The Rising, page 23
part #1 of Unlawful Men Book 4 Series
“Me and you, back to St. Lucia. I know you and James are struggling too.”
“You mean since my ex sent me a picture of him all over another woman?”
Okay, it didn’t look good, I admit that, but . . . “Haven’t you wondered why Ollie was there?” She looks away, telling me she has. But she’s choosing to ignore that logic. “And that Beth woman. How did she know James would be at Hiatus, because I’m sure as shit she doesn’t look like the kind of woman who pops into a strip club for a drink?”
She won’t ask herself those questions because she’s too busy thinking about how her ex can help her rather than how he can ruin her relationship.
Beau looks at the screen of her phone again. “I don’t have the bandwidth, the capacity, or the energy to fix this right now, Rose.”
“Because you’re too focused on finding your father’s killer?” I ask quietly. “But what if he wasn’t shot? What if . . . what if there’s an explanation? A heart attack? A stroke? What if there’s no killer to find?”
She smiles softly and rubs my arm. “I’ll be in the gym,” she says, walking away, taking her phone to her ear as she does. Calling her ex. How many times has she done that since last night? And why isn’t he answering? The asshole. He better hope he doesn’t find himself in a room alone with me. I look down at my tummy. Roll my eyes.
I go back to the kitchen and jump out of my skin when I find someone in there. James. He’s making himself a coffee, shirtless, fiddling with the machine. I frown. How did he get in here without me seeing? “Morning,” I say to his scared back as I go to the stool.
“Morning,” he replies, not looking at me. “I saw you talking to Beau and took an alternative route.” He obviously read my mind. I look at the French doors onto the garden. They’re ajar. They also would have been locked, but that wouldn’t be a problem for The Enigma, and clearly it wasn’t. “Coffee?” he asks, giving me his attention as the machine spits one out.
“No, thanks.” I hold up my mug. “Tea.”
He nods and takes his cup, joining me at the island, and I find myself sitting back, withdrawing. Damn it, he’s going to pick my brain. “How are you feeling?” he asks, nodding at my tummy that’s concealed beneath the countertop.
“Fat.”
He laughs under his breath and necks his caffeine in one hit. “The only thing big about you, Rose, is your willful streak.”
If he’s about to lecture me for causing Danny unnecessary grief, I’m not game. I lecture myself enough without anyone else’s help. “Are you tired of fighting?”
He looks at his empty cup as he places it down, then peeks up at me. “You?”
I breathe out, exasperated. “How does this keep spinning back onto me?” I think I’d rather him pick my brain about Beau. I lean forward. “With respect, when it comes to relationship issues, you and Beau are definitely out in front.” And I wonder . . . does he know her period started? Will he be relieved? Disappointed?
James looks back down at his cup, and something tells me he’s considering getting more caffeine. Or perhaps some vodka. “What do I do, Rose?” he asks quietly, spinning his cup. My heart splits straight down the middle, and suddenly my own problems don’t feel so heavy anymore. Danny must know I am not going anywhere. Maybe to St. Lucia, but I’m never leaving him. He’s confident of that, I’m sure of it. James, though? He doesn’t look like he’s confident of much right now. “A few days ago, she was practically begging me to try for a baby,” he murmurs. “Today, she doesn’t even see me.”
“Her father just died.”
He winces, his jaw tightening. “She didn’t even like him.”
“None of us liked him.” I reach for his hand and pull it toward me, resting my elbows on the counter to lean in. “But he was her dad, James, and no matter what we think, she’s going to feel guilty. Maybe like she should have made amends before he died.”
He sighs, long and heavy. “I know that.”
“She’s going to wish she’d met him last night.”
James withdraws, eyes wide. “What?”
“Before we left for Hiatus. Tom called her, said that he was at some hotel downtown for a meeting. He wanted Beau to join him for dinner.”
James looks away, his expression between a scowl and a frown.
“If she’d have gone, this might not have happened,” I say. “That’s what she’ll be thinking.”
