The Brit

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  “Why did you?”

  “Release of pressure. Something I can control.” My admission surprises me more than it surprises Danny, his face remaining straight. “And because sometimes I hate myself.”

  He swallows. “I did it because it was me or you.”

  “What?”

  “Enough people in your life have damaged you, Rose.” He eyes me closely, and I swallow. He has no idea. “I didn’t want you on the list of people I want to kill.”

  He wants to kill everyone who’s ever hurt me? That list is a long, long list. And my hope just soared, yet I can only manage a meek smile.

  Danny circles my nose with his. Pushes his lips to mine. “After our date, where I promise not to kill anyone, will you join me in bed again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m done with pushups.” He slips an arm around my waist and hauls my breathless body into his arms. “Ready for some thigh work?”

  “You or me?”

  He smiles mildly and carries me to the bed, sitting me on the end and shoving my legs apart. “You.” His rough voice could make me come all by itself. “Squeeze,” he demands, and I strain to close my legs. They don’t move a millimeter, not with his palms keeping them where they are. “Harder, Rose.”

  I grit my teeth and fight against his resistance. I get nowhere.

  “I think three sets of twenty will do.”

  “What?” I choke, alarmed, as he abruptly pulls my panties aside, burying his face between my legs. My eyes roll in the back of my head and my back plummets to the mattress. “Three sets of twenty,” I breathe, smiling when he bites the tip of my clitoris. It doesn’t take him long to get me fisting the sheets, my legs squirming around his head. I pull the sheets over my face, relishing the coolness of the cotton on my blazing skin. It’s coming, I’m there, it’s . . .

  I hear a loud bang in the distance, and Danny is quickly out from between my legs, looking lost between drunkenness and alertness. My building orgasm is swallowed up by worry as he jumps up and paces to the door. “Stay there.”

  I quickly cover myself as he swings the door open, completely naked, and looks down the corridor. On a curse, he slams it and finds some boxers, pulling them on and grabbing his phone from the nightstand. “What is it?” I ask, getting to my feet and fastening the buttons of his shirt down my body.

  The door to his bedroom flies open, and Brad falls in, looking harassed. Ringo follows on behind. “What’s going on?” Danny asks as Brad fights to get his breath back.

  “Explosion by the front gates.” He makes his way onto the terrace with Ringo.

  Danny follows, his eyes raging holy hell. Every muscle on his back protrudes with uneasiness. “Fuck,” he curses, and I look past him, seeing smoke rising in the distance, a dense, dirty gray cloud that symbolizes ruin. I walk out onto the terrace, my nostrils immediately picking up the smell of burning rubber.

  “Get the men together,” Danny orders, brushing past me and retrieving some jeans, tugging them on while I stand on the terrace with Brad and Ringo, watching the smoke ball growing.

  I step forward toward the edge, setting my hands on the metal while Ringo and Brad back up into Danny’s room, talking urgently. Their voices morph and muffle as I stare across the grounds toward the main gate. I see a few men running through the gardens, guns poised, shouting panicked orders and instructions as they go.

  Apprehension engulfs me, as grim and destructive as the swirl of smoke still rising.

  This is my fault.

  The shoot-out in Vegas, the jet ski, this. It’s all happening because of me. I swallow, searching for the courage I need to tell Danny. I can’t wait. I need to do it now. I turn, finding him pulling a white T-shirt over his head as Brad talks into his cell and Ringo throws Danny’s boots at his feet.

  “Danny,” I say, and he looks up. I expect him to dismiss me, to tell me he hasn’t got time for me right now. But he doesn’t. He comes to me. Kisses me. And looks at me in a way that tells me everything is going to be okay. And then he walks away. “Danny,” I blurt, and he stops at the door, turning to look at me standing motionless on the terrace. A faint whistling sound infiltrates my thoughts, and I try to push it back, focusing on mentally running through my confession, straightening it out in my head before I speak. The sound grows louder and louder. I can’t find the words. Where are the words? I stare into his questioning eyes, digging deep for the courage.

  Then Danny looks past me, his eyes growing wide, fear creeping in from the edges.

