Daniel claims back his cell. “Next you’ll be telling me Tank and Fury are my nannies.”

  “When did you get such a smart mouth?” I ask as he drops to his back and resumes whatever he was doing before I arrived. I don’t care what, so long as he avoids stories about mafia crime lords. How do I assure that? How? Oh Rose. You get your husband to kill the journalist who dared pen the article. Perfectly reasonable.

  “Where is Tank, anyway?” I ask, with a lack of anything else to say. I need to regroup. And talk to Danny.

  “Having Pizza with Fury. Then we’re catching up on COD.”

  “What’s COD?”

  He drops his head to the side, looking at me tiredly.

  “Never mind,” I say. “Have you eaten?”

  “Pizza.”

  “Is Esther in the kitchen?”

  “Yes.”

  Back in her element, I expect. “Where’s your luggage?”

  His hand drops and points to the corner. So we’re back to one-word answers or no answers at all? Right now, I’m thankful. I take his luggage and open the case, pulling out his dirty laundry and dropping everything else on the chair in the corner. “And tidy your room,” I say, carrying it out.

  “Yes, Mom,” he drones.

  I start to pull the door closed but stop when I hear him call me. I push my way back in, bracing myself for more deflecting. “What?”

  “I think Otto’s in love with Grandma.”

  I press my lips together, restraining my amusement. I know I should have given my son a bit more credit. I can’t say I’ve underestimated his intelligence, but perhaps hoped he was too caught up in video games, jet skis, and soccer to notice the stark reality of the world around him. A world that’s too close. “Do not tell Mister.”

  He smirks and returns to his phone, and I make my way downstairs on constant groans to drop his dirty clothes off in the laundry room. When I make it to the kitchen, everyone is crowded around the island, and Esther is in full swing. It’s a sight to behold, as is watching Otto watching her.

  “Here she is,” Esther sings, looking up from wiping crumbs from the countertop. “My favorite daughter-in-law.”

  “I’m your only daughter-in-law, so I have to be your favorite.” I go to her, falling into her warm, welcoming embrace. “Daniel knows.”

  “He’s not stupid, Rose.”

  Agreed. I’m the stupid one. “I’m so happy you’re here,” I say, exposing my vulnerability. It would be stupid to try and hide it from Esther.

  “What on earth has been going on? We had young ears in the car from the airport, so we had to talk about the weather and soccer.”

  “I would love to talk about the weather and soccer,” I say, releasing her.

  “Then I get home to a house full of strange women.”

  “Most are gone now,” I say. “We only have two extra mouths to feed.”

  “What are we going to do with them?” she asks gently.

  “I don’t know,” I admit. “All I know is that Anya looked plain terrified when we asked if she had anyone we could contact in her homeland, and Pearl, the British girl, has no one.” I take a seat next to Tank and lean into his side. “Missed you,” I say sincerely, getting a grunt and an awkward arm around my shoulder, hugging me close very briefly before he lets go and takes another slice of pizza. “Thanks for watching Daniel.” Another grunt. “Where’s Danny?”

  “Office,” Otto says, getting up and leaving, giving Esther a peculiar look as he does.

  I look between them, seeing Esther shying away from it. She catches me watching and smiles brightly. “I’ll check on the two girls, make sure they have everything they need, then I think I’ll get myself an early night.” She raises her arms in the air, imitating a poor yawn. “Anyone need anything?”

  “Maybe you should ask Otto?” I say, casually playing with the salt pot on the island. Hastily, Goldie, Tank, Ringo, and Fury all get up and leave, and I watch them all go. Good. I turn to Esther. “What was that look?”

  “What look?” she asks, making her getaway, avoiding my eyes.

  “Esther, come on,” I say, laughing. “You and Otto are the worst-kept secret around here. Even Daniel’s figured it out.”

  Shoulders dropping, she faces me. Her clear skin is glowing, and it isn’t from being kissed by the sun. “I don’t know what to do,” she admits, coming back to me and sitting. “Danny is so adverse, and I don’t want to be the cause of added stress.”

  “So what was your excuse when we were in St. Lucia and Danny had no stress?”

