The Rising, page 36
part #1 of Unlawful Men Book 4 Series
Ringo doesn’t entertain him—he knows better—and puts in a call, ordering a round of coffees from Starbucks to be delivered.
“So.” Brad snuggles down, hissing and spitting as he tries to get comfortable. “What’s the latest?”
“Sandy’s throwing us treats and James is about to blow a gasket.”
“Normal day then,” he says. “What kind of treats?”
“Russian and bear-flavored treats.” Danny raises his brow to match Brad’s. “Hungry?”
“Starving. Volodya?” We both nod. “So they are turning on each other.” We both nod. “And Sandy must know what’ll happen if he makes false promises.” We both nod. “So he knows who The Bear is?” We both shrug. “I’d love to stick a corkscrew in Volodya’s eye.” Only Danny nods. “And I bet you’d love to chop up Sandy into a million bite-sized pieces.” Brad looks at me, and this time only I nod. He really can’t help stating the obvious. “So where does that leave us?”
“We’re still deciding,” Danny says, glancing at me. He doesn’t need me to tell him that if Sandy comes within a foot of me, I’ll skin the fucker alive. I know he feels the same about Volodya, so we’re at a stalemate.
Brad blows out his cheeks. “What to do, what to do,” he muses to himself. I hear Goldie breathe out her exasperation, and I look at Danny, smiling as he rolls his eyes at yet another Brad moment. “And why are you blowing a gasket?”
“Stressed,” I grunt, throwing off vibes that warns Danny not to murmur a word and the others not to press. I’m seriously re-evaluating my bright idea to move us out of the mansion, if only now because I don’t want Beau to think it’s a sign of relaxed rules. Quite honestly, I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking. In time, perhaps, but now?
A small tap on the door sounds, so light we almost miss it. So light, everyone looks at each other as if searching for confirmation that there was, indeed, a tap. Another tap answers our question. Esther. Only Esther would knock so delicately.
Naturally, my eyes go to Otto when she enters. As does everyone else’s, and they all shrink like dying flowers when they see Otto giving her an encouraging nod. “Ohhhh,” I breathe quietly, turning my attention to Danny. He’s the only one who doesn’t look uncomfortable, which means he’s the only one who hasn’t yet grasped why his mother is here. Is he in denial? Or is this plain ignorance?
“I wondered if I might have a word,” Esther says, straightening her shoulders, standing tall, trying with everything she has to appear steadfast and confident.
“Sure.” Danny frowns, but is that because he’s suddenly sensed the atmosphere of Esther’s unusually bold disposition. “We’ll be done in just a moment.”
Esther once again peeks at Otto, who gives her another small, reassuring nod.
“Oh boy,” Brad whispers, pushing his hands into the couch on either side of him, as if trying to get himself up, sucking back air, sustaining the pain.
“Actually”—Esther steps forward, standing even taller—“I have grocery shopping to do, so now works better for me.”
“Someone want to help me?” Brad calls, looking to everyone in the room. We all ignore him. “Okay. Looks like I’m staying.” He slumps back down. “I can’t watch.” He takes the pillow from behind his head and covers his face.
Tilting his head, Danny’s eyes pass over all of our awkward forms, his face straight, but his eyes blazing with realization tell me he’s grasped what’s about to go down. “And you have to leave this moment?” he asks.
“I do.”
“You can’t wait five minutes for me to finish?” He’s being difficult now. Plain difficult, because he’s worried. I might join Brad under that pillow.
“Like I said,” Esther says. “I have things to do, and I would like to get on and do them.”
Danny looks at Otto briefly. Briefly but with enough of a sneer for me to be concerned. “I never appreciated your schedule was so regimented, Mum.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Otto mutters, rising from his chair, prompting Ringo, Goldie, and me to jump up sharpish and announce our departure.
“Take me!” Brad sings, flinging the pillow on the floor.
“Sit down,” Danny barks, rising and slamming his fist on the table.
“Yes, sit down!” Esther yells, and Danny flinches like he’s been shot.
We all lower, except Danny and Otto, who remain poised and growling at each other over the desk.