He turns his eyes onto me. I see the darkness there, the demons he fights back every day. “He didn’t deserve her.”
“She didn’t deserve to see you with another woman all over you either,” I say, my lips pursed. “Are you going to tell me what the hell was with that?”
“She’s from my past.” James breaks our connected hand, pulling away, looking defensive. “I’m sure Beau’s told you all about how we met.”
“Of course she has.” Both Danny and James know there’s not much, if anything, that Beau and I don’t know about each other. “But what the heck was she doing at Hiatus? Has this got something to do with her ex?” I ask. If Beau won’t admit it, at least James will confirm it.
Exasperated, which is a cheek, James stands, exhaling loudly. “Otto got into Beth’s phone records. She’s in contact with Burrows.”
My mouth falls open, even though I suspected.
James laughs with zero humor. “Looks like he will do anything to turn her against me.”
“I thought he’d given up.”
“I’d hoped,” he says. “Because I seriously don’t want to kill him.”
Oh Jesus, what a mess. “You’re not telling Beau?”
“Don’t know if you noticed, but she’s not talking to me right now, Rose,” he says, swilling his mug under the faucet and resting it on the side.
I narrow my eyes on him as he faces me. “Have you told Danny?” I ask.
“Yes, because he’s talking to me.”
“Don’t try me, James. One murdering asshole is enough for any woman to deal with.”
He comes to me and dips, kissing my cheek. “Thank you for getting Beau out yesterday.”
“For what it was worth.”
“Make friends with him.”
“Or else?”
“Don’t try me,” he grunts, walking away. “One disobedient female is enough for any man to deal with.”
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Not to the gym.”
“Thank God,” I murmur, lowering back to the stool. And for another hour, I sit, mentally planning the conversation I need to have with Danny and how to approach it. I still haven’t figured that out by seven o’clock when he walks into the kitchen, his hair wet, his tall, hard body wrapped up in a gray suit. My heart sinks.
Business.
Didn’t he deal with enough business last night?
He passes me, silent, and slips a cup under the spout of the coffee machine, keeping his back to me while it pours—or drips—his hands braced on the edge of the countertop, his fingers drumming. Then, when it eventually finishes dispensing his coffee, he takes the small handle on the cup and turns, resting his ass against the marble and looking down into his drink while he sips, as slowly as the damn thing dripped out of the machine.
I’m too tired for this childish game of who will break first. Good for him, he’s got a good night’s sleep and is ready to go great guns. I am not. “I’m going back to St. Lucia,” I say, my voice strong.
He stops with his annoying sipping, holding the cup at his lips, seemingly thinking for a few moments, before he leisurely places it down and heads for one of the French doors, pulling out his cigarettes as he goes.
And he just leaves? “I said I’m going back to St. Lucia!” I yell to his back.
He stops on the threshold of the patio, lighting his cigarette and exhaling calmly. Then he looks back at me, and I see it in his blue eyes. The monster that lingers beneath the surface. The devil that’s waiting, ready to show himself. “You’re not going back to St. Lucia, baby,” he says calmly, his face deadpan, his voice even. Then he leaves, and I drop my gaze to the counter, uncertainty plaguing me. Unpredictable Danny. Volatile Danny. The man who appears calm on the outside, unless you know the signs. I know the signs. His scar was glowing.
“I’m going,” I say to myself, glancing at the door, twiddling my fingers, feeling . . . lonely. Lonely and unsure. Everyone is so distant, and my pining for Daniel multiplies in this moment. It’s not as if I was with him constantly when we were in the same country, but the mother within me feels like I need to be near someone who really does need me, even if his social life is more important than his mom right now.
I pick up my cell and dial him, and my heart sinks further when he doesn’t answer, although my reasonable side reminds me it’s not long past seven and no thirteen-year-old is up at this time if they don’t need to be. I sigh and start to tap out a message to Esther, but Danny appears at the door.
And he looks furious. Obviously, he’s run dry of the energy required to contain his temper. “Why the fuck is Beau’s car wedged in a bush around the side of the house?”
Oh.
