The Rising, page 11
part #1 of Unlawful Men Book 4 Series
“I promise to do as I’m told.”
I laugh under my breath. “Why do you lie?”
“I need you close, James.” She releases my balls and lays her hand across my heart. “Please don’t leave me behind.”
She’s strong but needs my strength. Determined but needs my encouragement. She needs me.
Well . . . fuck.
I swallow, my mind scrambling, as I regard her. I see sadness now. Full force. Her period is due today. Will it come? I don’t know. I also don’t know if I want it to, but I do know that I need to be around if it doesn’t. And, more importantly, if it does.
Jesus.
I nod, kiss her, and turn to take my seat, offering my hand across the aisle. She places hers in mine.
I don’t release it for the entire flight.
.
There are three shiny black Mercedes waiting on the runway when we land, each of them intended for different destinations—Beau and Fury back to the house, me to the club with Brad, and the others to the boatyard to check in on the bunker and Liam and Jerry.
I guide Beau down the steps to the tarmac by her elbow and toward the first car. “I’ll be back later,” I say, opening the door and helping her into the back as Fury puts himself behind the wheel, needing to adjust the seat considerably to fit.
“Where are you going?” she asks, not worried or disgruntled, it’s just a simple, curious question.
“Checking in on Nolan at Hiatus,” I say, taking her seatbelt and pulling it across her body, leaning into the car to clip it into place. My nose is bombarded by the intoxicating scent of Beau in bed in the morning. One of my favorite smells. Because I’m still all over her skin. Unable to stop myself, I bury my face in her neck and take a long, deep hit to last me until later, then bite down on her flesh.
“I can’t come with you?” she asks, pushing into me, grabbing at my shoulders.
“Not now,” I say, quickly going on to appease her. “I don’t know what we’re coming back to.”
“And when you do?”
I pull out and stroke across her fair eyebrow. “Can I take a raincheck on answering that?”
She exhales, her body softening. She’s not unreasonable. Not all of the time, and I know she knows I won’t think twice about carrying her back onto that jet, handcuffing her back to the chair, and sending her back to St. Lucia. “You can.”
I nod and drop a chaste kiss on her lips. “See you later.” I raise and take the door to close it, but her hand shoots out to stop me.
“Can I at least go visit my mom?”
Her question catches me off guard. Fuck. “You don’t want to go back to the house to shower and change?”
“Why, do I smell?” She shoves her nose into her armpit and sniffs.
“Yes, you smell of me mixed with a lot of you.” Fucking glorious.
She smiles. “Then I can wait.”
I deflate, tapping the driver’s window so that Fury lowers it. “You loaded?” He nods. “Pop the trunk.” I round the back of the car and pull out the side panel, collecting the small handgun and checking the magazine as Fury closes it again. “Here.” I hand it to Beau, who hardly looks at the damn thing as she too checks it’s loaded before lifting her arse from the seat and slipping it into the back of her sweatpants. “Be safe,” I order.
She looks up at me with slightly lazy eyes as she reaches for the door, forcing me back. “You be safe,” she counters, closing it. Fury wastes no time pulling off, and I watch the car until it turns off the airfield.
“You ready?” Brad asks, shouldering me as he passes and slips into the driver’s seat of the last Merc.
“Ready,” I say quietly, putting my hand up at the second Merc as it takes Ringo, Goldie, and Otto to the boatyard. I slip into the car and dial Danny, putting him on loudspeaker. “Just landed,” I say when he answers. “How’s Rose?”
“The worst patient ever.”
I smile and Brad chuckles. “Use the time wisely, yeah?” I say, mindful that Brad is sitting next to me and doesn’t know the extent of the shit that’s gone down between Danny and Rose. This is an unexpected opportunity for Danny to step back and screw his head back on straight. We’ve got things covered here.
“Yeah,” he agrees, but it’s reluctant, something both Brad and I detect. I look across the car to him, and he nods, acknowledging the joint observation. We both know his thirst for this particular kill is unrelenting. “You going straight to the club?” Danny asks.