Esther looks a little red in the face, like she could be holding on to her temper. I will her to let it go, release the pressure and let Danny have it. I might not be sure about Otto and Esther, but they’re fucking grown-ups. This is not Danny’s call.
Breathing heavy, fists clenched and white where they’re wedged into the wood of his desk, Danny shakes. Whether that be with anger or restraint, I don’t know. It takes everything in me not to fall apart when I see Brad stretching for the pillow, grappling at thin air, unable to reach it.
“Sit down!” Esther snaps again, and Danny drops to his chair with eyes like saucers and his mouth slightly agape. I’d laugh if I knew he wouldn’t shoot me. I peek at Goldie and Ringo. Both of them look red in the face from holding their breath and their amusement in check.
“Right.” Esther plants her hands on her hips, meaning business. “Let us get this out in the open, shall we?”
“No,” Danny grunts.
“Please, no,” Brad says quietly.
“Shut the fuck up, Brad,” Esther, Otto, and Danny all yell in unison, and he retreats quickly, covering his face with his hands. He should watch, because The Brit is about to be put in his place, and it’s going to be entertaining.
“I’m seeing someone,” she declares.
I smile, brushing the side of my index finger across my mouth to try and hide it.
“No, you’re not,” Danny grates.
“Yes, she is.” Otto pipes up. “Me.” As if he needed to say it. Goldie is now sucking her cheeks in, Ringo looks more worried than amused at this point, and Brad is shaking his head in his darkness.
“I beg to differ.”
“Come on, Danny,” I say gently.
He points at me. “Shut the fuck up.”
I’m letting that slide, but only because he’s emotional.
“No, Mum. No. You’re better than-than-than”—his pointed finger turns to Otto—“that.”
I’ve known Otto for many years. He has the patience of a saint. It’s about to snap and I’d rather not be here for it. What the fuck, Danny? Back the fuck down. “Are you saying you’re a better man than I am, Black?” Otto rumbles, his chest seeming to expand, his breathing deepening.
“I’m saying nothing about me.”
“Boys!” Esther cries.
“You’re saying you deserve Rose?” Otto muses menacingly. “But I don’t deserve a woman like your mother?”
Jesus, if Danny’s nostrils flare anymore, Otto’s fists will disappear up them when he punches him. I glance at my oldest friend, silently urging him to look at me so I can will him to take a few deep, calming breaths and not do anything stupid. It’s the whole fucking point Esther is here, to try and appeal to Danny’s reasonable side, since no one else can. And she’s one of the only people in this world who Black wouldn’t hurt. Fucking hell. But Otto doesn’t look at me, his bearded, pierced face becoming more menacing by the second.
“Well?” he prompts.
“Leave my wife out of it.” Danny stands again, and I reluctantly accept that shit is about to go down, and no one can stop it, not even Danny’s mother. I doubt Rose could either, if she was here. It’s just a matter of who launches first.
“Is it safe to come out yet?” Brad asks, peeking out from under his arm, just as Danny flies across his desk and takes Otto off his feet.
“That’s a no, then.” Brad retreats back into his darkness, and Goldie gets up, looking at me, palms up, asking what the fuck we should do. Honestly, I don’t know.
“Leave them,” Ringo says, holding an arm out in front of Goldie, as if holding her back. I take his stance. I’m not getting in between them either.
“Oh God,” Esther says, as Otto rolls them, getting the upper hand, straddling Danny. He launches a fist right into his face, and everyone winces at the sound. Blood sprays, Esther puts her face in her hands, and Danny roars, flying up, blood spread over every inch of his scarred face. He looks like a fucking psycho. An absolute, raving, psycho, his teeth bared, his cold eyes wild. Otto’s got a few years on Danny, he’s sturdier, heavier, but I’m worried for him.
I step back when they come toward me, Danny throwing Otto on the desk and returning the favor, making a mess of his nose too. More blood. And Otto, the crazy fuck, laughs dementedly. It’s the worst thing he could do. And all of a sudden, both men are a blur of swinging fists, deafening bellows and downright craziness.
Punch after punch, kick after kick, yell after yell, they go at each other like rabid cavemen, smacking into walls, knocking the glasses over on the drinks cabinet, knocking fucking pictures off walls. This has been brewing for weeks. The small altercation in St. Lucia and at the boatyard didn’t cut the mustard. They need to get this out of their systems. Again.
