brad asks, waving to Mason for a drink.

  “Why is everyone so concerned by where I’ve been?” I snap. “I had something to deal with. It’s dealt with.”

  Danny’s eyebrows arch dramatically, and he peeks out the corner of his eye to Brad, who peeks out the corner of his eye to Danny. “Someone’s touchy,” Brad says.

  “Standard,” Danny grunts.

  What the fuck do they expect? My girlfriend is currently zombified, The Bear is back in pole position, and an FBI agent is trying to make bitches out of us. My recent meeting has only made my mood fouler. “What the fuck are you playing at, anyway?” I bark, going on the attack. “Two shipments?”

  Danny shrinks on his stool and looks at the glass in his hand, turning his nose up at it and placing it on the bar. “We’re not all fucking perfect, are we?” He looks around the club. “Where the fuck is Nolan?”

  “Yeah, where the fuck is Nolan?” I parrot, pointing my attention to Brad along with Danny, both of us happy to divert the subject elsewhere. I forgot about that matter.

  Brad all but snarls at me. Couldn’t give a fuck. “He’s at my place.”

  “Why?” I press before Danny can, cocking my head.

  Narrowed eyes join his snarl. “You fucking know why.” Brad’s hand clenches the bottle of beer Mason just pushed toward him.

  “What do you know, how do you know, and why the fuck don’t I know?” Danny asks, looking between us.

  “Nolan’s got nowhere to stay,” Brad grunts, filling his mouth with the bottle and swigging. “He was crashing in the office while we were in St. Lucia.”

  “And smashing into one of the girls,” I add.

  “The fuck?” Danny breathes. “So Hiatus is a hotel now too?”

  “He was paying off some debts,” Brad explains, making Danny jump to the exact same conclusion we did. “He’s not taken a nickel.”

  “How’d you know? There’re millions up there. You count every dollar?”

  “He’s not taken any cash.” I back Brad up, feeling charitable. “The kid worked his way out of his debt. I had Otto check out his accounts. He drew cash on every payday, meaning his rent bounced so he got evicted. If he was stealing from us, he would have paid his rent.”

  Brad blinks, surprised, and Danny settles, happy we’re not being fleeced. “Still,” he growls, “the girls are off limits.”

  “I’ve had a word,” Brad assures him as Otto and Ringo join us.

  “What’s with the baseball cap?” Danny snaps, but Otto bypasses the question and shows us his phone.

  A green dot blinks on the screen. “Spittle’s phone. He’s gone home. I expect he’ll go to work tomorrow,” Otto says. “My guess is, though, whoever stored with him will have moved on. They won’t risk it. He’s been away from the bank for too long. They’ve made alternative arrangements, I guarantee it.”

  “Maybe they’re storing the drugs and guns wherever they were storing the women they’re shipping in,” Danny muses, staring into space, thinking.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me.” Ringo stands. “They’re one big happy fucking family, after all.” He looks past us, and we all turn to see Goldie coming out of the ladies’. She looks tired. I hate it. If Ringo makes some wisecrack now, I might slam a screwdriver in his eye myself. “I’m taking her for something to eat,” he says, clearing his throat, as we all swing stunned looks to him. He scowls. “She needs some energy. And a timeout from this fucking circus.”

  He's going to start treating her like a lady now? Does he have a death wish? “Ringo,” I say quietly, checking Goldie isn’t close enough to hear. “She doesn’t want a timeout. She wants to find The Bear and crack on with her life.”

  “She needs energy to do that, doesn’t she?” he practically growls at me, and I back off because . . . well, Goldie.

  “Bon appetite,” I say, and he marches off, grunting something at Goldie as he passes her, to which she snarls at his back.

  Then follows him out.

  “I’ve got shit to do,” Brad says, slipping down off the stool. “Catch you motherfuckers later.”

  “Don’t be too late getting home,” Danny calls. “You need to tuck the kids up in bed.”

  Brad’s middle finger appears over his back, and Danny chuckles, turning back toward the bar. “All right, back to—” He looks past me, his face interested. “Ooh. So who’s this, then?”