  I frown as the whistle transforms into an ear-piercing screech, and slowly turn to look behind me, to see what has his horrified attention.

  “Rose, move!”

  I see something black coasting through the sky toward me, growing by the second. By the time I realize what it is, it’s too late.

  The whole house shakes, my eardrums feel like they burst, and I scream, grabbing the railings on the balcony as flames billow in front of me. I’m grabbed from behind and hauled back, the terrace disappearing from under my feet, crumbling away in huge chunks. “Rose!”

  My body jolts painfully, my arm feeling like it’s been ripped from its socket. It takes me a while to figure out why. Then it hits me. I look down calmly. There’s no terrace under my feet, just a sheer drop to the ground where the remains of the terrace lays in a pile of bricks, rubble, and smoke. I’m hanging over the edge, one hand in Danny’s, death staring me in the eye.

  How easy it would be to let go of him. To be rid of my problems and the consequences attached to my choices.

  My boy will be okay. He’ll be safe if I’m gone. Because I don’t think I can fight this battle now. The war is over. I can feel my hand slipping from Danny’s. Nox won’t take any pleasure in hurting my boy if he can’t hurt me.

  I look up into Danny’s eyes. They speak to me amid the chaos of fire, destruction, and panic, and all I can think in this moment is how much more destruction there will be if I don’t let go. More death. More hurt. Clarity hits and sticks. I was deluded. Mad to think this mess can be sorted out. Mad to think I could spill my sins on Danny and think it’ll all be okay. It won’t be. How can it be? Danny won’t kill me for betraying him, yet his rejection will feel like death. But Nox will kill me. Call me stupid, but I’d rather call the shots on how I go. It’ll be the first time in my life that I’ve ever made a decision for me. I can’t be with Danny. That’s my cold, hard reality, and now, in this moment, I don’t want to live if I can’t be. I’ve lost too much already. I can’t lose him too.

  “Don’t you fucking dare let go,” Danny growls, releasing his spare hand that’s holding on to the mangled metal doorframe and dropping to his stomach, extending it to me. “Take it. God help me, Rose, take my other hand.”

  I find myself shaking my head, flexing my sweaty hand in his, trying to free myself from his grip.

  “No,” he yells, scrambling to reach for my free, swaying hand. “Rose, I’ll fucking kill you myself, I swear.”

  I stare at him. Silent. My world is mine again.

  “Rose, for fuck’s sake,” he pants down at me. “I didn’t just spill my fucking heart out, tell you my whole miserable fucking story, for you to bail on me now. Take my fucking hand. You don’t get to die now.”

  I’m dead either way. I yank my hand free and feel gravity claim me, pulling me to my death.

  “No!” Danny lunges forward, seizing my wrist and roaring as Brad grabs the waist of his jeans to stop him falling over the edge with me.

  “Fucking hell, Danny,” Brad bellows, breathless.

  “God damn you, Rose.” Danny looks me straight in the eye, his face awash with fury as he starts shuffling back with the help of Brad, dragging me up over the edge, my thighs and chest scraping on the rough, jagged concrete as I go. “What the fuck?” he yells, shoving me to my back and flopping on top of me, his breathing shot. I stare at him, dazed. I’ve seen anger on Danny Black before. On countless occasions. But those times pale in comparison to wha
t I’m seeing now. Pure, raw, burning rage. And it frightens me. For the first time, he’s frightening me. I look away from his fiery eyes and get yanked back to face him. His mouth is twisted violently, his scar deep and glowing. “I didn’t make love to a woman for the first fucking time in my life for her to end this.” He virtually pushes my face away. “But at least I know where I stand.” He gets up, his look pure filth, and he keeps it on me for a long, painful time.

  “We need you downstairs,” Brad says, edging out of the room.