We all move out of their way, me pulling Esther from the path of their wild, flying limbs more than once, but there is nothing I can do for Brad, who’s a sitting duck on the couch, hiding from the ugly.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Danny yells.
“Fucking try it,” Otto roars. “You fucking brat.”
Then they land on Brad and his scream is ear-piercing, his face draining of blood in an instant. Danny and Otto snap out of their fits immediately, scrambling up, and look at Brad, who is in absolute agony on the couch, holding his shoulder. “Fuck!” he shrieks, as I hurry over, barging the two idiot kids out of my way to get to him. His dressing is drenched in blood, the wound open beneath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Someone get Doc,” I order, pushing Brad’s knees down, stopping him from curling into a protective ball so I can get to his wound.
“Fuck!”
“You’re good,” I say, peeling the dressing away and pulling my T-shirt off, pressing it into the wound.
“Doesn’t fucking feel it.”
“Stiches have popped.” I can hear Danny and Otto sniffing and heaving behind me, and I look back, livid, just as Esther moves between them and gives Danny a stinger of a slap, followed by Otto. Both men blink in surprise, and Danny reaches up to his face, feeling it.
“Mum?” he questions, looking like a lost little boy.
“No more,” she says firmly, her jaw tight as she turns to Otto. “And if you ever lay a hand on my boy again, we’re done.” She comes to Brad and crouches, assessing him. “I’ll get you some tea,” she says, stroking his hair. “Sugar?”
He nods. “Please, Mom,” he murmurs, clenching his eyes closed. Esther gets up and leaves, not giving Danny or Otto a second look, and Doc enters, bag in hand.
“Open stitches,” I say, moving to give him space.
“Oh dear. How did that happen?” All eyes turn to Danny and Otto, who both look pretty sheepish. “And what happened to you two?” Doc asks.
“Misunderstanding,” Otto mumbles, swiftly leaving, no doubt to go after Esther and try to apologize.
To my surprise, Danny stays in the room. “Fuck it,” he hisses, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Brad, mate, I’m sorry.”
“Fuck off,” he hisses. “You’re being a fucking child. Take me to my room.”
I press my lips together and look at Doc, who nods his acceptance. Ringo comes to help, and we carefully help him up. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah, I can fucking walk.” Brad puts his good arm around me as Ringo moves into his other side, ready to be leant on, and Goldie runs ahead to makes sure our path is clear. It’s probably just as well—Danny needs a moment alone to calm the fuck down. “We should check in on Hiatus later,” I say shortly, reminding The Brit that while he’s behaving like a child and throwing a hissy fit over who his mother, a grown woman, chooses to see, we still have shit to deal with. “Nolan’s holding the place up on his own.”
He nods and drops to his chair, looking at his phone when it rings and flicking it away on a dismissive snort.
Our progress to Brad’s room is slow, taking a good few minutes to make it to the staircase. “You should have stayed in bed as instructed,” Doc says as Daniel dances down the stairs, slowing down when he sees the state of Brad between us. “Uncle Brad?” he questions, the concern in his voice and on his face a good indication of how terrible Brad looks. “Is that a bullet wound?”
Fuck it. “Uncle Brad’s feeling a bit under the weather, kid,” I explain as we carry him past.
“I would too if I’d been shot,” Daniel says, chasing our heels. “You’re not gonna die, are you, Uncle Brad?”
“I feel like it, kid,” he murmurs.
“What happened?”
I look across to Ringo, who shrugs, lost too. I need to call Rose. Give her the heads-up.
“Is this mafia business?” he asks.
“The fuck?” Brad blurts, stopping from dragging his feet, forcing me and Ringo to stop too. “No, this is red paint.”
“I know you’re all mafia.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows.”
We all stand like plums, none of us knowing what the hell to say. “Mafia?” I laugh like a dick. “What movies have you been watching?”
“Daniel?” Esther appears at the end of the corridor, a tea towel in her hand. She’s obviously not entertaining Otto right now, because he’s nowhere in sight. Retreated? Cleaning up his wounds? “What are you doing?” she calls, eyes darting between Daniel and Brad.
