“You okay?” I tilt my head, curious, seeing her look past me.

  “Just checking on . . . Brad?”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, looking back, seeing the man himself as stiff as a board on the bed. “That’s Brad.” His eyes are fixed on Pearl. The atmosphere is thick. I feel like an imposter.

  Should I leave?

  She’s nibbling her lip, awkward as fuck, and Brad is doing nothing to make her feel comfortable. “I’m just gonna use the—”

  “What can I do for you?” Brad asks, sounding cold and curt. Intended?

  “I just wanted to thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “Well”—Pearl glances at me, taking the hem of her shirt, definitely one of Beau’s, and twists it in her grasp—“for rescuing me.”

  “This ain’t no fairy tale,” he grunts, scowling at himself, resting a palm over his wound. “I’m no white knight.”

  “I never said you were.” She stands taller. “I just wanted to thank you.”

  “Thank him too, then.” Brad points at me, and Pearl smiles awkwardly. What the fuck is he doing, other than making himself look like a total wanker?

  “Thanks.”

  I wave it off. “Good to see you looking better.”

  She backs out of the room, looking uncomfortable, and as soon as the wood comes between us, I turn to Brad. “What the fuck was that?”

  He huffs and looks away.

  “You didn’t have to be such a dick.”

  “What does she want from me?”

  “Nothing. Maybe an appreciation of her appreciation.”

  “She’s deluded. She thinks because I helped her out of there I’m some sort of hero.”

  “She’s twenty-one. Of course you’re her hero, you knob.”

  He darts stunned eyes my way. “Twenty-one?”

  “Yes, twenty-one.”

  “How do you know she’s twenty-one?

  “Because Beau told me she’s twenty-one.”

  “Twenty-one,” he murmurs, settling, staring down at the blankets. “That’s—”

  “Twenty-one,” I say, confirming it, as if I need to.

  “Quite young.”

  “Thirteen years younger than you. Nearly fourteen.”

  “Doesn’t sound so bad when you put it like that.”

  Oh fuck. “Brad,” I say slowly. “What the fuck?”

  “What the fuck, what?”

  “Oh shit.”

  “Where’s my damn tea with sugar?”

  “I’ll let you ask Esther in that exact tone.”

  “Yeah . . .” He scowls, and it’s fucking fierce. “No.”

  I settle in my chair, watching him falling into thought. I’m no woman, but I’m so fucking curious what those thoughts are. I pull out my mobile and send a text to the girls, asking them what they know about Pearl, and, as I should have expected, I get a one-word answer from both of them.

  Why?

  Why? Yes, why? Why can’t women ever just answer a question without a fucking question?

  “Who are you texting?” Brad asks.

  “No one.” My thumb darts across the screen, explaining why I’m asking.

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Shut up. You’re like a woman sometimes.”

  “Fuck y—”

  The door flies open, and Otto fills the doorway with his laptop resting on a palm. I don’t like the look in his eyes. The glimmer of threat tells me he’s just discovered something I’m not going to like. “Cartwright’s turned up.”

  “Where?”

  “At the beach.”

  I’ll ask, but I know I don’t need to. “And what was he doing at the beach?”

  “Being dead.”

  I slam my phone into the arm of the chair. “Fuck!” This is going to add fuel to Beau’s fire, and the flames will be justified. Something very fucking dodgy is going on.

  Otto paces toward me and crouches down, showing me the screen of my laptop. “Bud just sent me this.”

  I stare at a picture of a washed-up dead body. “Well, it’s a nice day for sunbathing,” I muse, just as Ringo strolls through the door with a Starbucks in one hand and a cup of Esther’s tea in the other.

  “That’s not all.” Otto delights me with another image that makes me laugh under my breath. “Yeah,” he says, studying it as well, turning the ring in his slightly swollen, very purple lip. “Natalia Potter sure does have some interesting friends.”

  “Hello,” Brad calls, having us both look up. Otto turns the screen and he recoils. “Think I’ll take a Scotch instead.”

  “What’s going on?” Ringo asks.

  “Cartwright is dead and Agent Higham’s lunching with Natalia Potter.”