“Brad needs to check in with Nolan and tell him the final payment from the Mexicans will be delayed in light of the late shipment.” I flick the aircon on higher, feeling stifled by Miami’s humidity already. “I’ll call Luis when I get to Hiatus to let him know to hold his money for now.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“And the discount?” Danny asks, prompting me to look across to Brad again as he hits the main road and puts his foot down.
“I don’t know,” Brad says, shrugging. “What’s the going rate for goodwill discounts on a small arsenal these days? One hundred, two hundred, three hundred grand? Oh, I know. Why don’t we just give the Mexican fucker our guns for free?”
I smile and return my attention to Danny on the phone. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll let you know the new plan once the men report back from the boatyard.”
“Sure,” he mutters, his voice sharp.
I hang up, leaving Danny festering about that, and rest back in my seat, watching Miami fly by. “Glad to be back?” I ask Brad.
“My dick is,” he says, and I smile, knowing he’s been deprived in that area while we’ve been in St. Lucia. “But my inner peace, not so much.”
I hum, silently agreeing.
Inner peace.
That fucker is elusive in this life.
* * *
I stop on the threshold of the entrance to the club, gazing around. Every light is on, the bar staff restocking, the dancers practicing. Nolan emerges from the office, suited and booted, and the moment he spots Brad and me, a fleeting look of panic flashes across his face before he corrects it and smiles widely.
I tilt my head, curious, as I follow Brad over. “Did you catch that?” I ask Brad’s back, my eyes never straying from Nolan.
Brad looks back on a monster frown. “Catch what?”
My eyes narrow. “Nothing.”
“Boss,” Nolan says. “I wasn’t expecting you.’
“Yeah, and ain’t that obvious,” I say to myself as I pass them, heading straight to the office.
“Let me get you both a drink,” Nolan chimes. A drink? It’s not even noon. “Mason, get the bosses a drink. Hey, James, you want a drink, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” I call back, walking on. “It’s the wrong side of noon.” What the fuck was he up to in here?
I push through the door.
“Oh,” a female yelps, rushing to cover her chest with a cushion from the couch.
“Shit,” I curse, swinging back around, just as Nolan lands in front of me. I tilt my head, and he drops his eyes, ashamed. “So when the bosses are away, the kids will play, huh?”
He says nothing, and Brad wanders over, shaking his head. “What have I told you?” he asks, sounding like a reprimanding parent.
“No hooky with the girls,” Nolan says, sighing like an admonished child. “Hardly seems fair when Otto—”
“Never mention Otto’s previous dabbles with strippers,” I warn. Does this mean he’s still getting some with the girls? Not your business. “Understand?”
“Understand,” Nolan mutters, his dark eyes rolling a little.
I shake my head to myself, at the same time trying to reason with myself too. The kid’s barely a man, and here he is surrounded by all this temptation. I should cut him some slack. But still, he was told not to go there, and he went there. What else is he doing? “You need to deal with this,” I say to Brad. “He’s your prodigy.” The girl skirts past me, pulling on a denim jacket, and gives Brad beseeching eyes.
“Mr. Black, please, I need this job.”
Brad waves her off. “Go,” he orders gently, as I turn and step back into the office. Again, I come to a jarring halt when I register what I neglected to register before, when I had a half-naked, panicked employee before me. “The fuck?” I breathe, feeling Brad join me.
“Yes,” he says quietly, gazing around. “The fuck, Nolan?” He storms forward and waves a deranged hand around the office. The office that looks like a fucking slum. Okay, granted, it’s a show office, a decoy, an illusion, but still, smokescreen or not, it’s still a representation of the business.
I shake my head, looking back at Nolan, who looks pretty fucking sheepish, but I don’t get a chance to demand an explanation, and, really, it isn’t my job. Over to Brad, who swipes up a cushion and tosses it back on the couch where the blankets are strewn. Then walks over to the desk, where there’s a toaster, a kettle, a . . . “Is that a fucking smoothie maker?” he barks, poking at the glass jug that’s full of some familiar green slop. I pout. I haven’t had my morning juice.