“Brad’s been shot.” He says it too nonchalantly, like it’s normal. He’s not my kid, but I’m really not cool with this. Yet how the fuck do you shield him when he lives under the same roof as this?
“I’ve not been shot,” Brad argues. “Mister and I were . . . paintballing. He’s a shit shot.”
“He’s shit at poker too. Did you know that?”
“Watch your language!” Goldie snaps.
Daniel rolls his eyes. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Mister? Umm,” I stutter, seeing the bloodbath that was Danny’s face and his psycho eyes as I left. “He’s—” The office door flings open behind us and Danny steps out, his face smeared in blood. I close my eyes and exhale. Rose is going to hit the fucking roof.
“Mister?” Daniel says, anxious, moving forward. “What happened?”
Danny waves it off like it’s nothing. “Otto and I had a disagreement. I’m fine.”
“Is it because he’s in love with Grandma?”
Goldie snorts, I cringe, and Doc orders us onward.
“Come on, Daniel,” Esther says, a little high-pitched. “I need some help in the kitchen.”
His shoulders drop. “Mom said I could go out on the water when I’ve finished my studies, but the Vikings have gone shopping with them.”
“I’ll take him,” Goldie volunteers without hesitation, clearly needing a break from us idiot men.
“I’ll come too,” Esther says, lifting her nose. “I could do with some air and adult company.”
Ouch.
“Mum,” Danny murmurs, sounding sorry.
“I’ll be ready in a minute.” Dismissing him, Esther leaves, and the door behind us slams.
“Go get ready,” Goldie orders Daniel. “Meet me at the car in five.”
He nods, looking back at the office door, concerned. “He’s okay, kid,” I say, carrying on with Brad. “Go get ready.”
“And you, Uncle Brad? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, kid,” he groans. “Just a graze.” Then he curses under his breath. “If you’re lucky, I’ll whoop your ass at COD later.”
Daniel snorts, reaching Esther. “I’m unbeatable.”
We make it to Brad’s room and get him on the bed, and Doc cleans him up while I take care of a few emails. “Just a graze,” Doc says, peeking over the top of his glasses, making me raise my eyes from my mobile on a small smile. “All back together again.” He nods at his own handiwork and sniffs. “This time, when I say strict bedrest, I mean strict bedrest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t mock me.” Doc snaps his bag shut. “Remember who supplies the pain meds around here.” He slips two pills on the nightstand.
Brad sighs, settling into the mattress and closing his eyes, and Doc wanders to the door.
I watch the old boy go. “Hey, Doc,” I call, pulling him to a stop. He looks back. “Thank you.”
He nods, short and sharp, and leaves, and I stare at the wood for a while, remembering the first time I set eyes on Doc in a hotel after I’d removed Beau from hospital. I know nothing about him, other than he came out of retirement to help me when Beau had been shot. Now, though? Now I’m wondering where he’s been, who he is, what he’s done. I return to my phone and pull up Google, typing in Doctor . . . “Fuck,” I breathe, laughing to myself. I don’t even know his name.
“What are you laughing at?” Brad asks, opening one eye to look at me.
“Do you know Doc’s name?”
“Yeah,” he says, patting down the covers with his good arm.
“What is it?” I go back to Google, poised, ready to type.
“Doc.”
“You dick,” I mutter, and he smiles. “Feeling better?”
“Peachy.” He wriggles his head on the pillow. “Bet you’re reconsidering letting me hire Beau now, huh?”
“Do you honestly think Beau would be fulfilled doing the club’s accounts?” I ask on a laugh. “She was nicknamed Lara Croft, Brad. Pen-pushing isn’t in her.”
He pouts. “Accepted.”
“Good, now shut the fuck up about it.”
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” I call. “That’ll be your coffee. Or your tea.” A few seconds later, the door opens. It’s not a Starbucks, and it’s not one of Esther’s good old English cups of tea. An explosion of red appears. “Pearl?” I say, getting up from my chair, thinking she’s probably lost. Looking for the TV room. The kitchen. The—
“Hi.” Her accent is local to London. Surrey, at a guess. She looks better, brighter, more awake and less sallow.