  He sneers. “The journalist who wrote the—”

  “Are you about to state the obvious?” Brad asks, claiming the cup of tea on a flinch.

  “No, I’m asking a question to confirm where I think this is leading.” Ringo looks at me, and I nod. It’s leading to Beau going full force into cop mode.

  “No one breathes a word of this to Beau,” I say, hating the disgusted look on Brad’s face. Couldn’t give a fuck. I’m protecting her.

  My phone rings in my hand, and everything inside sinks when I look at the screen. The tension I’m suddenly feeling must be palpable, because when I look up, everyone is staring at my phone. I know I don’t want to take this call. I know it. Cartwright turning up dead doesn’t only mean Beau’s about to get the extra shove she doesn’t need, it also means that small part of me that hoped The Bear had disappeared will be disappointed.

  I inhale, push my fingertip into the screen, then click it straight to speaker, swallowing down the anger crawling up my throat.

  Silence.

  And with each second that passes, my heart booms that little bit harder.

  “Did you miss me?” he finally asks. The sound of his voice, the distorter, makes me close my eyes and force my breathing to steady before I explode.

  “As it happens, yes,” I say quietly. “I thought I’d been robbed of the opportunity to tear you apart.”

  “So you’re pleased to hear from me?”

  “Thrilled.”

  “Good. Then I’ll make my next move.” The line goes dead, and the tension in the room goes through the roof, everyone still, quiet, looking at each other.

  Waiting.

  For what? An explosion? A bullet? A fire? A missile through the fucking window?

  Fuck!

  “Someone get Danny up here,” I say as I dial Fury, going to the window and looking out onto the grounds. For what, I don’t fucking know. “Now!” I yell. Fury answers. “Get the girls home now,” I order.

  “Boss,” he confirms, hanging up, getting straight on it.

  “Call Goldie. Get them back from the boatyard.” I pace, cursing under my breath. “Get Leon on the phone. Tell him to clear the cabin.”

  “The club,” Brad says from the bed. “Nolan, the girls. Someone pass me my phone.” I take it off charge on the nightstand and hand it to him, and he strains to sit up, dialing and taking it to his ear.

  Otto has the CCTV stream for the club up on his screen before I have the chance to ask, and I watch the shot of the front of the building, holding my breath, as if waiting for it to blow up there on the screen.

  “He’s not answering,” Brad says, frustrated, immediately dialing again.

  “Can you activate the fire alarm from the system?” I ask Otto.

  He lifts a finger and pushes it down meticulously. “Done.” Everyone on the screen seems to still for a moment—bartenders pausing cleaning, dancers pausing mid-practice—before the place clears and we all wait, watching, Ringo with Leon on the other line.

  I can hear the beats of everyone’s hearts, and the silence is only broken when Danny steams through the door at one hundred miles an hour, his face a dried bloody mess. “What’s going on?” he asks, taking in the scene and wandering over, looking at the screen of Otto’s laptop.

  I can’t tell him that we’re waiting for something or someone to blow up. “Call Sandy,” I say. “Tell him you’ll meet him.” Just because we now know The Bear is still in the game doesn’t mean he still has control of the Russians, or anyone. I can get past the fact Sandy tried to kill Beau if it means I get The Bear.

  “Why?” Danny asks.

  “Just do it.”

  “So you can kill him?”

  I look at him, and I don’t answer because I can’t promise I won’t. “An old friend just called.”

  “Fuck,” Danny breathes, raking a hand through his hair. “The girls? Mum? The kid?”

  “All being brought back.” I’ve got to face Beau. Tell her the man she desperately needs to talk to in relation to her father’s death is dead. Another blow. Another setback amid the endless fucking setbacks.

  Danny nods, his eyes dropping to the carpet. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or stressed.” I think he’s speaking for us all.

  “He’s definitely been lying low. Waiting for something.”

  “But what?”

  “I don’t know.” I look out of the window, returning my eyes to the outside world, scanning, watching. Come on, what’s your next move?

  “Pick up, Nolan,” Brad hisses, his lips pursing, part impatience, part pain. “Fuck it.” He dials again. “Someone call Mason.”