Shit, shit, shit. “How would I know?”
Otto appears next to Danny, his eyebrows high, and I scowl at him. Snitch. I hope his head is banging. “Nice cap,” I grate, making his eyebrows lower, his eyes narrowing.
“Rose,” Danny says, his voice tight along with his face. “Answer me.”
“Beau took me for a lesson.”
“And it went swimmingly, I see,” Otto mutters, before leaving me to face the wrath of my husband alone.
“I told you I would teach you to drive.” Danny flicks his cigarette into a nearby plant pot and steps into the kitchen. “Why the fuck can’t you listen to me for once?”
“You were too busy on a killing spree to see to your family’s needs,” I snipe. “And to be clear, I am going back to St. Lucia.”
He laughs. It’s evil. The kind of laugh reserved only for the men he’s about to kill. Then it stops abruptly, and he comes close, heaving, sweating fucking fury. And because I’m me and he is my husband, I stand from my stool and square up to him. He pushes his forehead to mine, hard, and I put up some resistance, pushing back, not backing down. “No,” he hisses.
“Yes,” I counter. Can’t he see it’s for the best? At least until this shitstorm has passed.
“I’ll die first.”
My cell rings, and Danny pulls away, looking for where it is. He finds it in my hand and snatches it, looking at the screen. His nostrils flare, his jaw ticking like crazy, and he turns it to face me. Lennox Benson’s name glows at me. Oh shit.
“How the fuck does he have your number?”
Is he for real? I swipe it from his hand. “Our son is staying with him most of the fucking time, Danny, and like I said, you’re too busy killing the fucking world to have time to deal with your wife and child.” I shove him aside, and he goes with ease, still heaving like a beast, mind you. I answer, not only because fuck Danny, but because it’s early and there must be a reason Lennox is calling. “Hello,” I answer tentatively, pacing up and down.
“Before you start worrying, don’t worry,” he says quickly, and I exhale. “I heard Daniel’s cell ringing and he’s crashed out, so I thought I’d ring you back to let you know all is okay.”
My palm meets my forehead. “Thank you. I woke up and missed him more this morning for some reason.” I feel Danny twitching behind me, probably locking down every muscle to not intercept this call. “How are you?” And there I just signed my death warrant.
“Yeah, good,” Lennox replies. “Just about to go for a run down the beach, then I’ll wake the boys up. Maybe do some surfing later. The wind’s good today.”
“Sounds amazing,” I breathe, and then flinch, nervously peeking back. Jesus Christ, he’s going to erupt. Be wise, Rose. And then something occurs to me . . .
I turn away from my twitching husband. Is this why he won’t permit me to go back to St. Lucia? Because he’s jealous? Paranoid? “Have a great day. And thanks for calling,” I say, now keen to end the conversation. “I’ll call again later if that’s okay?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.” I hang up. Okay, I may have, in a stupid, pathetic fit of idiocy while in a mood with my husband, purposely poked him, but does he really think I’m capable of betrayal? And while I’m fucking pregnant? I swing around, immune to the warning signs flashing before me. “If you think you’re keeping me away from my son and safety because you”—I point my cell at him—“are a paranoid asshole, think again, Black.”
“I saw the way he looked at you.”
“And I saw the way that woman last night looked at you!”
He explodes, picking up a mug off the counter and launching it across the kitchen, and it smashes against the wall, sending shards of porcelain spraying. I startle as the echo of the collision and Danny’s bellow combine and bounce around the room, and look at him, shocked, my eyes wide. He doesn’t back down. “You are not leaving me!”
Leaving him. That is how he sees it. I don’t know when he went from demanding I stay away to demanding I stay close, but we’re here, and it is an insight into his frame of mind. Insecure. Uncertain. Even more fucking crazy. Deadlier.
“Sort your fucking shit out, Danny,” I hiss, feeling emotion creeping up on me. But I will not allow him to see it. No. This pull between anger and distress is overwhelming. I leave him to cool off and walk aimlessly, brushing at my eyes as I go.