“So.” Brad snuggles down, hissing and spitting as he tries to get comfortable. “What’s the latest?”
“Sandy’s throwing us treats and James is about to blow a gasket.”
“Normal day then,” he says. “What kind of treats?”
“Russian and bear-flavored treats.” Danny raises his brow to match Brad’s. “Hungry?”
“Starving. Volodya?” We both nod. “So they are turning on each other.” We both nod. “And Sandy must know what’ll happen if he makes false promises.” We both nod. “So he knows who The Bear is?” We both shrug. “I’d love to stick a corkscrew in Volodya’s eye.” Only Danny nods. “And I bet you’d love to chop up Sandy into a million bite-sized pieces.” Brad looks at me, and this time only I nod. He really can’t help stating the obvious. “So where does that leave us?”
“We’re still deciding,” Danny says, glancing at me. He doesn’t need me to tell him that if Sandy comes within a foot of me, I’ll skin the fucker alive. I know he feels the same about Volodya, so we’re at a stalemate.
Brad blows out his cheeks. “What to do, what to do,” he muses to himself. I hear Goldie breathe out her exasperation, and I look at Danny, smiling as he rolls his eyes at yet another Brad moment. “And why are you blowing a gasket?”
“Stressed,” I grunt, throwing off vibes that warns Danny not to murmur a word and the others not to press. I’m seriously re-evaluating my bright idea to move us out of the mansion, if only now because I don’t want Beau to think it’s a sign of relaxed rules. Quite honestly, I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking. In time, perhaps, but now?
A small tap on the door sounds, so light we almost miss it. So light, everyone looks at each other as if searching for confirmation that there was, indeed, a tap. Another tap answers our question. Esther. Only Esther would knock so delicately.
Naturally, my eyes go to Otto when she enters. As does everyone else’s, and they all shrink like dying flowers when they see Otto giving her an encouraging nod. “Ohhhh,” I breathe quietly, turning my attention to Danny. He’s the only one who doesn’t look uncomfortable, which means he’s the only one who hasn’t yet grasped why his mother is here. Is he in denial? Or is this plain ignorance?
“I wondered if I might have a word,” Esther says, straightening her shoulders, standing tall, trying with everything she has to appear steadfast and confident.
“Sure.” Danny frowns, but is that because he’s suddenly sensed the atmosphere of Esther’s unusually bold disposition. “We’ll be done in just a moment.”
Esther once again peeks at Otto, who gives her another small, reassuring nod.
“Oh boy,” Brad whispers, pushing his hands into the couch on either side of him, as if trying to get himself up, sucking back air, sustaining the pain.
“Actually”—Esther steps forward, standing even taller—“I have grocery shopping to do, so now works better for me.”
“Someone want to help me?” Brad calls, looking to everyone in the room. We all ignore him. “Okay. Looks like I’m staying.” He slumps back down. “I can’t watch.” He takes the pillow from behind his head and covers his face.
Tilting his head, Danny’s eyes pass over all of our awkward forms, his face straight, but his eyes blazing with realization tell me he’s grasped what’s about to go down. “And you have to leave this moment?” he asks.
“I do.”
“You can’t wait five minutes for me to finish?” He’s being difficult now. Plain difficult, because he’s worried. I might join Brad under that pillow.
“Like I said,” Esther says. “I have things to do, and I would like to get on and do them.”
Danny looks at Otto briefly. Briefly but with enough of a sneer for me to be concerned. “I never appreciated your schedule was so regimented, Mum.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Otto mutters, rising from his chair, prompting Ringo, Goldie, and me to jump up sharpish and announce our departure.
“Take me!” Brad sings, flinging the pillow on the floor.
“Sit down,” Danny barks, rising and slamming his fist on the table.
“Yes, sit down!” Esther yells, and Danny flinches like he’s been shot.
We all lower, except Danny and Otto, who remain poised and growling at each other over the desk.
Esther looks a little red in the face, like she could be holding on to her temper. I will her to let it go, release the pressure and let Danny have it. I might not be sure about Otto and Esther, but they’re fucking grown-ups. This is not Danny’s call.
