I push the door open with the end of my gun and find the woman in question straddling a waist, riding hard. Releasing the safety, I aim and clear my throat, breaking through the sounds of her embellished pleasure, and she flies round, her long black hair fanning the radius of the bed. The moment she spots me filling the doorway, she screams.

  “Now, that’s a proper scream,” I say as she jumps up, terrified, her massive tits bouncing all over the place.

  “Please don’t kill me,” she begs, her hands moving to hide various parts of her as I walk to a chair and pull off a towel, throwing it at her. “Notice where my gun is pointing,” I say, jiggling it. “Now get out.”

  She’s gone like a rocket, and I return my attention to the bed.

  Just as Brad lifts his head.

  “Evening,” I say, walking over, pushing the gun into his temple. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Sore.”

  “How’s your dick?”

  “Sore.”

  I drag my eyes down his torso to his waist, where his semi-erect cock twitches, mourning the loss of its most recent pussy. I’m sure she wasn’t the first. “I’m feeling all reminiscent,” I muse.

  “Fuck off.” He slams his head on the pillow. “Are you going to fucking shoot me or bottle it like your pops did?”

  Oh, he didn’t. I move my gun a fraction and pull the trigger, putting a bullet in the pillow beneath his head, around about an inch away from his temple, sending goose feathers billowing up into the room and Brad shooting up from the bed on a pained cry.

  He clenches his shoulder, his face a map of agony. “What the fuck, Danny?”

  “Shame. I expect it was a top-quality pillow.” I ram the gun in his forehead, my patience lost. “What the fucking hell are you playing at?”

  Brad smacks the gun away and drops back to the bed. “I needed a timeout.”

  “Nolan’s alive.”

  His startled face swings my way as the man himself bowls through the door into the bedroom of Brad’s suite. “Brad?” Nolan gasps.

  Brad looks at him like he’s seen a ghost. “You’re not dead?”

  “He wasn’t at your place like he said when it blew up,” I explain. “But that’s a story for another day.” I take a seat in the cozy chair in the corner and cross one leg over the other, resting my gun on my knee. “What a lovely reunion.”

  Brad’s face. It’s an awkward mix of pain, relief, and plain fucking fury. He gets up, stalks over to Nolan and swings at him, delivering a punch that knocks the poor kid back a few paces. But he takes it on the chin. Literally. The alternative is me shooting the fucker for causing all this unnecessary stress.

  Brad yelps, Nolan rubs his chin, and then pouts. “Sorry,” he murmurs, and Brad hauls him into his chest and hugs him. I smile on the inside. Not on the out.

  “Now.” I stand, waving my gun around the room that looks like a load of frat boys have had a cocaine and alcohol fueled orgy. “You’ve upset Jeeves and some other guests with all the noise you’ve been making.”

  “Well, they should have put me in the Presidential Suite. Do you know this suite is eight grand a night?”

  I sniff my surprise, looking around at the one-bedroom space. “Really?” The Presidential is only another two grand? And considerably larger.

  “Yeah, really. And who the fuck’s complaining about the noise?”

  “The people in the Presidential Suite,” I say, walking to the door.

  Brad snorts his revulsion. I can literally hear him cracking his knuckles, ready to march over there and put whoever’s in the Presidential Suite in their place. “Who the fuck’s in the Presidential Suite?”

  I turn at the door, my eyebrows high. “The president.”

  “Oh.”

  Nolan sniggers.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Brad warns.

  “Get dressed. I’m taking you home.” I carry on my way, tucking my gun away as I pass the others, who are all looking around in disgust at the mess Brad’s made with fuck knows how many women.

  “I haven’t got a fucking home,” he yells. “Some fucker blew it up.”

  “Then it looks like you and your pet are staying with me,” I shout over my shoulder. “Why the fuck not?” I murmur to myself. “Everyone else is.”

  “I can’t,” Brad calls, more quietly, making me turn at the door, my expression questioning. “I just . . . can’t.”

  “Why?”

  He scowls. “I like my own space.”

  “You don’t have a choice.” I get on my way. “Sort your shit out, Brad, or I’ll sort it out for you.”