  Danny pulls his T-shirt up and wipes the drying blood on his face as he dials him. “Tell Nolan to check his phone,” he orders shortly. Then he frowns, looking at Brad. “Nolan’s not there.”

  “What?”

  “Called earlier and said he’d be in at lunchtime.”

  Brad curses, continuously dialing, trying to reach Nolan. “Little fucker.”

  “Is everyone out of the club?” I ask.

  Danny nods, going back to Mason. “Just taking precautions. I’m sending Otto over to check.” He scowls. “You’re asking too many questions, Mason. Just keep everyone out the back and tell Nolan to fucking call when he shows up.”

  That kid’s getting a slap when I catch up with him, because I’m sure as shit Brad won’t give him one. I bet he’s living the dream in Brad’s swanky loft apartment while he’s laid up here recovering. In fact, I bet he’s late to the club because he’s cleaning up the mess from last night’s afterparty back at Brad’s.

  “What the fuck took you so long?” Brad barks down the line when Nolan finally answers. Then he frowns. “What are you doing there?” A pause, and his frown turns into a scowl. “Fine, whatever. The club’s been evacuated. Just a precaution. Otto’s on his way over to check. I need you to come to Danny’s. I’ve got some things I need to go over with you.” He hangs up, muttering under his breath, and settles down. “He’s at my place, just getting in the shower.” he says calmly. “Heading over in a bit.”

  I nod, still looking out of the window, dread gripping on unrelentingly. “Fucking with us?” Danny asks, joining me.

  “I don’t know.”

  Brad’s phone starts ringing, and both Danny and I turn back to face the room. It takes every effort for him to lift it to see the screen.

  “Who is it?” Danny asks, seeing what I’m seeing in Brad’s expression. A bit of confusion.

  “Unknown number.”

  Looks start getting shot around the room again, everyone still and quiet as Brad answers with silence, his eyes darting across the sheets covering his waist. He’s exhales, relieved. Peeks up. “It’s my neighbor.”

  I roll my eyes, along with everyone else in the room. “Probably complaining about the noise,” I mutter, but then Brad pales and his phone slides from his hand and hits the bed.

  “What?” Danny asks urgently. “Brad, what is it?”

  He swallows hard, his gaze jumping across his lap, and I step forward, every inch of me tense. “My . . .” He turns haunted eyes our way. “My apartment just blew up.”

  22

  BEAU

  Everyone was silent as we were driven home by Tank and Fury, with no explanation as to why our shopping trip ended so abruptly. I know we’re all wondering what the hell has happened now. Of course, the moment I saw Fury’s face when he answered his cell, I put the pants I was considering back on the rack and calmly walked out of the store, calling to Zinnea and Rose as I did. They too left without fuss.

  When we pull up at the mansion, I see a few cars missing. So a few men have been deployed. For what?

  “Home Sweet Home,” Zinnea says sardonically as the three of us walk up the steps to the house. “Brace yourself, girls.”

  “Always,” I murmur, looking across to Rose. Her lips are straight, her eyes fixed on the door. I can see it’s taking everything in her not to barge into the house and scream her frustration. “Remember what Doc said,” I say, as Zinnea rests a pacifying hand on her arm.

  “I remember.” She visibly takes a few deep breathes. “I live for the day when I’ll wake up and not wonder who will try to kill my husband today.”

  “Well, that’ll never happen,” Zinnea quips, trying to lighten the mood. “Because not a day can pass without a wife wanting to kill her husband for one thing or another. It’s basic marriage semantics, darling.”

  Rose manages a smile and, surprisingly, it’s not forced, as I spin my ring on my finger. Esther answers the door before we can let ourselves in and gives us a look I’m sure we all hate. “Upstairs,” she says, letting us all file in. “Brad’s room.”

  I’m off up the stairs like a bullet, worried, and as I jog down the corridor, I see Pearl up ahead looking a little misplaced and worried. “What’s going on?” I ask, slowing.

  “I don’t know. He was brought up a while ago. In a lot of pain. Doc came by his room, and he seemed okay when I went in to thank him. Grumpy but okay. James was in there with him.”

  “And now?” I ask, looking at the door, plagued by uncertainty.

  “Now everyone is in there with him.”