  She peeks at me. “What do you know about Otto?”

  I’m taken aback by the question. The truth is, not a lot. “I know he was James’s father’s righthand man when he was alive. I know they were close.” I imagine like Danny and Brad are. “And I know he’s loyal.” I move in a little closer. “You’re unsure because of how little you know?”

  “A little, I suppose. I overheard Goldie making a comment about him.” She grimaces. “Well, you know.”

  “A player?”

  “Plenty of women. And all young, by the sounds of things.”

  What is wrong with her? She has a banging body and youthful face for a woman her age. “You’re beautiful,” I say. “The best example of a woman I know, Esther, and if Otto can’t see that, and your beauty—then he needs his eyes looked at.”

  “It’s not just that.” Her gaze drops to her lap, her thumbs making rushed circles where her hands are joined. “The last time I—” She shakes her head and looks at me, and I positively hate the anguish I see in her blue eyes. “Sex has only ever been a horrible experience for me. Painful. Danny’s stepfather, then the endless men that came to the dirty bedsit where I was held after Carlo’s cousin took me from the pub.”

  “Oh, Esther,” I whisper, choked up. My heart breaks for her. I know the type of desperate vulnerable state she speaks of.

  Sex has only ever been a horrible experience for me.

  An unstoppable question has popped into my mind. What about Danny’s biological father? I know about his stepfather, the monster, but what about his real father?

  “I was a zombie as I lay on that filthy mattress, Rose,” Esther goes on. I store the question. I can’t add what I know will be another layer of grief. Her hand grabs mine and constricts so hard, holding on, as if she’s scared she could be taken away again. “My body was useless, I couldn’t fight, but I saw, felt, and heard everything.”

  I flinch, my mind suddenly crowded with a million flashbacks that I’ve done so well to box away at the back of my mind these past few years. But more recently they’re starting to plague me. They’re creeping out and haunting me. But this now isn’t about me. “Does Otto know your story?” I ask.

  “I haven’t told him, if that’s what you mean. Why on earth would I?”

  To make him understand you! But Danny talks to Brad and James. James is close to Otto. I’m thinking he has to know. “Do you like Otto?” I ask, and she looks at me. Of course she does. I’ve only ever seen him be patient and gentle around her. “Daniel thinks he’s in love with you.” I smile when she lets out a bark of laughter.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Her hand instinctively goes to her hair and fixes it. “Danny’s probably right. He’s likely after one thing.”

  I outwardly express my annoyance. “Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

  Esther withdraws, putting some distance between us.

  “Esther.” I sigh. “Hiatus is full of young, willing women that Otto has access to. He’s been a total grouch since he’s been here.”

  She peeks out the corner of her eye. “He was annoyed I stayed in St. Lucia. He was annoyed Danny insisted, but I understood Danny wanted to reassure you, and you wanted me to stay with Daniel there.”

  Oh? The crafty little fucker. “He told you . . .” I fade off. There’s no point burdening Esther with her son’s conniving stunt. Just wait until I find him. “You need to talk to Danny. Tell him how you feel. Tell him to stand down.”

  “Danny? We’re talking about the same man?”

  “Yes. You’re letting your guilt rule your life. Enough.” I stand and she looks up at me, alarmed. “He cannot tell you who to be or who to see. You can be his mom and be a woman too. You’ve paid your dues. Now it should be about you.” I dip and kiss her cheek. “Life is too short to stroke egos, Mom. He’ll have to get used to it. Look on the bright side. At least you know Otto can take care of himself. Imagine if you fell in love with a wimp?”

  I leave the kitchen and Esther behind chuckling. “Wait!” she yells. “In love? I’m not in love with him.”

  I roll my eyes, but I melt too. They’ve not even been intimate, and the feelings are obviously strong. My husband needs to back the hell off.

  I make my way to Danny’s office, walking in without knocking. It’s empty. So I go to the TV room. No Danny. I go to the gym. No Danny. But James is standing on his head and Beau is lying on the mat before him, her chin resting on her palms as she watches him. “Have you seen Danny?” I whisper.

  She shakes her head.