  * * *

  When we pull up at the house, I see the car James took to go find Beau is parked haphazardly in front of the steps. But there’s no Range Rover, and when I get into the lobby and find Mum waiting, her face pensive, I know he’s not in a good way. “How bad?” I ask. “On a scale of one to Incredible Hulk?”

  “He’s even greener than that,” Mum says quietly. “He went straight to your office after he grilled Rose.”

  “Bet that went down well,” I muse, looking toward my office. “Where is she?”

  “Running her palm under the cold tap.”

  “Oh, fucking hell,” I breathe, heading to the kitchen. I find my wife looking fucking livid. “Hey, baby.”

  Glancing up, her lips twist more. “He deserved it.”

  I have no doubt. I can only imagine James trying to squeeze Rose for information. “We found Brad.” I see her small exhale of relief.

  “Where was he?”

  I swerve that question. “So has she?” I ask, going to her. “Been in touch?”

  “No, she hasn’t, and even if she had, I wouldn’t tell him.”

  I take her hand and check her palm. It’s pink. Ouch. That’s a stinger. “He’s worried.”

  “I know, but I don’t appreciate being grilled. He was fucking relentless. Following me from the sink to the cooker to the fridge, around and around, question after question. He was frenzied. I had to snap him out of it.”

  I flinch for James. Of course, I know Rose slapping him would never have been because he laid a finger on her. He wouldn’t dare, and not just because of me. He loves Rose.

  “Where the hell has she gone, Danny?” she asks, truly worried.

  “You really don’t know?” I ask, shocked. She’s not giving us lip service? “You’ve not spoken to her?”

  “No,” she mutters, indignant. “Her cell’s off.”

  I take a towel and dab her hand dry, wincing at the red mark. It was just a slap, and Rose has delivered plenty of those and come off without injury, but her palm still hadn’t fully recovered from being burned by the damn pan in St. Lucia. “You couldn’t have used your other hand?” I ask, lifting it to my mouth and kissing it.

  “If I had taken a moment to think about it, yes. It hurts like hell.”

  Mum comes in and gets a pot out of the cupboard, placing it on the stove. “They’re in your office,” she tells me. “Rose, Daniel wants you upstairs.”

  “Why, what’s wrong with him?” I ask.

  “Something about Barney.”

  Barney? My nose wrinkles. “If that kid’s spewed any more—”

  “Lies?” Rose cocks her head and leaves the kitchen. “I’m certain Lennox will never allow Barney to see our son again.”

  “Good,” I grunt, but immediately feel shitty about it. Daniel didn’t ask for this kind of childhood. I know he loves us, loves everyone, but he’s restrained here in Miami. “What do you think about sending Daniel to school?” I ask Mum out of the blue as she slaps a few spuds on the counter.

  “I’m sorry, what?” she asks, not looking at me.

  I frown. “School. What do you think? For Daniel.”

  “I think,” she says on an exhale, not stopping what she’s doing, “before I give you any opinions on anything, I would like an apology.”

  Otto. The fucker. My anger for that particular grievance is renewed. Unfortunately, I have other priorities. “I’m sorry,” I grunt. “But—”

  Her knife comes up fast, pointing at me. “No buts, Danny. I am a grown woman, and I am your mother. Do you hear me? Your mother. I take care of you, take care of everyone around here, so you will back the hell off.”

  “You deserve more tha—”

  “A murdering criminal?”

  I scowl. “This isn’t ab—”

  “Do I deserve more than that in a son too?” she asks. “Because if anyone asked me to swap you for a more moral version, I’d tell them to fuck off.” She catches a breath, and I step back, alarmed. “Because I love you just the way you are, Danny, and everything you are is because you’re a fucking survivor.”

  I recoil.

  Fuck.

  Me.

  Received loud and clear. “I’m sorry,” I say, my tail between my legs.

  “Good.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “About what?” she snaps, impatient, and still slightly breathless from her rant.

  “School for Daniel.”

  She sighs, her body loosening. “I think it’s a very good idea if we can find the right one, of course.”

  A safe one. “Me too.”

  “Do you want me to look into it?”