“I can explain,” Nolan says, hands up, coming at us.
“Please do,” Brad yells, wafting his hand out and sending a few kiwis flying across the office. He perches on the edge of the desk and folds his arms over his chest, looking at Nolan with an expectant glare.
“I’ve got nowhere to go,” Nolan says, his shoulders dropping.
“What?” Brad barks.
“He said he’s got nowhere to go,” I chime in, lifting the glass jug off the base and taking a sniff.
“I fucking heard him fine,” Brad mutters, throwing me a scowl then a grimace when I tip the jug to my lips for a taste.
I hum. “This is quite good.”
“Thanks.” Nolan beams at me.
“What’s in it?”
“There’s a bit of broccoli, a kiwi, some celery and—”
“Ginger?”
“Yes, ginger.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Brad snaps. “So when I fire your ass, you can get a job at Joe the Juice.”
“Oh, come on, Boss.” Nolan gives pleading hands, and I take a pew and carry on sipping my way through the juice. “I work my balls off for this club. You know you can trust me.”
“Yeah, and I pay you for it. You can’t afford rent on an apartment?”
His eyes drop to the carpet. “I will be able to next month,” he says quietly. “I had some debts to settle.”
I look at Brad, the jug at my lips, and he scowls across at me. “What debts?” he asks. I can see he’s thinking what I’m thinking, and I’m thinking there’s a hidden office upstairs with millions of dollars of cash being cleaned. We wouldn’t miss a few bucks here and there. I set the jug on the desk and stand, making my way to the concealed door.
“I’ve not stolen from you,” Nolan calls, and I stop, looking back. The unmoving embarrassment splattered across his face speaks volumes. “I just needed to get my head down somewhere until my next paycheck.”
I look at Brad, assessing his disposition. I believe the kid, and I know Brad will. He’s always backed him. Fair dos, he’s overstepped the mark, with the woman and the accommodation, but employees like him aren’t easily found and he runs the club like clockwork. Eager to please. Will only bring us a problem if it’s a real problem.
“How much do you owe?” Brad asks.
“Nothing.” Nolan picks up a cushion and tosses it on the couch, then approaches the desk, prompting Brad to move. “I made the final payment just last week.” He starts tidying up the surface, moving things around.
I can see what’s coming a mile off. “For fuck’s sake,” Brad breathes, heading toward me. “You can stay with me for a while.”
“What?” Nolan asks, looking up, stunned. “I’m not fired?”
“No, you’re fucking not, but if you so much as breathe on another one of the girls, I’ll rape your ass with that blender jug.” He disappears through the concealed door toward the upstairs office.
I flinch, as does Nolan, both of us looking at the jug. It’s a hefty jug. Thick glass. A few knobbles here and there.
“Now get that office cleaned up.” Brad shouts back.
“Or you’re grounded,” I say, backing away, my face serious. But Nolan still smiles and proceeds to do as he’s been told.
I make it upstairs, firing a quick text off to Otto, and wander across to the glass, looking down on the club, while Brad reacquaints himself with the desk. “So, Daddy Brad,” I say, feeling his tired eyes on my back. I wander over to the table on the other side of the room and run my eyes over the piles of cash. “What’s—” My stare falls onto three sports bags on the other side of the room. “What’s that?” I ask, going over and opening one, coming face to face with Abraham Lincoln.
“What is it?” Brad asks, approaching behind.
“Cash.”
He swings the door open. “Nolan!” he bellows.
“Yes, Boss?”
“What’s this?”
Nolan enters and looks at me crouched by the bags. “Delivered an hour ago,” he says. “Final payment of the Mexicans’ shipment.”
“Fuck!” Brad yells, stomping back to his desk and dropping to the chair.
Indeed, fuck. Prompt payment equals prompt delivery, and we can’t fucking deliver on time.
“Problem, Boss?” Nolan asks as I collect up the bags and take them to the safe.