  “On my way.” Danny grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet, giving me a quick once-over before pulling me toward the door. I stagger along mindlessly, my head ready to burst, my mind in tatters. The chaos extends into the main house, men running everywhere in a panic. We meet Esther at the bottom of the stairs, and I’m handed over to her like a piece of discarded trash. “She’s covered in cuts. See to it.” Danny disappears out the door, and I look down my front. I’m filthy, dirt and soot smearing me. My hand rests on my stomach over Danny’s shredded shirt, and Esther moves in quickly, opening one of the buttons to reveal a mess of scrapes and raw grazes. It doesn’t hurt. Nothing hurts.

  Except my heart.

  Chapter 19

  DANNY

  * * *

  Fucking carnage. As I stand amid the rubble, slowly circling on the spot, I question for the first time in my existence what my purpose is. We’ve lost one man. Freddie. He was on the gate when it was hit. My personal suite has been ripped apart, and the police are swarming my property.

  I dip and shift a lump of brick, reaching past it and pulling at a piece of material that’s buried. The silver dress I bought Rose. An image of her face flashes through my mind, a face that screamed defeat as she hung from my hand off the edge of the terrace. Moments before that, she was gazing adoringly at me as I swirled my tongue through the slickness of her addictive pussy. Something shifted between us during the night, and it’s shifted right back. I was distracted. While I was lost in her, my men were dying and my house was being destroyed. I nearly lost her too.

  Brad let’s out a sigh, crouching down beside me, looking around to make sure we’re out of earshot. “Len checked in earlier. I was on my way to tell you, but the bomb . . . ” He picks up a piece of wood and looks it over before casting it aside on another sigh. “Adams is taking calls from a burner phone. Untraceable. His bank accounts are bone dry. All of them.”

  “We didn’t tell Adams we were going to the hospital,” I say out of the blue, gazing around at the carnage. I can feel Brad’s questioning eyes on me, so I go on. “Whoever was at the hospital wasn’t there to shoot me. They were shooting at the kid because he’s in their way too. So whoever Adams has breathing down his neck wants my marina, and, like me, they want Adams in power. They want Miami.” It’s like the explosion didn’t only light up the sky, it also lit up my mind. “They know I won’t release Adams. They probably haven’t got thirty-five million to pay me off, plus whatever more cash they need to continue bankrolling Adams, so the only way for them is to see me dead. It’s easy. Cheap. The question is, who and what are they planning on getting into the country through my boatyard?”

  “Easy? To kill you?” Brad almost laughs. “You’re still standing, Danny. Just.”

  I hear him. He’s telling me, in an indirect kind of way, that I need my wits about me. I always need my wits about me. Pops was right. Women are nothing but a distraction. “Get Adams here. It’s time for some torture tactics.”

  “With fucking pleasure.” He’s off, heading back to the house. Keen, eager.

  I’ve put Brad through a hell of a lot of shit in his life. And in this last month, more than he’s used to. But he’s still fucking angry that I thought it was a good plan to kill the kid. He’s still enraged that I put myself at risk like that. So, yeah, he’s pissed. And this task will be a release of pressure for him. Have at it.

  “When you do shit, Danny, you do it in style.”

  I look up and find Spittle kicking remnants of my terrace aside, his shiny shoes dull with dust. He looks up at my mansion. “You’re lucky. They could have taken out the entire house.”

  Lucky? My private suite is obliterated and I nearly lost Rose. Rising to my full height, I turn away from him and head for the house. “You going to find out who did this?”

  “I was hoping you might be able to enlighten me.” Spittle follows me without invitation, taking a hanky from his suit pocket when he makes it inside. Sitting on the bottom step of the staircase, he wipes at his shoes.

  “Do I look like an FBI agent to you?” I ask. “You think I would be here now if I knew who just sent a bomb sailing into my bedroom?”

  He grimaces at his blackened hanky and folds it neatly. I head toward my office, my mind set on the Scotch awaiting me. I take the bottle and two glasses and drop into my chair, Spittle joining me on the other side of my desk. I hold up a glass and he nods, prompting me to pour. Passing him his glass, I sink back into my chair as Brad walks in, helping himself to the hard stuff after giving me a nod. It’s going to be a bloody afternoon.

  “Is your house being partially blown up anything to do with the shoot-out in Fort Lauderdale?” Spittle asks. “Because you may have cut CCTV, but I know you were there.”