  I crane my neck to look over my shoulder. And balk. “Oh fuck,” I breathe, facing Danny again. How the hell did she find me here?

  “Well?”

  I lift my eyes and find raging curiosity staring back at me. “I used to fuck her.” I wave a hand dismissively because my statement deserves that kind of detachment. “While her husband watched.”

  Danny barely flinches. Because, of course, thanks to Beau and Rose sharing everything, he knows more about me than I’m probably comfortable with. But I know a shit load about him too, so we’re on equal ground. “Cozy,” he says, looking past me again. “Which one?”

  “The blonde one. Beth. I don’t know who the brunette is.”

  “Oh, Beth. I don’t see a husband.”

  Danny’s observation doesn’t bode well. Why has Beth been calling me?

  “So this is the woman Beau walked in on you fucking?”

  “Yes.” And, worse, I knew she was watching, but that was before I knew what Beau would become to me. Life. Freedom. Love. I inhale when I feel a hand land on my forearm, and look down at the long, painted nails. Nothing like Beau’s short, bare nails. I look at the suit Beth’s wearing, probably designer. Nothing like the ripped jeans and baggy shirts Beau’s sports most days. Then up at her perfectly styled and sprayed blowout. Nothing like Beau’s wild blonde waves. And finally to her polished, makeup covered face. Nothing like Beau’s natural, makeup-free skin. Why the fuck am I comparing? One woman means nothing to me. The other means the fucking world. Hell, heaven, and everything in between.

  “James,” she purrs, her voice as delighted as her eyes. “It’s been too long.”

  I beg to differ. I can feel Danny’s interested stare jumping between us, his body comfortable, settling in for the show. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “Girls’ night out.”

  “At a strip club?”

  “Actually, my friend’s sister works here. We’re picking her up.” She smiles. That’s mighty convenient. But also very possible. “How have you been?”

  I move my arm from her reach and resist asking Mason for an antibac wipe, but when I catch his eye, polishing a glass looking on with interest, I wonder if he might offer one without prompt.

  How have I been?

  Glorious. Dire.

  Elated. Miserable.

  Stable. Crazy.

  “What can I do for you, Beth?” I ask, deciding nothing but directness will work here, and I know Beth is accustomed to boldness. Just not the kind I’m adopting now.

  “Just seeing how you’ve been,” she says, easy-breezy.

  “Is that why you called him too?” Danny pipes up, pulling my attention his way, as well as Beth’s and her friend’s, who I notice now is eyeing Danny. Thank fuck the girls aren’t here. It would be a bloodbath. Or would it? I know Rose wouldn’t react too kindly to another woman all over her husband, even if it’s just her eyes on him, but what about Beau? Is she even capable of caring? Does she have the capacity? Would she even really fucking care? I jerk away from that thought before it sends my mood lower.

  “Danny,” he says, as way of introduction, without offering his hand. “A friend of James.”

  “I’m Violet,” the brunette replies, thrusting her hand toward Danny. “Pleased to meet you.”

  Danny doesn’t look at her, but looks at her hand briefly, leaving it hanging, then returns his eyes to Beth, and the brunette, Violet, awkwardly withdraws her offering.

  “I don’t remember you,” Beth says.

  “James and I have only recently reconnected.” He smiles, and it makes me laugh on the inside. He’s being protective. Not of me, but of Beau. Is it wasted? “Through our better halves,” he adds, taking a drink casually after coolly dropping that information.

  “Oh?” Beth breathes.

  “I understand you’re married,” he goes on, ignoring her reaction. I’m now settling in for the show. Beth’s not exactly unbearable, but not exactly tolerable either, unless she’s gagged, of course.

  “Was.” She looks at me. “I was married. We separated recently.” Her back straightens, her chest pushing out, an air of superiority coming across.

  “Shame,” Danny grunts, making her inhale, as if gathering patience.

  She turns toward him and smiles. It isn’t sincere. “Would you mind giving us a moment?”

  Naturally, Danny looks at me, his drink at his lips, and I nod, just wanting to get this done with and get Beth out of here. Danny leaves, the brunette following, biting at his heels, and Beth takes his stool, calling for a wine. I don’t know why; this will be over before Mason pours it. “Again, what can I do for you, Beth?”

