The Brit

by Jodi Ellen Malpas

  Composing myself, I exit and make my way back to the table, being tailed again by one of Ernie’s apes. Danny’s laughing when I sit down, swirling his drink in his hand. His obliviousness kills me. I’m screaming at him in my head. It’s all a waste. How can the man who’s been dubbed evil and an assassin not know how much of the devil lurks beneath the skin of the man in front of him? Because Danny isn’t evil.

  Turning smiling eyes onto me, Danny motions to his uncle. “We’re reminiscing.”

  “Yes,” Ernie chirps. “I was just reminding Danny of the time he stole a cop car downtown.”

  I strain a smile as a bowl of tomato soup is placed in front of each of us. I don’t see tomatoes. I see blood. “I don’t feel too well,” I blurt, desperation taking over logic. I turn to Danny. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we go home?”

  His face falls somewhat, an epic frown creeping onto his forehead as he looks me up and down. “Now? You want to go now?”

  “Yes, now.”

  “Nonsense.” Ernie chortles. “You just got here.”

  “You’re pale.” Danny scans my face as he places his spoon down and reaches for my forehead. He retracts his hand when he touches me. “You’re burning up.” He goes to stand, pulling me up by the hand. “Sorry, Unc, I should get her home.”

  “Sit down,” Ernie orders flatly, pulling Danny’s attention back his way.

  “What?”

  “You deaf, boy?” he spits. “I said, sit down.”

  A confused half-smile creeps onto Danny’s lips. “I’m sorry?”

  “Sit down,” I murmur, lowering myself and pulling Danny down with me. “Just sit down.” Ernie had no intention of letting us leave tonight. None at all.

  Danny’s confused look passes between me and Ernie, and then he turns, looking over his shoulder. I follow his gaze, finding two handguns pointing our way.

  “What the fuck is this?” Danny’s confusion soon moves aside for anger.

  “This, dear boy, is the beginning of your end.” Ernie takes a condescendingly casual sip of his drink. “Cheers to that.” He nods past us, an order of sorts, and I hear the sounds of safety catches disengaging. “Kill them.”

  My heart lunges.

  “What the fuck?” Danny roars.

  The first bang sounds, and I slam my eyes closed on a flinch, waiting for the pain to kick in, just as the second shot fires. But the sounds aren’t nearly as loud as I’ve heard before. Silencers.

  And I feel no pain.

  I swing around on my chair to find the two men in the lobby face down, Brad and Ringo standing over them. Danny’s men are looking past me. Cool as cucumbers. What the hell? I shoot back around and nearly pass out from shock at what I find. “Oh my God,” I breathe, flying up from my chair, holding the table for support. Danny has a steak knife held at Ernie’s throat. There’s no confusion on his face now. There’s not even anger. All I see is a calm, stable psychopath, with a whole load of crazy in his eyes.

  “Actually, dear Uncle Ernie,” Danny whispers, menace rife in his tone. My legs give, and I drop back to my seat, staring across the table at Danny looking positively murderous, and Ernie looking half-shocked, half-furious. “I think you’ll find that this is the beginning of your end.” Danny draws a neat line across Ernie’s throat, not too deep, but enough to show he’s not fucking about. Then he releases him, picking up a napkin and wiping the blade through the material before retaking his seat next to me. What is he doing? Danny picks up his spoon and stirs up the soup in his bowl, reaching for some bread as he does. “Tell me all about your plan to kill me off. I could do with some laughter in my life right now.”

  Ernie sneers, wiping at his throat with a napkin before inspecting the blood staining it. Then he knocks back his drink. The action stretches his neck, forcing the slice open, beads of blood trickling down and meeting the collar of his shirt. “You’re nothing but a bastard,” he spits.

  I flick nervous eyes to Danny, seeing his hold of the spoon tighten to the point his knuckles are bloodless. “How long have you and Nox been friendly?” Danny asks. “Ten years? Or did you have dealings before you gave Rose to him after rescuing her from the streets and having her raped?” Danny sinks his teeth into the bread and rips off a piece, eyes trained on Ernie.