  I nod. “But let me speak to Rose first.” Just as soon as I’ve dealt with the other shit. “I’ll be in my office.” I go to my mum, standing before her like I’m asking permission. I suppose I am. She lets a small smile free and gives me her cheek, not surrendering her potato or knife, and I drop a kiss there before leaving her, telling myself I need to shut the fuck up where her love life is concerned. But, I swear, if he hurts her, I won’t hold back.

  I pass Pearl and Anya in the hallway, both girls in gym kit, both a little sweaty. “Good workout?” I ask as I pass.

  “Oh, you’re back.” Pearl looks straight toward my office. “Any news on Brad?”

  Oh? My feet slow to a stop, my body turning toward them. Anya has a nearly undetectable smile on her face as she looks at Pearl out the corner of her eye. What’s this then? “He’s back,” I say, watching her closely.

  Her face. It’s shocked, pleased, nervous. Oh fuck. “He is?” she squeaks. “How is he?”

  “Grumpy.”

  “Standard,” Pearl says over a laugh. “So where’s he been?”

  Now . . . do I tell her? This girl is twenty-one. Brad is thirty-four. He was twenty-one when Pops dragged him out of a hotel and gave him a lesson in acceptable levels of indulgence. Pearl was eight when Brad was twenty-one. Jesus. So, yes, I do tell her. She’s young. Delusional. The best thing Pearl could do is hate Brad, so let’s make that happen. “He locked himself in a suite at The Four Seasons and fucked his way through hooker after hooker.”

  Her face. Disappointment, hurt, sadness. I take no pleasure from it. But . . . I also know Brad. He values women about as much as the devil values confession. “Esther needs some help in the kitchen.” I get on my way and enter my office to find everyone still and silent. James has his back to me, quietly seething in the chair, Brad’s on the couch, looking a fucking wreck, Otto’s setting up his shiny new laptop, and Ringo and Goldie are on their phones. “Glad to see the party didn’t start without me.” I close the door and go to my desk, assessing James. He really is green. Probably sick with worry. “Where’s Nolan?”

  “Gone back to Hiatus,” Brad says. “I’m here for the lowdown, then I’m going.” Escaping. Running away. Because of Pearl. Fucking hell, he can’t stay here because of her. Is she coming on to him? Does he find the redhead attractive? Doesn’t he trust himself?

  All questions for another day.

  “So, a recap?” I ask the room.

  “Sure, why not.” Ringo sets his phone aside, ready for a rundown on the day’s events, and fuck, it’s been quite a day.

  Understatement. “We have Luis, Sandy, Volodya, and before Beau killed him, The Shark, all wanting our guns.”

  “It’s a good job you drunk ordered more then, huh?” Otto says without looking up from his laptop. He’s pushing it. I hope Mum made him feel as shitty as she made me feel. And I hope that fat lip he’s sporting means it hurts like a bitch if he kisses her. Have they kissed?

  “Volodya?” James questions, distracting me from socking Otto one in the face.

  “Yes. He called earlier.”

  “When are we meeting Sandy?” he asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I told you to arrange something.”

  He told me? “I’m sorry, I’ve been kinda busy trying to not fucking die.” I stand and shrug off the coat I’ve been wearing all fucking day. “And maybe now, in light of Volodya calling, I might not be agreeable to meeting Sandy.”

  “Does Volodya know anything?” James asks. “Did he promise anything?”

  I laugh. “You think Sandy knows who The Bear is? Oh, come on.” For fuck’s sake. “No one knows a fucking thing! The Bear’s had everyone under him, tore through Miami with guns and bombs, and now he’s got no one under him and he’s doing the fucking same!”

  “Okay then, who are we calling?” Brad pipes in, happy to poke us both. “Sandy or Volodya, because both of you have a beef with both of them, so who’s winning this one?” He smiles. “Draw straws?”

  I should have moved that gun an inch to the left. “Fuck off to Hiatus.”

  “Not until I know what the fuck’s going on.”