  “Nothing to do with me.”

  He sips and nods his approval at the Scotch. “Not the shoot-out, no. Officers chased down the gunman a few miles away.”

  I hitch an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “He won’t talk.”

  “Give him to me,” I order. “He’ll talk.” I’ll torture the fucker until he gives me what I want.

  “Nothing to do with you? Come on, Danny. Why were you there?”

  I sigh, bored of the twenty questions. “There’s a kid there. Jepson. Parents just died in a plane crash. He survived. Someone wants him dead.”

  “A kid? Who? And why?”

  “Just get the kid protection, Spittle, there’s a good boy.” I don’t have time to fill in all the blanks. “The man, the shooter. Let us pay him a visit.” They’ll be no torture, but there will be threats galore. “And then maybe I’ll give you something more to keep you busy.” As soon as I find out who the fuck has strolled into my town wreaking fucking havoc.

  “Fine, Black. You’re a fly in my fucking ointment.”

  Yeah, yeah. I know. “His name?”

  “Like I said, he’s not talking. We’ve run face checks, fingerprints, DNA. Nothing. The man’s a ghost.”

  Just like all those men in Vegas. “Get Brad into wherever he’s being held.”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  Spittle regards me across the desk. “Since we’re on the subject of explosions, your jet ski was found off the coast burnt to a cinder. What happened?”

  “It was stolen.”

  “Then why didn’t you report it?”

  I shrug. “You know me, Spittle. Bigger fish to fry. Have it dropped off at the boatyard.”

  He visibly deflates, exhausted by the brick walls he keeps hitting. “It’s beyond repair.”

  “I’m rather attached to it.”

  “Fine. And I have someone working on the phone.”

  “Forget about it.” I strain the words. “Like I said, bigger fish to fry.” I stand, my way of ending our impromptu meeting. “If that’s all?”

  “That’s all. As ever, thank you for your time, Mr. Black.” He bows, the sarcastic wanker. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow. My father’s funeral. Amid the rolling madness, I almost forgot. “He told me to shoot any FBI who show up.”

  Spittle laughs his way out of my office. “I’ll be sure to wear my vest.” Stopping at the door, he turns back, something close to concern marring his rugged face. “Someone is clearly determined to put an end to you, Danny.”

  “Is that your way of telling me to be careful?” What a joke. Me winding up dead would relieve Spittle of endless stress. “I’m touched.”

  He waves his hand f
lippantly. “I’m just pointing out that the whole of Miami, hell, the whole of America, knows you’re burying your father tomorrow.”

  “I’ve got it covered,” I assure him, pouring more Scotch. “See you there.”

  I’m left in peace for all of two seconds before my phone rings. I’m grateful. Silence leaves too much space to think, and I’m not thinking about shit I should be thinking about. I look down at the screen and smile. “Adams,” I answer. “Called to tell me you’re declining my invitation to visit me?”

  “You tried to kill the kid.”

  My teeth grind impatiently. “I didn’t try to kill the fucking kid. I got him out the firing line.”

  Adams is silent on the end of the line. I hope he’s thinking carefully about his next move. He clearly is, but given his lack of a reply, I’m assuming he doesn’t know what it is. “Perry, let me make this easy for you.” I sit forward and rest my elbows on the table. “I have your girlfriend. I’m going to cut off her pretty face and send it to you in a pretty box if you don’t tell me who the fuck wants my marina and why.”

  “I’m being blackmailed,” he whispers.

  “By who?”

  “I don’t know. They have pictures of me and Rose. God, I was so careful, but one of my staff . . .” He sighs. “I obviously wasn’t paying him enough. It’ll ruin me if they get out. My campaign will be obliterated.”

  Pictures of him and Rose? Ignore the anger, Danny. Ignore it. Bigger fish to fry. “Are you telling me that you’re trying to turn me over because you don’t want America to know that you’ve been shagging behind your wife’s back?”

  “God, no.”

  “Who got the pictures? The member of your staff, I want his name.” Let’s start connecting some fucking dots.