  “He wants rid of you,” Ernie states. “I want the boatyard and you gone too. Perfect partnership.” He motions to me, smiling evilly. “You made it easier when your dick took charge of your brain.”

  “Except it’s you who’s sitting here now with two guns aimed at your head.”

  Ernie looks at me like I’m dirt. “As far as whores go, she’s a good one, yes?”

  I cry out when Danny literally throws himself across the table, taking Ernie from his chair and slamming him to his back on the floor. The knife is in his hand again, piercing another part of his uncle’s throat. “Pops would be ashamed of you,” Danny hisses in his uncle’s face. “You filthy piece of shit. All this time you’ve been playing the good guy, the law-abiding citizen, the saint, the respected member of the family.”

  “He wasn’t your father, bastard. You’re not even blood. My cousin was weak and pathetic. If he wanted a kid, he should have just come to me.” Ernie grins, and I flinch in my chair. “Picking up some fucking waif and stray off a London street. Signing everything over to a bastard kid. The man had lost his stupid mind.” He looks at me. “And Nox assured me he could keep you to heel.”

  Danny smiles, taking the steak knife and dragging it deeply through Ernie’s face, from his eye to his lip. Blood gushes from the cut instantly. “Now we match,” Danny taunts.

  “You won’t get out of here alive. The moment I’m dead, the men out there will be coming after you. So go on, kill me. Do it.”

  “As much as I’d love to gut you and carve you up, I’m not going to kill you.” Danny pushes himself to his feet, wiping his knife on the napkin once again. He’s not going to kill him? Is he mad? Danny points to me. “She is.”

  She is? “What?” I turn back to Brad and Ringo, like I may have forgotten that they’re both men. “Me?”

  “I told you tonight would be good.”

  My gasp pushes me back in my chair, my fingers clawing into the arms. “You knew?” I ask, my eyes flicking to Ernie. “You knew he was working with Nox? You knew he was going to try and kill you?” He could have fucking told me! “You knew he was the man who took my son from me?”

  Danny reaches for Ernie’s neck, pulling out a chain that’s tucked behind his shirt. I nearly choke when I see the serpent ring dangling from it, the green eyes as evil and bright as I remember.

  It forces me farther back in my chair. “Oh my God.”

  “You mentioned this.” Danny drops the chain. “My father had one too. A gift to them both from their grandfather. Ernie’s fingers got too fat for it so he started wearing it on a chain a few years ago.” Danny looks at him like he’s filth. “You always hated living in Pops’s shadow, didn’t you, Ernie?”

  “Fuck you, bastard.”

  That word. Bastard. I see it turn something in Danny, just like it has so many times before. But he doesn’t go psycho. Instead, he calmly kneels and takes Ernie’s hand, splaying his fingers on the floor. Then he rests the knife on his little finger and starts sawing back and forth, making Ernie squeal like a pig. I look away, sickened by the sight. The screams go on and on, piercing and shrill, forcing Danny to stuff a napkin in Ernie’s mouth to muffle the sound, and Brad and Ringo to become extra watchful at their posts, looking out for any men who may come to investigate.

  When I look back to Danny, he’s pushing Ernie’s little finger into his mouth to join the napkin. “Say goodbye, Ernie.” Danny stands, his body trembling and sweating, and he holds the knife out to me. I stare at him, stunned. “Never hesitate to kill someone who’s hurt you,” he murmurs. His words are like a shot of life and purpose, and I slowly stand, walking forward. I take the knife from Danny’s hand, adrenalin burning my bloodstream. “In the neck. Th
e chest. Take your pick.” Danny takes up position behind me, sliding his palm down my arm until he’s at my hand, steadying it. His mouth falls onto my nape, kissing me gently. “I. Love. You.”

  I close my eyes briefly. He was telling me before. When he bowed my head and whispered in my hair, he was telling me that he had it all under control. I step forward, raising the knife.

  Ernie spits out his mouthful of napkin and flesh. “You kill me, you’ll never know where your son is.”

  My arm freezes, and my breath abandons me. A spark of hope threatens to light my world. “You know where he is?”

  “Of course I know. Every baby I sold was filed. How do you think Dimitri got the photos?”

