“Did you find anything to wear tomorrow?” He strains the words on a hoarse voice, and I smile serenely. He’s trying to make normal conversation during quite abnormal sex.

  “Shut up, James,” I order, dropping my chest to his and kissing him hard, my hands delving into his hair and fisting.

  I have the upper hand for only a few seconds before I’m flipped onto my back. He pants down at me as his hips gradually push forward and he fills me again, watching me as he does. I suck in air and his eyes smoke. “That good, Beau?”

  I shove my hips up, taking him all the way, and he hisses through his teeth. “I don’t know, is it?” I swivel a few more times, working him up, and then shoot up, sending James to his back again, but this time we land on the floor with a thud. I take his dick again and guide him to me, slipping down onto him.

  He groans, his back arching, his hands taking my breasts and feeling, pinching, pulling. “Fine,” he relents, moving one hand to my arm and stroking down my scar before taking it to my stomach and circling my bullet wound.

  “Want me to help you escape?” I ask. He darts his eyes to mine, surprised, and I grind onto him firmly, swallowing back my whimper at the deep invasion, closing my eyes for a few moments. I see me. Standing before James in his glass box, begging him to take me away. And he did. I don’t know what he wants to talk about, but I know I won’t like it. I see the anguish on his tired face. The suffering. The need to have this done with. I open my eyes. “Give me your hands,” I whisper, and he does, holding them up. Unlike him, I won’t restrain him. Tie him up. Make him helpless. I thread my fingers through his and hold them, moving lazily, watching our hands grip, flex.

  Fused.

  “I love you,” he whispers.

  “I think you’re talking too much.”

  He smiles mildly, flexing his fingers more. “Are you going to gag me?” He bites down on his bottom lip. He’s close.

  “I don’t think we have time.” I take our joined hands down to his stomach and hold them there, gaining memento, thrusting more. He holds his breath. My skin burns. “Go on, James. Let it bend you. Let it break you.” I’m jolted when he jerks violently, throwing his head back, his spine arching harshly, and while watching him bend and break, I come calmly on a mild tremble, my pleasure intense but calm, and mostly coming from watching James fight his way through until his body goes limp and sweat trickles down his temples, wetting his hair. He breathes heavily. Taking a moment in his darkness while I watch him. Feeling his hot essence warm my insides.

  I swallow and rest my cheek on his chest, feeling his hand come to my back and hold me. I close my eyes, knowing what James is thinking in his darkness as he strokes me softly between my shoulder blades, slowly throbbing inside me, unsheathed, dripping his seed. Wondering if my body has accepted it. My guilt flames.

  “What did you need to talk about?” I ask, cowardly trying to distract myself from my dishonesty.

  “It can wait.”

  I don’t argue. I just need to be here, quiet, still, and calm for a while.

  * * *

  When I wake up, I’m in bed and James isn’t, which means he’s got us off the floor at some point and put me in here. I didn’t even stir. Slightly disorientated, I sit up, glancing around our light bedroom before I get up and stretch my way to the bathroom, putting myself in front of the mirror. I tie my hair back and open the drawer of the vanity, rummaging to the bottom. I pull out the pack of pills from a cosmetic bag and pop one, pushing back the stupid guilt. Stupid because James didn’t want to try. And now, neither do I. I hide them in the drawer and leave the bathroom, pausing in the middle of the room, looking around me, my brain now more awake. My heart starts a relentless beat. Dad’s funeral.

  “Shit!” I search for my phone in the bedsheets, on the nightstand, growling when I don’t find it. I throw on James’s T-shirt, pull on his sweats, and pull the door open. I nearly charge into Zinnea who’s on the other side, fist poised ready to knock. I look down her front, blinking back the blinding sparkle of her outfit. I’m surprised she’s chosen to go all out as Zinnea for Dad’s funeral, to be honest. But then again, it’s the best way to give a final fuck you to her bigoted brother, one he can’t retaliate to, since he’s dead.

  “I’ll be ready in just a minute,” I say, looking back at the room. “Fuck!” I won’t because I don’t have anything to wear. I go to the closet and swing it open, rummaging through my endless pairs of jeans and shirts.