“Rose?” Goldie says, coming down the stairs, seeing me marching across the lobby.
“I’m fine,” I snap, seeing Brad coming out of the office up ahead, stretching. His arms freeze in midair above his head when he spots me. “I’m fine,” I say, passing him and entering the office, closing the door behind me, needing a quiet room. Alone. Away from the house and the people in it.
I rest against the door and breathe in and out a few times, calming myself, mindful of Doc’s words. Relax. Jesus fucking Christ. That’s never going to happen here. This baby deserves more than this madness. Deserves more than parents like us.
My lip wobbles. How easy it is to forget the good times. The passion. The love.
I eye Danny’s desk and pad over, dropping into the big chair, exhausted by the day already. I’ve been in here many times. And never sat in this chair. I gaze across the surface, then pull the drawer open. A pretty gold letter opener lays across some writing paper. I pick it up and run my fingertip down the edge to the tip, pushing into the pad of my finger until it pierces my skin. I hiss and suck the blood away, looking down into the drawer. Danny’s father’s name is printed across the top of the paper. I smile a little, pulling out a sheet, and as I do, I reveal a photograph of him. I pick it up and gaze at the image of a well-built man with happy blue eyes. His cream suit looks expensive. A brandy is in his hand, a cigar resting between his fingers. He was as formidable as he was handsome. Just like his son.
I swallow and place the picture back in the drawer, seeing something glimmer in the corner. My breath hitches, my hand automatically reaching into the drawer. I pick up the ring and hold it up in front of me, staring into the emerald eyes. I want desperately to sneer at it. Laugh. I can’t.
Silly girl, Rose.
She’s bleeding everywhere, for fuck’s sake.
She’s hemorrhaging. She’ll need a transfusion.
Is it alive?
Smack!
A baby’s scream.
The feel of him latching onto my breast.
My hands begin to shake, and I drop the ring. It hits the wooden top of the desk and clangs as I push the chair away, but no matter the distance, the emerald eyes of the snake shine at me, as if coming to life. A sign of those terrible days coming back to claim me. Imprisoning me again. I look down at my stomach. “Oh God,” I breathe, feeling sweaty but cold, heart palpitations taking my breath away, making it harder and harder to find air. “No, no, no,” I gasp, standing, but I immediately sit down again when my legs give, grabbing the edge of the desk. I close my eyes and try to breathe steadily. I try so hard.
Will she be able to carry again?
Unlikely.
The moment he was ripped from my arms flashes through my mind.
Please!
You can’t take care of him, Rose.
Gone.
“No!” I yell, my hands grappling at the wood of the desk, searching for an anchor. Breathe. Just breathe.
The door flies open, and I see Danny vibrating on the threshold of his office. But he’s hazy. I can’t see his face. Can’t focus. Can’t see the man who won’t let the evil get me again. “You are not fucking going!” he bellows.
I can’t.
I can’t go back.
I can’t.
Air. I need air.
I stand.
I think.
And then there’s just . . .
Darkness.
* * *
“Rose? Jesus, Rose, can you hear me? Rose, answer me. Come on, baby, open your eyes. Please, please, open.” His voice is broken with emotion. Ragged and strained. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Rose, can you hear me?” Doc asks softly.
“What the hell happened?” James.
“Rose?” Beau’s here. “Oh my God, is she okay?”
I open my eyes and immediately slam them shut again, wincing at the harsh glare from the ceiling lights. “My head,” I murmur, my brain feeling like it’s bouncing around in my skull. I blindly reach up, but a hand claims my wrist and lowers it back down.
“Can you open your eyes, baby?” Danny asks, soft and begging. “Please, let me see you.”
I slowly peel them open and focus, finding his face above mine, upside down. He’s sitting on the floor, my shoulders in his lap, and his face is fraught, his damp hair falling in his face. “I’m not talking to you,” I croak, and he exhales, dipping and kissing my face anywhere he can reach.
“Are you in pain, Rose?” Doc asks. I shake my head, hearing him hum and feeling him pressing into various parts of me. “She fainted.”