  I swing around to face Danny, finding him shaking his head mildly. I step back as his lip curls at Ernie. “Don’t you fucking toy with her.” He snatches the knife from my hand, lunging forward. “Don’t even fucking look at her.” The knife plunges into Ernie’s eye socket, and my stomach turns, my hand flying to my mouth as I pivot away. “Ever,” Danny roars, the stabbing sounds constant and sickening. A choked sob falls into the palm of my hand as I tentatively peek over my shoulder. Ernie is unrecognizable. Danny’s body is rolling, fury electric on his skin. I retch, making a mad dash for the hallway, jumping over the lifeless bodies of Ernie’s men.

  “Rose!” Brad whisper-shouts, but I ignore him, my freak-out not containable. Too much. It’s too much. I’ve seen some things in my time. Endured many horrors. But this? This . . . I can’t.

  I make it to the front door and yank it open, but before I can put one foot outside, it’s shoved closed from over my shoulder. “Be wise, Rose,” Ringo says flatly, gently moving me to the side so he can block the doorway.

  Wise? Danny has just bludgeoned his own family. There are armed men all over the grounds. He’s just killed the only man who knows where my boy is.

  Danny appears, covered in blood, his face a picture of promised death. “You want to run away from me?” He heaves, tossing the knife to the tiles and grabbing a napkin. “The only man who sees you. The only man who would kill for you.” He takes one step forward, wild eyes on mine, wiping the blood from his hands. “The only man who cares for you. The real you. The only man who understands you. The only fucking man who would fucking die for you.” His eyes are pure, frightening white-hot heat. “And you want to run away from me?” He throws the napkin down with force, and I pin my back to the wall, aware of Brad and Ringo standing cautiously nearby, while Danny advances on me, his lips so twisted, like he could hate me. “You can’t,” he spits, slamming a fist into the wall beside my head. “You can’t fucking go anywhere. Ever. Because when you said you wanted to be mine, you signed in fucking blood, Rose. Right across my fucking heart.” His other palm slaps the plaster, caging me in. His face comes close to mine. His hair is damp on his forehead. His scar is the deepest I’ve seen it. His eyes the wildest. “I. Love. You.” His forehead meets mine and presses hard, forcing my head back into the wall. “So ask yourself just one question, Rose,” he breathes. “Do you love me? Enough to trust me?”

  “Yes.” I exhale my answer into his face, no hesitation, my body going lax.

  “Then don’t run from me. Do you hear me? Don’t ever fucking run away from me.”

  Right now he’s fueled by hate, by the adrenalin of a kill of someone evil. Someone who stole from him. He’s right to be angry. And I’m right to be scared. But not of him. I take a deep breath through my mouth so I can’t smell the bitter, metallic tang of blood that’s all around me. He’s fulfilling promises to me, because he loves me. He’s the first thing in my life that truly belongs to me. The first person to ever look out for me. To care for me. Why would I run?

  I throw myself at him, and he holds me until both of our breathing is calm again. Then he turns. “You ready?” he asks Brad and Ringo, receiving two gruff confirmations. “I need you to use your own two feet, Rose.” He sets me down, accepting a gun from Brad and placing it in my hand before taking another from Ringo for himself.

  “What’s this for?” I ask, turning it over in my grip and staring down at it.

  “We have to get from here to the car. Don’t hesitate.” Stepping up to the door, he looks out of the peek hole as my dying panic rises again. “How many left?”

  “Four that I know of,” Brad answers, reloading his gun. “Two at the gate, two between here and there. Ready?”

  “Ready.” Danny pulls the door open and immediately fires, taking out a man who simply turns to look our way. The gunshot alerts another man, who’s quick to reach for his belt, but barely lays his hand on the handle of his gun before Brad takes him down. I’m pulled along, two more shots sounding as I’m pushed into the back of the car, Danny following me in. Brad and Ringo jump in the front, and as we pull off, rather calmly given the circumstances, Danny lets the window down halfway, resting the barrel of his handgun on top of the glass. He fires, and I jump, covering my ears as Brad picks up speed.

  “One more,” Ringo says over his shoulder, pointing to the gates up ahead. I see a man in the distance running toward us, firing round after round, the bullets hitting the windshield. “Fuck,” Ringo curses, ducking down. “Take him out, Danny!”

