Brad looks at Ringo. Ringo looks at Brad.
My patience begins to fray. “I know you know where he’s meeting Nox. Something isn’t right. I can feel it.”
Brad takes a moment. Shakes his head. Sighs. Pulls his phone from his pocket and hits the screen a few times before tucking it away. Then he stalks forward, passing me. “Fuck it, I wanted to go anyway.”
I blink, surprised by how easy that was. “That’s it?” I question, running after him as Ringo follows me.
Brad sweeps the keys up off the table in the hall and opens the front door. “Yes, but I’m having my gun back.” He swipes my bag from my shoulder and rifles through, pulling out his own and chucking Ringo’s to him. “Fuck knows what we could be walking into. Get in the car.”
I do as I’m bid immediately, aware that my plan could be foiled at any moment by either men swiftly and expertly disarming me and putting me back in the house. Yet, part of me knows that Brad is just as worried as me. He drives fast but carefully, and the silence is so fucking loud.
“He sent me a text.” I move forward, putting myself in between the front seats and showing them my screen. “I’m worried.”
Brad returns his attention to the freeway.
“He’s not been right,” I go on. “Lost in thought, saying things like he might not ever see me again.”
“Like what?”
“He told me he needs me to be strong for him. Why would he say that? Why does he need that? The last time he behaved like that, he pulled a psycho on Ernie. Has he told you what he’s doing?”
Brad’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror as the car picks up speed, and I sit back, my unease increasing tenfold. Now, the more I think about Danny’s need for me to be strong, the more I’m wondering why. And Brad’s silence isn’t helping. Does he know? Or is his mind racing like mine?
The rest of the journey is quiet. It’s only when we pull off the freeway that I realize where we’re heading. The boatyard. But when we reach the turning for the track, Brad passes it, continuing down the road. I notice Ringo look down the dirt lane that leads to the boatyard. “Saw nothing,” he says.
“We’ll take the back road anyway.” A few more miles down the road, Brad slows and takes a right, and we immediately start jumping around, the Merc struggling with the huge potholes and rocks in the road. “Anything?” Brad asks.
“Can’t see through the fucking bushes,” Ringo mutters, his face up close to the window.
Brad slows to a stop, and they both get out the car, not bothering to close the doors. I remain in my seat for a few seconds, until the instruction I need finally falls into my head. I jump out, too, following and leaving the door open so not to create any sound. I jog after them, so damn tense.
“Get in the car, Rose,” Brad hisses over his shoulder.
“No.”
“Do it.”
“No way.”
“Fuck me, no wonder he’s so stressed lately.”
“Shit,” Ringo curses, putting his arm out to stop me in my tracks. He starts looking around, as does Brad, both their guns appearing from behind their jackets.
I withdraw, scanning the space too. Then I see what’s got them all twitchy. “Oh my God,” I breathe, feeling Ringo reach for me and pull me close. His hand comes over my mouth, as if he senses my impending scream of panic.
“There’s another.” Brad motions with his gun toward a nearby tree where a body is slumped against the trunk, his throat cut. My eyes widen, breathing becoming increasingly difficult, not only because of the hand over my mouth. I recognize him. He delivered a picture of my boy to my room and a punch to my kidneys not too long ago.
I reach up, trying to yank Ringo’s hand away. “Keep quiet,” he warns, letting me win.
I swing around to face him. “They’re Nox’s men,” I pant, spotting yet another body only a few feet away. It’s a fucking graveyard.
“Not that one,” Ringo says, pointing his gun to a bush that’s decorated with a man’s brain, his body propped up against the dense foliage. “That one’s Russian.”
Russians? What are the Russians doing here? Nox hates the Russians.
I feel dread and fear arrest me. Everywhere I turn, another dead body is staring at me. I cover my own mouth, backing up until I slam into a chest and jump out of my skin.
“Easy,” Brad whispers, holding me up. I could fall to the ground, my earlier grit when I held Danny’s men at gunpoint vanishing. He takes my hand and starts to guide me through the trees, Ringo leading, both of them alert and tense. More bodies. More blood. More carnage. Tears prick at the backs off my eyes, my worst nightmare becoming more real with every step I take. We seem to trek for miles, my strength waning, and when we emerge from the bushes onto the road that leads to the boatyard, it’s like a mass grave. I choke on nothing, scanning the faces of all the men we weave through, my eyes studying each face carefully. I don’t know what I’ll do if Danny’s face is among the dead.