  “I saw him heading upstairs.” James doesn’t open his eyes. I throw a little wave to Beau, backing out, leaving them to their . . . workout?

  I hurry upstairs, down the corridor, and push my way into our bedroom.

  He’s face first on the bed, sprawled out, fully dressed.

  Snoring.

  I sigh and pad over, climbing on next to him and stroking his hair from his face. He murmurs. Grunts a few times. I rest my head on the pillow next to him and watch him sleeping. It’s the only time he looks peaceful these days.

  “Sleep well,” I whisper, kissing his head.

  It’s not long before I’m gone too.

  * * *

  His pained groan wakes me, his body squirming lethargically next to me. “Fuck me, that hurts,” he complains, groaning more, making tiny movements and stopping, slumping, moving, stopping, moaning.

  “What hurts?”

  “Shoulders,” he hisses. “Arms. Chest.” His head lifts and then drops back down heavily. “Everything. Everything aches.”

  I prop myself up on my elbow and stroke his back. He’s not moved position since I found him last night. “You know I hate you,” I mumble.

  “Yep, and I hate you more,” he says easily, and I smile. I can’t help it. God, I love this man.

  I’m sure he’d rather be more awake for this conversation, but, honestly, who knows when we’ll get another minute to ourselves? “You used me, you shit.”

  “For what?”

  “To keep your mom in St. Lucia away from Otto.” I won’t mention Lennox Benson. Not now. We have enough grievances, and the man is inconsequential, really.

  “Yeah, I did that,” he says, sighing, obviously without the energy to deny it. “But she’s back so you can stow away the sass.”

  Never. The conversation I had with Esther last night is playing on my mind. Perhaps now is the time to convince Danny to back off, since he looks quite immobile. “She’s a wom—”

  “I’m in pain, Rose,” he mumbles into the pillow. “Moody. Don’t make it worse.”

  I narrow my eyes on the back of his head. Fine, but we will be talking about it. Onto my next issue. “Daniel knows what you do.”

  “Jet skis?”

  “No, not jet skis. He saw an article in the paper about you and James.” What I can see of his jaw tenses.

  “Right.” He goes to get up, like who have I got to kill? Then drops back down on a howl of pain. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  I wince, reaching to touch him but not wanting to touch where he might be tender. “What happened? Wait . . .” They were all drugged. Incapable of walking. “Did you carry them out?”

  “Yes. About a quarter mile down the coastline. Twice.”

  Dodging bullets. God, he’s a hero. And to think I once thought he was a monster. I’m sure many still do, and sometimes he is, but . . . he’s my monster. “Anything I can do?”

  “Massage.” He lifts his head with effort and looks at me with a cheeky smirk, his overgrown hair in his face.

  “Massage what?”

  “My dick. It’s the only part of me not hurting right now.” I smack his arm and he laughs, then winces. “No, seriously, baby, I’m in agony here. I can’t move.” His face plummets into the pillow. Another groan. “You’ve got to rub some life into me. Ouch. Fuck, ouch, oh you motherfucking cunt!”

  I scan up and down his body, getting to my knees. “Where should I start?”

  “Shoulders.”

  “I need something to rub in.” I get up off the bed and go to the bathroom, searching the vanity for any kind of oil. I find the lavender oil Doc gave me and take it back to Danny. His phone rings.

  “You’ll have to get that.” He peeks up, flinching. “Who is it?”

  “James.” I click it to loudspeaker and hold it close to him.

  “What’s up?” Danny asks, his words delivered on a croaky exhale.

  “How much pain are you in?” James asks.

  Danny’s eyes snap open. Hopeful. As if he’s excited to not be in his painful misery alone. “You too?”

  “Jesus Christ, I can’t fucking move, mate.”

  “Yes! Ouch. Fuck!”

  “Keep still then,” I order, restraining my laughter, just as the door flings open and Beau appears in her panties and a tank.

  “Do you have any oil?” she breathes urgently. “I can’t find any.”

  I lose my battle to hold on to my laughter and fall apart on the bed, hearing Beau breaking down too.