  Bang.

  The man catapults back, landing with a thud in the road up ahead. Right in the path of our car. I close my eyes and wince as the car jolts and jumps, running straight over him. “The gates?” Brad asks.

  “Meh,” Danny says, blasé, making Brad put his foot down. I plaster my back to the seat and brace myself for impact, yelping when I’m tossed around in my seat. Brad momentarily loses control of the car, and the back end sways back and forth a few times before he gets it under control. He curses his head off, and I close my eyes, breathing, focusing on only that.

  When I brave opening them again, we’re on the freeway. “Come here.” Danny seizes me and pulls me onto his lap, settling me. “How was your date?” he asks, a certain amount of humor loaded in his question.

  What the fuck? I blink into his chest. I think I’m in shock. “I had murder for appetizers,” I quip mindlessly, absorbing the heat of his body.

  “I wanted you to kill him.”

  “He knew where my son is,” I say quietly, making Danny cuddle me closer.

  “He wouldn’t have told you. He would have killed you.”

  “Nox is still out there,” I point out, feeling my steadying heart rate accelerate again.

  Danny’s face nudges me from his neck, encouraging my gaze up until we’re eye to eye. “So am I,” he whispers.

  Chapter 25

  DANNY

  * * *

  Deep down, I knew. I knew when Rose mentioned the serpent ring she wasn’t talking about my father. But I needed to know beyond doubt, even if everything was clicking into perfect place. And for my own peace of mind. Ernie wasn’t mad that he didn’t get to pay his last respects to Pops. He was mad that I foiled his plan to have me shot down at the funeral. He played a part in planting the bomb on my jet ski. He helped send a missile sailing into my fucking house. All to get rid of me? Get the Russians out, get me out, take control of Miami. Fuck, they would have been shipping in women from Europe on mass and selling them to the highest bidder. They had it all figured out. Pops would turn in his fucking grave.

  I didn’t take pleasure in leading Rose to Ernie. I didn’t take pleasure in seeing the terror in her eyes when she came face to face with him. But I took the greatest of pleasure in slaying him. The best. That bastard played us all. Rose’s reaction to him was the nail in the coffin. Ernie’s coffin.

  I look down at the mobile phone Rose gave me, slowly tapping out a text message to “Mom” as I pull a drag of my cigarette.

  Game over.

  * * *

  I hit send, stub out my cigarette, and stand, making my way upstairs. I enter the steam-filled bathroom, the silhouette of her naked body holding my attention as I strip out of my blood-stained clothes. Her hands pause mid-soap of her stomach, and she
looks up through a veil of wet lashes, tilting her head subtly. I wait on the threshold of the shower until she steps forward and offers her hand. Reaching for her, my eyes set on her fingers, I watch as mine lace through hers, playing for a moment. Then she takes the soap and starts to wash away the blood, slowly, meticulously, as if she’s cherishing the time she’s spending cleaning me. Cleaning me of dirt. Of death. Of our pasts. Her hands on me . . .

  My skin heats, and I brace my palms on the tile wall before me, dropping my head, watching the red tinged water swirl down the drain until it’s running clear. When her hands leave my body, I lazily turn to face her. She claims me and tugs me forward, sliding her arms over my shoulders and going straight for my mouth. I spin us and we crash into the wall, all teeth and tongues, groans and whimpers. Bullets of hot water hit my back, my hands sliding over her arse onto her thighs, pulling her legs up to my waist. Her muffled yelp mixes with my suppressed bark when her pussy skims the tip of my cock. Inside her. It’s all I can focus on. Just getting inside her. Reaching between us, I grab my cock and guide it to her, nudging her face away when she tries to hide in my neck. “Look at me,” I demand, hoarse and curt, pushing her up the wall on a scream with my first ruthless drive. Her jaw tight, she bores down, fiercely trying to match my approach to our union. “You want to play, huh?” I tease, drawing back and slamming home on a grunt.

  Her teeth grit, and once again she grinds down, taking every thick, throbbing inch of me until I growl. “Do you?” she asks, working her fingers up into my hair and giving it a brutal yank.