  “Ready for what?” Zinnea asks from the door. I pause sliding hangers across the rail and face her, noticing, now my brain is a little more awake, that she’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

  “What day is it?” I ask.

  “The same day it was a few hours ago when we got back from our brief, rather unproductive shopping trip.”

  “Oh.” My shoulders drop, and I laugh a little. “I thought today was . . .” I rub at my forehead. I must have been in a deep, deep sleep.

  “Have you eaten today?” she asks, concerned.

  I shake my head, my stomach rumbling in response too. “I’m starving,” I admit.

  “Esther’s got a big pot on the stove.” She holds her hand out to me, and I take it, letting her lead me to the good stuff. The smell hits me as soon as I get to the top of the stairs, and the sounds from the kitchen confirm it’s as good as always. I walk in and find everyone around the table, and James drops his spoon, standing. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says.

  “Have you seen my cell?”

  He holds it up. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he reiterates, pulling out the chair next to him. I go over, lowering next to Brad.

  “You should be in bed,” I say softly, and he smiles, equally as softly, but he remains quiet, not like Brad at all.

  I tuck in, catching Rose’s eye at the other end of the table as she butters some bread for Daniel and places it on his side plate. “Okay?” she mouths, and I nod, observing the subdued mood around the table. Everyone is quiet. Talking between themselves.

  Grieving the loss of one of our own.

  “Need any help?” I ask as Brad struggles to rip some bread off to dip.

  “No.”

  “Stop being stubborn.” I tear some off and turn into him, dipping it in his dish. “Open,” I say quietly. He scowls but humors me, opening his mouth and taking the bread. “If this isn’t a sign that you need a woman in your life—”

  “I’d rather be shot again.”

  “So dramatic.”

  He falls quiet once again, stirring his stew, his sadness palpable. I don’t know if any of us can convince him that this isn’t his fault. I wish we could. He peeks up, but quickly looks back down again, his stirring becoming a bit heavy-handed, making his gravy splash up the side of his bowl. I look down the table and see Pearl and Anya talking to Esther, and I hum to myself, thoughtful.

  I can’t ask him if he’s okay because that’s a dumb fucking question. He’s getting more worked up the longer he’s sitting here, looking like he’s having a mental row with himself. Blaming himself.

  “Brad,” I say, unable to watch him slowly spiraling again. “You—”

  “I have to go,” he says, standing up abruptly, grabbing the side of the table on a pained growl. Everyone at the table falls silent, or even more silent, all attention on Brad.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, and it’s impulsive. I drop my spoon and rise, moving into him.

  “I have to go,” he says again, keeping his eyes and face low as he turns and leaves the kitchen, everyone’s apprehensive stares following him. I glance at Doc for guidance, ready to go after him. He must read my intention because he holds up a palm, making me lower slowly to the chair.

  “He’ll be okay,” James says.

  “I’m not so sure.” I reclaim my spoon, but when the sound of tires screeching fills the room, I drop it, worried, and watch as Danny gets up and goes to window that looks out onto the front of the house. I stand to see, looking on as Brad drives recklessly down the driveway to the gates. He’s got the use of one arm, for God’s sake. “He’s probably going to the club.”

  “He shouldn’t be going anywhere,” Danny says coldly. “And not because he’s injured.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a few calming breaths, and Rose fills his wine glass and taps Daniel’s hand, a signal that he may leave the table, before nodding to Tank and Fury, who both stand and follow him out. She thinks Danny’s going to lose his temper.

  I look at James as he slowly chews and swallows, setting his spoon down and wiping his mouth, ready to pin Danny down when he explodes. But he doesn’t. He turns slowly and calmly walks back to the table, taking a seat and looking at James, who nods his acknowledgement. They will all be going to Hiatus after dinner to sort Brad out.

  Everyone gets back to eating. Small talk. Then once again silence falls when the front door opens and closes. I look at James, James looks at Danny, Danny looks at Ringo, Ringo looks at Goldie, Goldie looks at Otto, like a Mexican wave of curious looks.