My cheeks wet, I blindly stagger along with Brad, tripping over small rocks as I go. Every beat of my heart hurts, to the point I wish it would just stop beating altogether. All these men. There are dozens, and Danny was alone, damn him. What was he fucking thinking?
“Rose,” Brad says, tugging me in front of him and resting his hands on my shoulders. “Look.”
I lift my eyes from the scattered bodies around me, and what I find has me falling back, needing Brad’s chest to support me. A low, broken sob escapes me. Danny’s up ahead, his back to me. He’s shaking someone’s hand. I don’t know who. I don’t care. He’s alive. I make to break from Brad’s hold, a newfound strength injecting life into me. I just need to get to him.
“Wait,” Brad orders, hauling me back. “Just wait. Let him finish.”
“What’s he doing?”
“Selling his soul to the devil.”
“What?”
“That’s Volodya. Russian mafia. Danny just handed the Romanians to him on a silver platter.”
I inhale, my eyes falling to a body not far from Danny’s feet as if a magnet is pulling them there. But this body is still breathing. “Oh God.” I stare, enthralled, as Danny releases the Russian’s hand and turns toward Nox’s bloodied, limp body. He lowers to his haunches. Gets as close as he can. He smiles. Then he nods to a nearby man who steps in and drags Nox to his feet. He’s battered, bloodied, and disheveled. But he’s alive. At least, for now.
Danny’s saved him for last. For himself. Nox spits at Danny, the move labored, leaving saliva dribbling down his chin as he heaves. “Any last words?” Danny asks, rising to his feet and holding his hand out. A machete is placed in it, the blade sparkling, freshly sharpened and glistening.
“Fuck you,” Nox rasps.
And Danny grins. It’s the dirtiest, most evil grin I’ve ever seen. Not just on him. On any man. He raises the machete and sweeps it through the air smoothly, taking Nox’s head clean off his shoulders in one accurate stroke. The thud when it hits the ground is deafening, and I wretch, turning into Brad’s chest and hiding, my stomach revolting against my swallows. There was so much pleasure on his face. So much satisfaction, and though I have wished Nox dead for years and years, triumph is hampered by my shock and nausea.
“Rose.” Brad muscles me from his chest, and I turn, tears painting streaks down my face. The Russian accepts the blade when Danny hands it to him, and he smiles, as satisfied as Danny. And they shake hands again before Danny turns to me. When he spots me, he stills, watching me from a distance. Mildly, he nods, his fist coming up to his chest and tapping over his heart. “For you,” he mouths.
I crumble, wiping at my eyes, suddenly ashamed of myself for being so emotional. For being so weak. For letting him see me like this, but the relief that he’s alive, the relief that Nox is dead . . . it’s too much.
Danny starts toward me, his expressionless face slowly cracking, a smile growing as he comes closer. My surroundings blur and eventually vanish completely, the sounds dulling to noth
ing. In my world, my entire existence, there is only Danny.
But I’m abruptly yanked from my comforting place when Brad roars, “No!” Everything returns—sound and sight. It’s chaos, men running and shouting around me. Confused, I look toward the container.
The Russian has a gun pointing at Danny’s back.
“Danny,” I scream, and he frowns, turning away from me.
“Goodbye, Black.” The air is pierced by the sound of a gunshot, and Danny’s body catapults back, landing with a thud on the gravel.
“Fuck!” Brad grabs me as more men appear from every direction, all brandishing guns. He fires round after round as I struggle with him.
“No,” I yell, breaking free and running toward Danny. I can’t feel my legs. Can’t feel my heart pounding, though I’m sure it is. “Danny.” I fall to my knees by his side, my palms instinctively resting on his chest. “Oh God. Oh God, please, no.”
“I’m fine,” he wheezes, his face screwed up. “I’m fine.”
“Rose.” I’m ambushed from the side by Brad, who hauls me to my feet.
“He’s been shot!”
Ringo appears, taking Danny’s arm and dragging him up. “Come on, you stupid fuck.”
I watch as Danny struggles, his legs unstable, his face an unbearable picture of pain. “Fuck,” he chokes, just as Ringo aims and fires at a man running toward us.
“The boat,” he yells, dragging Danny toward the shore. “Get on the fucking boat.”
I’m pulled along by Brad, as he and Ringo fire shot after shot, holding back the men coming at us. But the sounds are dull, my eyes nailed to the back of Danny, watching as he stumbles along with Ringo’s help. “Rose, down!” Brad yells, shoving me to the ground. I land with a crash, my head hitting a nearby rock. Pain sears through me, and I cry out, immediately feeling hot blood trickling down my face. Disorientated, I look up, blinking, the gunfire still constant. I see Danny look back. I see him find me on the ground. I see him fight his way out of Ringo’s hold and run back to me. He claims me and yanks me to my feet like I’m weightless, taking my hand.