  Everyone? “Right,” I say quietly, taking the handle, scared to enter.

  “Will you let me know if he’s okay?” Pearl asks, and I look back over my shoulder, seeing her hands fiddling, her eyes worried.

  “Of course.” I push my way in, and the tension slaps me in the face. Everyone is standing, except Brad who’s on the bed, but I can’t see his face because Danny’s blocking him. I probably don’t want to see his face. A bedside vigil? My heart drops. Danny looks back, sees me, then looks past me. “She’s coming,” I say, hearing Rose behind me. “What’s happened?” My eyes won’t move from Brad’s legs.

  “Is that Beau?” Brad’s voice throws me, and I quickly round Danny and find his eyes open.

  All air drains from my lungs, my palm meeting my chest. “I thought you were dead,” I say, relief getting the better of me.

  He shakes his head, looking absolutely shell-shocked. “I should be,” he says quietly, staring at the sheets around his waist.

  “What happened?”

  “We got a call from The Bear,” James says, pulling my attention to him. I don’t want to believe it. Part of me hoped he’d disappeared. Gone. I could imagine a million gruesome ways in which he died. It was the only way.

  “And?” I ask, looking to Danny as Rose puts herself in his side, looking up at him. I take this moment, while I’m waiting for James to answer, to assess everyone’s faces. All grave. All stressed. All grief-stricken.

  “And he blew up Brad’s apartment.”

  “Oh my God,” Rose whispers behind me.

  All I can think is thank God. Thank God Brad was here. But something tells me I’m getting ahead of myself, and as I scan the room, mentally doing a headcount, I realize . . . “Nolan,” I say quietly, dropping to my ass on the mattress and taking Brad’s hand. Oh God no. No! Brad liked that kid. We all did. The right amount of cheek and charm with rough and ready. He’ll be blaming himself. “Brad, you can’t bl—”

  “Don’t say it, Beau.” He pulls his hand free of mine and rubs into his eye sockets harshly. Pushing back the tears. Refusing to cry because he’s Brad Black. “Leave me alone,” he whispers, his nostrils flaring, anger taking over. “Everyone,” he roars, exploding. “Get the fuck out!”

  I stand and turn, leaving, indicating to everyone that they should do the same, and they do, giving Brad space. Letting him have a private moment to let those tears out. The anger out. I pull the door closed behind me and rest back against it.

  “Is he okay?”

  I drop my head and find Pearl looking anxious and out of place. “He needs a moment.”

  “What happened?” she asks, as everyone leaves, dispersing to various parts of the house. “Am I allowed to know?”

  I swallow down the lump in my throat. “You probably don’t want to.”

  Anya rounds the corner up ahead. She looks a hundred times better, her hair shiny, her complexion glowing. Spotting me, she smiles widely, but it drops when she sees how busy it is outside Brad’s room. I nod to Esther to take over, and she moves in, coaxing Pearl away from Brad’s room and collecting Anya. I hate the curiosity on their faces. Hate it even more that being here in this house, in this world, was a better option than returning to their home countries.

  I feel James’s eyes on me, and as I face him, I just catch Danny’s short, sharp nod as he walks Rose away and she fusses over him, rubbing gently at the blood on his face while shaking her head, biting her lip, tears in her eyes. “What the hell happened to your face?” she asks.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Danny answers shortly, dismissing her.

  “We need to talk,” James says, but I don’t face him. Something tells me I won’t like what I’ll see. “Beau?”

  “I don’t want to talk.” I turn to him and walk into him, crawling up his body and clinging on. I just want to be for a moment. Be quiet and lost. He holds me under my ass and carries me into our room, and once he’s placed me down, I make slow work of stripping him down, feeling him watching me as I do, his stance solid, his hands lifeless by his side, his tired eyes studying me. He doesn’t help. Doesn’t even try to rid me of my clothes. So I do it myself and push him onto the bed. Then I climb on top of him, lock eyes with his, hold his arousal upright, and sink slowly onto him on an exhale that shakes me, each inch taming the unrest within. His hands move to my hips, his lips part, his eyes become hooded, as I start to circle him slowly, my palms braced on his chest.