  “He forgot his toothbrush,” Danny muses, picking up his wine and pointing his attention back at the entrance into the kitchen, ready to welcome Brad home, as everyone around the table chuckles lightly, as relieved as Danny that Brad’s pulled his head out of his ass long enough to realize that leaving was a bad idea, if only because he’s not at full strength at the moment.

  I settle back in my chair and collect the wine Brad left at his place and sip around my smile. And nearly spit it out when someone—not Brad—walks into the kitchen, cool as can be, casual, even a fucking smile on his face. And all eyes follow him from the door to the seat that Brad just vacated. So close to me, I can smell him. Clean. Fresh.

  Not dead.

  “Hmmm, looks yum,” Nolan says, diving into the stew Brad left a moment ago as we all stare, mouths hanging open.

  “What the fuck?” Danny eventually says, slowly lowering his wine to the table.

  Nolan pauses, hunched over the table, just about to take another mouthful of stew, and looks up and down at the peanut gallery all looking like . . . well, like they’ve seen a fucking ghost. “What?” he asks, head swaying back and forth as gravy drips off his spoon. “What did I do?”

  “What did you do?” Danny seethes, standing up from his chair slowly, his fists clenching. “What did you fucking do?”

  Poor Nolan is as still as an ice sculpture, and probably feeling as cold too.

  “You fucking died, you moron!”

  “I did?” Nolan looks down his front, dismayed, as if checking he’s actually here. “When?”

  “Fuck me,” James breathes next to me, rubbing at the lines on his forehead as Danny marches around the table and gets Nolan by his ear, literally, and drags him off out of the kitchen. Naturally, James is up in a beat.

  “Not too much of that,” he says, tapping the rim of my wine glass, making me shrink in my chair. He leaves the kitchen, probably to make sure Danny doesn’t do the job he thought had been done—kill Nolan—and Otto, Ringo, and Goldie get up and follow.

  “Just a regular family dinner,” Esther says wistfully, starting to clear some plates. “Ice cream anyone?”

  “Would love some,” Rose says, going to the freezer and pulling out a huge tub, presenting it to the room. “Anyone else?”

  “Please,” Pearl calls, starting to help Esther.

  “Please,” Anya replies, polishing off her stew and sighing. “You are expert chef,” she says to Esther. “Like my mama.”

  My bottom lip pushes out as I watch Anya smiling sadly. I’ve often felt alone, even though I’ve always had people around me. But to actually be alone? “You know,” Zinnea says. “I was going to call myself Anya. Anya Dolly Daydream.”

  “Yes?” Anya replies, her eyes lighting up. “You know what it means? Anya?”

  “Tell me,” Zinnea orders, getting her wine and flicking her hair over her shoulder.

  “It means grace.”

  “Oh?”

  I laugh as Rose joins us back at the table with the tub of ice cream and a jar of something. “Zinnea suits you better.” She pops off the lid and starts digging into the tub. “And Anya definitely suits you,” she says, smiling at Anya. “And Pearl suits you. Unusual, like your ridiculously bright red hair.”

  Pearl reaches for her hair, tucking it behind her ears. “I always hated having red hair and green eyes.”

  “Why?” Rose blurts, outraged. “Oh my God, women would kill for that combination. Do you know how rare you are?”

  Pearl smiles, and Rose falters in her enthusiasm. Rare. Which is exactly why she was probably taken. Like Anya, with her unique look - heart-shaped face, gold, almond-shaped eyes, thick brows, the fullest lips, and chestnut, poker-straight hair. Rare.

  Not knowing what to say, Rose holds up the tub and they both nod. “I see it went well with Danny,” she says with a heavy dose of sarcasm, and Esther snorts.

  “You were the one who told me to put him in his place.”

  I catch Pearl and Anya looking curious, so I help them out and explain. This is something I can tell them. “Otto, that’s the big hairy one with piercings, he’s got a soft spot for Esther, who is Danny’s Mom.”

  “And Danny’s Rose’s husband,” Pearl says.

  “Correct.” Rose smiles across the table at her as she spoons ice cream into a few bowls. “And he’s not very happy about his mom”—she points the spoon to Esther—“dating . . . well, anyone. Especially not one of the men.”