Breathing heavy, fists clenched and white where they’re wedged into the wood of his desk, Danny shakes. Whether that be with anger or restraint, I don’t know. It takes everything in me not to fall apart when I see Brad stretching for the pillow, grappling at thin air, unable to reach it.
“Sit down!” Esther snaps again, and Danny drops to his chair with eyes like saucers and his mouth slightly agape. I’d laugh if I knew he wouldn’t shoot me. I peek at Goldie and Ringo. Both of them look red in the face from holding their breath and their amusement in check.
“Right.” Esther plants her hands on her hips, meaning business. “Let us get this out in the open, shall we?”
“No,” Danny grunts.
“Please, no,” Brad says quietly.
“Shut the fuck up, Brad,” Esther, Otto, and Danny all yell in unison, and he retreats quickly, covering his face with his hands. He should watch, because The Brit is about to be put in his place, and it’s going to be entertaining.
“I’m seeing someone,” she declares.
I smile, brushing the side of my index finger across my mouth to try and hide it.
“No, you’re not,” Danny grates.
“Yes, she is.” Otto pipes up. “Me.” As if he needed to say it. Goldie is now sucking her cheeks in, Ringo looks more worried than amused at this point, and Brad is shaking his head in his darkness.
“I beg to differ.”
“Come on, Danny,” I say gently.
He points at me. “Shut the fuck up.”
I’m letting that slide, but only because he’s emotional.
“No, Mum. No. You’re better than-than-than”—his pointed finger turns to Otto—“that.”
I’ve known Otto for many years. He has the patience of a saint. It’s about to snap and I’d rather not be here for it. What the fuck, Danny? Back the fuck down. “Are you saying you’re a better man than I am, Black?” Otto rumbles, his chest seeming to expand, his breathing deepening.
“I’m saying nothing about me.”
“Boys!” Esther cries.
“You’re saying you deserve Rose?” Otto muses menacingly. “But I don’t deserve a woman like your mother?”
Jesus, if Danny’s nostrils flare anymore, Otto’s fists will disappear up them when he punches him. I glance at my oldest friend, silently urging him to look at me so I can will him to take a few deep, calming breaths and not do anything stupid. It’s the whole fucking point Esther is here, to try and appeal to Danny’s reasonable side, since no one else can. And she’s one of the only people in this world who Black wouldn’t hurt. Fucking hell. But Otto doesn’t look at me, his bearded, pierced face becoming more menacing by the second.
“Well?” he prompts.
“Leave my wife out of it.” Danny stands again, and I reluctantly accept that shit is about to go down, and no one can stop it, not even Danny’s mother. I doubt Rose could either, if she was here. It’s just a matter of who launches first.
“Is it safe to come out yet?” Brad asks, peeking out from under his arm, just as Danny flies across his desk and takes Otto off his feet.
“That’s a no, then.” Brad retreats back into his darkness, and Goldie gets up, looking at me, palms up, asking what the fuck we should do. Honestly, I don’t know.
“Leave them,” Ringo says, holding an arm out in front of Goldie, as if holding her back. I take his stance. I’m not getting in between them either.
“Oh God,” Esther says, as Otto rolls them, getting the upper hand, straddling Danny. He launches a fist right into his face, and everyone winces at the sound. Blood sprays, Esther puts her face in her hands, and Danny roars, flying up, blood spread over every inch of his scarred face. He looks like a fucking psycho. An absolute, raving, psycho, his teeth bared, his cold eyes wild. Otto’s got a few years on Danny, he’s sturdier, heavier, but I’m worried for him.
I step back when they come toward me, Danny throwing Otto on the desk and returning the favor, making a mess of his nose too. More blood. And Otto, the crazy fuck, laughs dementedly. It’s the worst thing he could do. And all of a sudden, both men are a blur of swinging fists, deafening bellows and downright craziness.
Punch after punch, kick after kick, yell after yell, they go at each other like rabid cavemen, smacking into walls, knocking the glasses over on the drinks cabinet, knocking fucking pictures off walls. This has been brewing for weeks. The small altercation in St. Lucia and at the boatyard didn’t cut the mustard. They need to get this out of their systems. Again.