  “Good luck with that.” Ringo sneers at nothing. “None of us know what the fuck is going on. We might not need Sandy or Volodya if Amber Kendrick really does have information. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  “Glorious,” I say quietly. What the fuck does she know? I look at my mobile, willing it to ring. “We need to talk about the delivery we’re expecting tomorrow.” Beau was supposed to be tugging those jet skis with Leon because, simply, Beau and Leon are the least criminal-looking members of this fucked-up family, aside from my wife, mother, and kid, of course. “So who’s towing the skis back now?”

  “You and me,” James says, his attention still on his phone. He’s dialing Beau. Repeatedly. He looks back at Otto who shakes his head at the screen of his new laptop, and James curses, going back to his mobile.

  “Are you sure?” I ask, thinking James’s head is not in the right space for playing it cool while we smuggle endless weapons through endless Coast Guards.

  “Sure.”

  I won’t argue with him. “Collins is watching Hiatus,” Otto says out of nowhere, pointing at his screen as if all of us in the room can see it.

  “Lovely. Invite her in for a drink when you get there,” I say to Brad. Speaking of drink. I get up and help myself, pouring James a vodka as I do.

  “And Higham? What do we make of his little rendezvous with Natalia Potter?”

  “Dodgy as fuck.”

  I hum, rolling it all over, placing a tumbler on the desk before James. Higham. Definitely bent.

  “Can we hurry this along?” Brad scowls at me, the irritable fucker. He should have fucked a few more whores and laid off the Florida Snow. And speaking of Florida Snow. “Where the fuck did you get that shit from?”

  Brad opens his mouth and snaps it shut again, his lips pursing, as if it’s just occurred to him that he should have wondered this before. He was probably too drunk on both alcohol and lust. “Jeeves,” he says slowly, a frown creasing his brow. I don’t need to ask anymore. Brad’s also wondering where Jeeves would have got it from, now that we’ve taken the Irish out. I make a mental note to find out but, again, not a priority.

  “What about Potter?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” Otto confirms. “But she did report that Metcalfe is set to take the title of mayor.”

  I laugh. Of course he fucking is. He has no competition now. Then I pout, falling into thought.

  No competition.

  I lower to my chair and sip my drink, considering that. No competition. He’s going to walk straight into the Mayor’s office. Maybe he needs some competition.

  “Danny!”

  I startle, looking for the source of the voice. Otto’s frowning at me, wondering what I was thinking so intently about. I won’t share. I’m quite sure he already thinks I’ve lost the plot. “What?”

  “I can’t find Amber Kendrick anywhere.”

  “Typical,” I say on a laugh, closing my eyes and resting my head back. Breathe. Just breathe. She has to show up sooner or later. I just hope she’s not dead.

  I open my eyes.

  James has got his arm extended over my desk, his fist balled, and in the middle . . .

  Two straws.

  26

  ROSE

  I lay nestled between his thighs with my back on his chest. The water falls just shy of my nipples, leaving them exposed to the cooler air. Hard. Dark. Danny’s big, capable hands are splayed across my tummy, my legs touching the inside of his from thigh to ankle, and with every deep inhale he takes, a little bit more of my boobs are exposed. It’s quiet and still, just the calm sound of water rippling keeping us company.

  Neither of us could sleep. I’m so worried about Beau, spent all night listening to see if I could hear her coming home, and Danny knew it. By the time the sun was rising, I gave up chasing sleep and ran a bath. He silently wandered in and joined me, abandoning our bed too. He dozed off within a few minutes of submerging himself in the water and positioning me on top of him, his heart beating into my back sending me off too.

  Now, I don’t know what time it is, but the water is tepid. Only our touching skin is keeping the chills away. “Are you awake?” I ask, and he hums, starting to circle his palms across my stomach. “She didn’t come home.”

  His arms move up to my shoulders and circle, hugging me, and I cling to them, but he says nothing. We’re all worried. God damn her. I peel Danny’s arms away and stand, water pouring from my body, goosebumps finding every inch of my skin, my wet hair sticking to my back. “Wait,” he says, reaching for my wrist. I turn in the bath as he gets to his knees and pulls me down to mine, slipping his hand onto my nape and pulling my mouth onto his. The scorching hot heat contrasting with the chills of my skin is divine, and when my breasts press into his chest, the chills vanish immediately.