  “He’s a little protective,” Esther says, almost with a proud edge. She means it. Really, Danny couldn’t do much wrong in her books. Murder, kidnap, gunrunning. But fighting with Otto?

  “What about Brad?” Pearl asks, making Rose, Esther, and me all freeze in our chairs.

  “What about him?” I ask, looking at Rose, who’s looking at Pearl as curious about this as I am, as she passes a bowl across the table to her. Has this got anything to do with James’s text asking about Pearl?

  She picks up her spoon and starts stirring, all casual. “I just wondered if he’s . . . taken.” She quickly pops some ice cream in her mouth and smiles through pursed lips.

  Oh dear.

  “Yes,” Rose blurts.

  “No,” I say at the same time.

  “I think what the girls are trying to say,” Esther says gently, “is that Brad’s probably . . . umm, I think he’s . . .” She looks to me for help. I have nothing.

  “He’s a total dick,” Rose says, handing out the rest of the bowls. “You’ll hate him.”

  Pearl smiles and Rose grabs the jar and proceeds to tip out the contents all over her ice cream.

  “And he tells terrible jokes,” I say, frowning at Rose’s bowl.

  “So, so bad,” Rose confirms.

  I look at Esther. She’s also frowning at Rose’s bowl. And Zinnea. And Anya and Pearl. And Rose is oblivious, stirring her spoon through the ice cream, mixing the pickles in with it, humming happily before getting a big spoonful and opening wide, taking it all and closing her eyes in bliss. It’s fucking bliss.

  “What the hell, Rose?”

  Her eyes pop open and she swallows, looking down at her bowl. “I know!” she cries. “It’s so gross.” She grits her teeth, gripping the spoon in her fist. “I can’t stop it,” she grates, angry with herself and this new disgusting craving. “Yesterday, I sprinkled sugar on my Mexican food.” She drops her spoon and puts her head in her hands.

  I see my phone at James’s place and collect it, laughing at her as I stand and walk to her end. “I still love you,” I say, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m going to see if they’ve killed Nolan yet.”

  Her hands fall. “I want every detail,” she says.

  Naturally, I think, leaving the kitchen. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “You should be in here helping us clean up, not in the office with the men,” Esther calls, making me roll my eyes.

  “I’m sure the men agree,” I say, heading across the house to Danny’s office and pushing my way in without knocking. The first person I see is Goldie, reminding me that they’re not all men. Very good.

  I close the door behind me, ignoring Danny’s exasperated look, and regard Nolan on the couch, looking a bit shaken up as I stand to the side, out of the way, quiet and watchful. I’m giving no one any reason to see me out, and when I catch James’s eye, I see he’s caught my move, his eyebrows high. I look away.

  “So if you weren’t at Brad’s like you said,” James asks, “where the fuck were you?”

  “My last installment,” he says. “I was paying off my last installment with the loan shark.”

  A loan shark? Not good news. I look at James. He’s scowling. “You told us you paid off the final installment just last week.”

  “I lied. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t good for the money. And Brad would have paid it for me. I’m not comfortable with that.” Nolan looks around the office. “Where is he, anyway? He said he had business to discuss.”

  “We don’t know,” Danny says quietly, lowering to his chair.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Nolan stands, his eyes wide and worried.

  “He’s probably gone to the club.”

  “He’s not here?”

  “No.” Danny’s lips twist. “He stormed out. Don’t know whether you noticed, but for some strange reason, he’s quite attached to you.” I smile on the inside when I see Nolan’s worry lift a fraction to make way for happiness. “He was quite cut up when we thought you’d gone up with his apartment,” Danny goes on, getting up and wandering over to Nolan, getting up in his face. “So what lesson have you learned today, boy?”

  “Not to lie.”

  “Be straight with us, you hear me?” He pokes him in the shoulder. The Brit is capable of so much more but, even if Danny’s not saying it, he’s quite attached to Nolan too. We all are. “Now sit down.”

  “He’s injured.” Nolan looks between us. “Doc said he should be resting.”