  “Fuck you,” Danny mumbles, useless. “Where’s my mum?”

  His gripes only increase my laughter, as does the sight of Beau holding on to the doorframe, tears streaming down her cheeks. I fall to my back, not judging the available space all too well in my hysteria, and bang Danny’s back with my forearm.

  “Arhhhhh!” he yells, throwing his head up, jerking another stiff muscle. “Fuck!”

  My cheeks blow out, and Beau slides down the wood, crumpling to the floor, her face wet and hair sticking to her cheeks. I can’t breathe. My stomach aches.

  “What’s going on?”

  I look up and see Brad behind Beau in the corridor, his hand wrapped around the metal pole of a metal stand, the empty bag of blood dangling by his ear. The sight of him, hardly holding himself up, snaps me out of my laughing fit and has me rushing over.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask, taking his arm and leading him to the closest bed. Ours. The dressing on his shoulder looks damp and stained. “Lie down.”

  He drops down on a grunt and Danny lifts his head a fraction. “You’re a dickhead,” he grumbles. “I fucking told you to go with the girls.”

  “Fuck off.” Brad lets his head settle on the pillow and looks at Danny. “What’s up?”

  I snort, as does Beau. “He’s aching,” I say, placing the lavender oil on the nightstand.

  “This isn’t aching,” Danny snaps. “I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it’s more than aching.”

  I think I might be killed with a look if a laugh anymore, so I make a point of avoiding Beau’s eyes, trying to hold on to my amusement, as Beau comes over, assessing Brad. “How’s it feeling?” she asks.

  “Like nothing you could believe.” He blinks, and his face falls as I look at him incredulously. I can’t believe he just said that to a woman who was shot. “Shit.”

  “You dick,” Danny mutters.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Beau breathes.

  “Sorry.” Brad pouts and relaxes, and a few bangs and curses sound from the hallway, forcing all our stares that way. James appears, holding on to the wall, his face a picture of discomfort, and I’m off again, rolling around on the end of the bed, Beau joining me, every muscle and bodily function failing me.

  Thump!

  “Ouch!” I yelp, landing on my ass with force.

  “Shit, Rose.” Beau crawls over to me.

  “Rose?” Danny yells. “Rose?”

  “I’m fine.” I chuckle, grimacing, my butt numb. “I’m fine.” I crawl up the end of the bed onto my knees, poking my head up. Brad’s chin is on his chest, and Danny’s trying with everything he has to crane his neck back and see me. “I’m fine.”

  “Good,” he grunts, slumping down. “Now fix me, woman.” I snarl and poke him in his calf. “Fuck!”

  “Mind your manners, Black,” I warn. “I’m your only hope.”

  “Not true,” he mumbles sulkily with an edge of smugness too. “Mum will help me.”

  “Don’t count on it.” I get to my feet.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Shut up, you’re annoying me.”

  His head flies up, his eyes, or what I can see of them, enraged. “Rose,” he growls. “I’m warning you.”

  “What are you gonna do?” I ask, sauntering around the bed to his side and getting my face up in his? “Chase me?”

  Brad titters next to him, as does Beau at the end of the bed.

  “Fuck!” James curses, pulling all attention his way again. He’s taking tentative steps toward us, and each time he places a foot down, he curses.

  “Fuck”

  Step.

  “Fucker.”

  Step.

  “Fuck me.”

  Step.

  “Fucking hell.”

  Step.

  “Fuck it!”

  Step.

  Until he’s at the end of the bed and gingerly crawling on, flopping to his front at Danny’s and Brad’s feet on a grunt and one more fuck for good measure.

  I look at Beau, just as she looks at me, and quickly look away. But, in all seriousness . . . “Should I get Doc?” I ask.

  “No, just rub me,” Danny sighs, settling.

  “Beau,” James groans. “Please.”

  “You two are pathetic,” Brad mutters.

  “Aren’t you aching?” James asks, looking up at him at the top of the bed.

  “Well, I don’t fucking know, do I?” Brad snaps, lifting his head from the pillow and directing a lethal glare down the bed to James. “I could be, but I can’t tell through the pain of being fucking shot.”