We all move out of their way, me pulling Esther from the path of their wild, flying limbs more than once, but there is nothing I can do for Brad, who’s a sitting duck on the couch, hiding from the ugly.
“I’ll fucking kill you!” Danny yells.
“Fucking try it,” Otto roars. “You fucking brat.”
Then they land on Brad and his scream is ear-piercing, his face draining of blood in an instant. Danny and Otto snap out of their fits immediately, scrambling up, and look at Brad, who is in absolute agony on the couch, holding his shoulder. “Fuck!” he shrieks, as I hurry over, barging the two idiot kids out of my way to get to him. His dressing is drenched in blood, the wound open beneath. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
“Someone get Doc,” I order, pushing Brad’s knees down, stopping him from curling into a protective ball so I can get to his wound.
“Fuck!”
“You’re good,” I say, peeling the dressing away and pulling my T-shirt off, pressing it into the wound.
“Doesn’t fucking feel it.”
“Stiches have popped.” I can hear Danny and Otto sniffing and heaving behind me, and I look back, livid, just as Esther moves between them and gives Danny a stinger of a slap, followed by Otto. Both men blink in surprise, and Danny reaches up to his face, feeling it.
“Mum?” he questions, looking like a lost little boy.
“No more,” she says firmly, her jaw tight as she turns to Otto. “And if you ever lay a hand on my boy again, we’re done.” She comes to Brad and crouches, assessing him. “I’ll get you some tea,” she says, stroking his hair. “Sugar?”
He nods. “Please, Mom,” he murmurs, clenching his eyes closed. Esther gets up and leaves, not giving Danny or Otto a second look, and Doc enters, bag in hand.
“Open stitches,” I say, moving to give him space.
“Oh dear. How did that happen?” All eyes turn to Danny and Otto, who both look pretty sheepish. “And what happened to you two?” Doc asks.
“Misunderstanding,” Otto mumbles, swiftly leaving, no doubt to go after Esther and try to apologize.
To my surprise, Danny stays in the room. “Fuck it,” he hisses, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Brad, mate, I’m sorry.”
“Fuck off,” he hisses. “You’re being a fucking child. Take me to my room.”
I press my lips together and look at Doc, who nods his acceptance. Ringo comes to help, and we carefully help him up. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah, I can fucking walk.” Brad puts his good arm around me as Ringo moves into his other side, ready to be leant on, and Goldie runs ahead to makes sure our path is clear. It’s probably just as well—Danny needs a moment alone to calm the fuck down. “We should check in on Hiatus later,” I say shortly, reminding The Brit that while he’s behaving like a child and throwing a hissy fit over who his mother, a grown woman, chooses to see, we still have shit to deal with. “Nolan’s holding the place up on his own.”
He nods and drops to his chair, looking at his phone when it rings and flicking it away on a dismissive snort.
Our progress to Brad’s room is slow, taking a good few minutes to make it to the staircase. “You should have stayed in bed as instructed,” Doc says as Daniel dances down the stairs, slowing down when he sees the state of Brad between us. “Uncle Brad?” he questions, the concern in his voice and on his face a good indication of how terrible Brad looks. “Is that a bullet wound?”
Fuck it. “Uncle Brad’s feeling a bit under the weather, kid,” I explain as we carry him past.
“I would too if I’d been shot,” Daniel says, chasing our heels. “You’re not gonna die, are you, Uncle Brad?”
“I feel like it, kid,” he murmurs.
“What happened?”
I look across to Ringo, who shrugs, lost too. I need to call Rose. Give her the heads-up.
“Is this mafia business?” he asks.
“The fuck?” Brad blurts, stopping from dragging his feet, forcing me and Ringo to stop too. “No, this is red paint.”
“I know you’re all mafia.” Daniel rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows.”
We all stand like plums, none of us knowing what the hell to say. “Mafia?” I laugh like a dick. “What movies have you been watching?”
“Daniel?” Esther appears at the end of the corridor, a tea towel in her hand. She’s obviously not entertaining Otto right now, because he’s nowhere in sight. Retreated? Cleaning up his wounds? “What are you doing?” she calls, eyes darting between Daniel and Brad.