  She smiles coyly, and it gets under my skin. Pray do tell me she doesn’t think there was anything more in our meetings than raw, carnal fucking. Scratching an itch. She served a purpose for me, and I thought I did for her and her husband. But now she doesn’t have a husband. I’m not even curious as to why. How she came to be here, however? A friend who works here? “You’ve not taken any of my calls.”

  “Because I don’t want to speak to you.”

  “I thought, well, maybe—”

  “Didn’t you hear my friend? I’m with someone.”

  She laughs, and it’s like blades across my skin. She doesn’t think I’m capable of anything but fucking? “You?”

  “Yes, me.” I look past her, seeing Danny watching, the brunette getting dangerously close to him. She must have zero social awareness, because Danny’s fuck-off vibes are reaching me all the way over here. “This friend of yours who works here, who is it?”

  The awkwardness staring back at me tells me she’s bullshitting. What the fuck is she playing at, and how the fuck did she know I would be here?

  “So who is the lucky girl?” she asks, bypassing my question.

  I don’t bother telling her it’s the blonde I found in my apartment the last time I was seeing Beth and her husband out. Why the fuck am I even entertaining this shit? “That is none of your business, so if we’re done?” I go to stand, but both her hands land on my thighs, and I drop back to the stool. She gets to her feet, moves in closer, pushes her mouth to my ear. My skin crawls, every muscle tenses.

  “I want you to bind me,” she whispers, licking the shell of my ear, “gag me, and fuck me black and blue.”

  I clench my eyes closed and grit my teeth to deal with the unbearable closeness as I push my mouth to her ear. “Fuck,” I whisper, “Off.” Taking her forearms, I push her firmly but gently away. The indignation staring back at me amps up my anger. That anyone thinks I would even consider betraying Beau, whether they know her or not, riles me. “Goodbye.” I turn on my stool, away from her, facing the bar, and only breathe easy when I feel her move away. I look out the corner of my eye and find Danny wandering back over, looking toward the entrance, watching Beth and her friend leave.

  “She was a bold one,” he says, perching on the stool. “Good job she’s gone, because Beau’s on her way.”

  “What?”

  “Rose just called. She’s managed to get Beau out of bed and they’re coming here. I agreed, since I assume you want to encourage her leaving the house.”

  “She’s coming here?”

  “Yes.”

  My phone pings, and I look down at the screen, inhaling, taken aback by the woman staring back at me. It’s my wild, free-spirited, baggy-jeaned girl, but today she’s in a dress, cowboy boots, and a denim jacket. Little makeup, hair piled messily up. She looks out of this world, smiling but clearly nervous, looking almost shy. Will she understand why I’ve done what I’ve done? Will she accept it? I don’t know, so I won’t be telling her. Not until I’m sure.

  Rose put her up to this picture. I need to thank her.

  For helping her out of her darkness too.

  14

  BEAU

  “He’ll love it,” Rose says from beside me in the back seat.

  A man of many words, I think, as I look down at my cell, waiting for a reply. He’s clearly speechless, and I can’t blame him. From zombie to party girl in a few hours flat. I look across to Rose and smile, taking her hand and holding it. She looks gorgeous in a gold long-sleeved body-con dress. “You look amazing,” I say, my eyes resting on her little bump.

  “Not just fat?” She wriggles in the seat, pulling at the fabric around her waist.

  “Shut up.” Fury pulls up at the front of the club. The line outside is long, clients, mostly males, waiting to be granted entry by the two mountains on the door. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Neither of us get out, not until Fury opens one of the doors after no doubt running a quick check and probably calling for extra men to assist. Rose steps out first, and I shift along the seat, stepping out too, just as two more suited men exit the club. I want to say it’s unnecessary. I can’t.

  We stand and wait for them to sort their positions, Rose reapplying her lipstick, me . . . not. Instead, I look at the line of dozens of people and wonder just how many there are inside. My heartbeats increase as a result, and I start the same old routine, practicing controlled breathing. I will not be pushed back in that element of my life. This I can control.

  “You okay?” Rose says, placing a hand on my arm.