“Yes, this should be in the fucking safe,” I grumble. “You’re really on bad form today, Nolan.”
“I was just getting to it, I swear, but then—”
“Your brain fell into your dick.” I throw the bags into the safe and slam the door, spinning the dial. “How about I slash your cock off and solve this problem for us all.”
His hand falls over his crotch as he steps back. “Easy, James,” he says, looking injured.
Fuck me, I can’t be angry with him, and that just makes me angrier. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Nolan bolts, and I see Brad looking at the endless piles of paperwork on his desk. He scowls. “All this”—he motions to the mess—“is too much for Nolan to handle on his own. The club, the money, the security—”
“The dancers and employees,” I muse, taking a seat on the couch.
Brad lifts his eyes but not his head. “The dancers and employees,” he agrees. “I need to hire him some help now I’m a little distracted. Someone we can trust.”
“Got anyone in mind?”
“Actually, yes.”
“Who?”
“B—”
“Forget it.”
“Or Rose,” he adds.
I’m laughing again. “You think Danny will even entertain the idea? She’s pregnant, or did you miss that?”
“It’s the perfect solution. He, or you, if you’ll give me Beau, will know exactly where they are at all times.” He shows the ceiling his palms. “It’s a win-win for us all.”
I narrow one eye, considering it for a moment. Just a moment. “Absolutely not.”
“You can’t speak for Danny.”
I laugh. “Wanna bet?”
“Fine.” Brad gathers up some of the papers and stacks them to the side. “It’s a crying shame.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, feeling my phone vibrate in my pocket. I lift my arse off the seat and pull it out, seeing a text message from . . . I recoil.
“I pay well, and the perks are great.”
I look up slowly and tiredly, and he grins like a twat. “No.” I get up and start a slow pace of the room, staring down at my phone and the unopened text message from Beth, wondering what she wants. Stupid question. It’s been months since I last made her fantasy a reality with her husband. In fact, the last time was the day I met Beau. I need to let them know I’m no longer in the game. Or that game, anyway.
“What’s up?”
I clear my screen, telling myself I’ll deal with her later, and face Brad. “Nothing.” My phone rings, and I hold it up.
“The Mexicans?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
He cringes, looking across to the safe where I just stored their money, and technically it is still theirs and will be for a while longer. Not a great position to be in.
I answer with silence. It’s a habit. “You received my money,” Luis says, as I click it to loudspeaker so save me the hassle of reiterating the conversation to Brad.
“It’s early,” I say.
“I need my order sooner. The twentieth.”
I shoot my eyes to Brad who closes his in despair. “May I ask why?”
“A private war this side of the border,” he says, blasé. “I must ensure we’re sufficiently armed.”
“That’s a Saturday, Luis. A weekend.”
“You can do earlier?”
“No, we can’t do earlier. We have a Coast Guard training day that’s causing issues with our delivery.”
“Let me spell it out for you, as I fear you’re not sensing my urgency. I have reliable intel that’s informed me of an intended attack on my compound. I must act first, therefore I need my order by the twentieth. I’m sure this isn’t a problem, is it?”
“Not at all,” I say coolly, and Brad’s eyes snap open. I shrug. We have to find a way around this or we can add the Mexicans to the Irish, Poles, and Russians, all of which, albeit silent at the moment, want us dead. “I’ll be in touch with the plans.” I hang up and start to pace, thinking.
“And how are we going to solve this little conundrum?” Brad asks. “Chaka’s not delivering until Monday. The order was already going to be late.”
“Yes, I know, Brad. I did the math.” I drop to the couch, tapping the side of my head with my mobile. “We can sort the guns in a day.”
“We won’t have any guns to sort.”
“We will if Chaka meets the original delivery date.”
“How do you propose shipping half a million dollars’ worth of firearms through dozens of Coast Guard boats and crew?”
I squint, thinking. “Leave it with me.” I punch out a message to Chaka telling him we have to take the guns on the nineteenth and we’ll pay him a bonus and not kill him. He answers quickly with a smiley face.