“Brad’s been shot.” He says it too nonchalantly, like it’s normal. He’s not my kid, but I’m really not cool with this. Yet how the fuck do you shield him when he lives under the same roof as this?
“I’ve not been shot,” Brad argues. “Mister and I were . . . paintballing. He’s a shit shot.”
“He’s shit at poker too. Did you know that?”
“Watch your language!” Goldie snaps.
Daniel rolls his eyes. “Where is he, anyway?”
“Mister? Umm,” I stutter, seeing the bloodbath that was Danny’s face and his psycho eyes as I left. “He’s—” The office door flings open behind us and Danny steps out, his face smeared in blood. I close my eyes and exhale. Rose is going to hit the fucking roof.
“Mister?” Daniel says, anxious, moving forward. “What happened?”
Danny waves it off like it’s nothing. “Otto and I had a disagreement. I’m fine.”
“Is it because he’s in love with Grandma?”
Goldie snorts, I cringe, and Doc orders us onward.
“Come on, Daniel,” Esther says, a little high-pitched. “I need some help in the kitchen.”
His shoulders drop. “Mom said I could go out on the water when I’ve finished my studies, but the Vikings have gone shopping with them.”
“I’ll take him,” Goldie volunteers without hesitation, clearly needing a break from us idiot men.
“I’ll come too,” Esther says, lifting her nose. “I could do with some air and adult company.”
Ouch.
“Mum,” Danny murmurs, sounding sorry.
“I’ll be ready in a minute.” Dismissing him, Esther leaves, and the door behind us slams.
“Go get ready,” Goldie orders Daniel. “Meet me at the car in five.”
He nods, looking back at the office door, concerned. “He’s okay, kid,” I say, carrying on with Brad. “Go get ready.”
“And you, Uncle Brad? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, kid,” he groans. “Just a graze.” Then he curses under his breath. “If you’re lucky, I’ll whoop your ass at COD later.”
Daniel snorts, reaching Esther. “I’m unbeatable.”
We make it to Brad’s room and get him on the bed, and Doc cleans him up while I take care of a few emails. “Just a graze,” Doc says, peeking over the top of his glasses, making me raise my eyes from my mobile on a small smile. “All back together again.” He nods at his own handiwork and sniffs. “This time, when I say strict bedrest, I mean strict bedrest.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t mock me.” Doc snaps his bag shut. “Remember who supplies the pain meds around here.” He slips two pills on the nightstand.
Brad sighs, settling into the mattress and closing his eyes, and Doc wanders to the door.
I watch the old boy go. “Hey, Doc,” I call, pulling him to a stop. He looks back. “Thank you.”
He nods, short and sharp, and leaves, and I stare at the wood for a while, remembering the first time I set eyes on Doc in a hotel after I’d removed Beau from hospital. I know nothing about him, other than he came out of retirement to help me when Beau had been shot. Now, though? Now I’m wondering where he’s been, who he is, what he’s done. I return to my phone and pull up Google, typing in Doctor . . . “Fuck,” I breathe, laughing to myself. I don’t even know his name.
“What are you laughing at?” Brad asks, opening one eye to look at me.
“Do you know Doc’s name?”
“Yeah,” he says, patting down the covers with his good arm.
“What is it?” I go back to Google, poised, ready to type.
“Doc.”
“You dick,” I mutter, and he smiles. “Feeling better?”
“Peachy.” He wriggles his head on the pillow. “Bet you’re reconsidering letting me hire Beau now, huh?”
“Do you honestly think Beau would be fulfilled doing the club’s accounts?” I ask on a laugh. “She was nicknamed Lara Croft, Brad. Pen-pushing isn’t in her.”
He pouts. “Accepted.”
“Good, now shut the fuck up about it.”
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” I call. “That’ll be your coffee. Or your tea.” A few seconds later, the door opens. It’s not a Starbucks, and it’s not one of Esther’s good old English cups of tea. An explosion of red appears. “Pearl?” I say, getting up from my chair, thinking she’s probably lost. Looking for the TV room. The kitchen. The—
“Hi.” Her accent is local to London. Surrey, at a guess. She looks better, brighter, more awake and less sallow.