“I need you to run, Rose.”
His words, the sound of his voice, the feel of him holding my hand. I find life again, and I run, flinching with every shot that’s fired around us. We hit the water, wading through, and Danny swoops in and lifts me. I practically fall into the boat as Ringo starts the engine, still firing as he does, his attention split between the men shooting at us and getting the boat moving. The engine roars as I scramble to the side, reaching over for Danny to help him up. But he turns away, catching a gun that Brad throws him and starts to wade back toward the shore.
What is he doing?
“Come on!” Ringo bellows.
“Danny!” I scream, watching, my fear multiplying, as he joins Brad, both of them up to their waists in the sea, firing non-stop. I watch as man after man drop like flies on the beach, the air pierced by the sounds of gunshots and shouts, the dusky sky lit up.
Brad turns and starts back toward the boat, and my heart kicks when I see Danny following. I mentally will them to hurry, their progress hindered by the water around them. Come on. Come on. Come on.
Brad reaches the side of the boat first and starts to pull himself up with Ringo’s help. “Get Danny,” he orders, his words labored. “Just get him in the fucking boat.”
Ringo diverts his attention to Danny swimming toward us, leaning over the side, as Brad drops into the boat and reloads his gun. I watch as Danny gets closer and closer, it seeming to take forever, and when he’s only a few meters away, Brad starts firing again. “Hurry the fuck up, Danny,” he yells.
I lean over the boat too, and Danny locks eyes with me. He smiles. The sick fuck smiles as he reaches for Ringo’s hand. I can only shake my head at him, caught between despair and fury. I’m going to kill him. For being so reckless and stupid, I’m going to kill him. The light in his eyes is blinding, and my panic starts to ebb, his fingers brushing Ringo’s.
“Go!” Ringo yells, and Brad takes up position at the back of the boat by the engine, just as Ringo seizes Danny’s hand and yanks him up on a grunt.
I jump as the boat lurches forward. Danny’s eyes widen. Ringo curses, falling back to his arse, leaving Danny hanging off the side of the boat. “Fuck,” he spits, grappling to hold on.
“Danny!” Brad roars.
I dive forward and grab his arms, adrenalin fueling me. “Get back, Rose,” he yells, trying to shake me off. “You’ll fall in.”
“Fuck you.” I fight to help him up, try my hardest, but he’s too heavy. “Kick your legs!” I yell, finding his eyes.
He stares at me. Just stares. And he smiles again. And then the loudest bang erupts, and his body jerks, his smile falling. It takes me a few confused moments to realize what’s happening. Then Danny’s body becomes heavier, slipping from my grasp. “No,” I mumble, searching his blue eyes. This time, I find . . . nothing. No light. No ice. No smile. Nothing. “Danny?”
He starts to slip down the side of the boat, his eyes closing, and I grapple and fight to keep him up as the boat speeds away.
“Ringo!” I scream, holding on to him for dear life. “Ringo, he’s been hit again!”
But Ringo doesn’t answer me, his gun firing constantly. I look up, seeing a few jet skis in pursuit.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, realigning my focus on getting Danny into the boat. But he’s slipping. Slipping. Slipping.
His eyes are closed. His body limp. “Please, Danny.” I beg, but I lose my grip, and he slips away from me, dropping into the sea. “No!” I watch him getting further away from me. “Danny!” I scream, my heart tearing in two.
“Fuck, no!” Brad yells as I climb onto the side of the boat. “Rose, no!”
I’m yanked back and hit the floor hard. “I lost him,” I sob, crawling to my knees, looking out. “We need to go back, Brad.” A bullet hits the side of the boat, and I duck instinctively, covering my ears, the sounds unbearable. “We need to go back!”
“We’ll all be killed,” Brad shouts, and I break down, tears pouring down my cheeks.
Ringo curses, his body crashing down next to mine, his hand going to his shoulder, blood coating his fingers. “For fuck’s sake.” He looks at me. It’s a look I’ll never forget. Full of sadness. Of pity.
A wretched sob tumbles as I recklessly get to my knees and look back, searching for him, my eyes darting frantically across the dark water. And I see him. Floating. Just floating, face down. “No,” I whisper raggedly.
“Get us out of here,” Brad bellows, firing again taking out two of the jet skis.
My shout is carnal and raw and full of devastation, my body jolting as the boat hits the waves at high speed. But however much I’m being tossed around, my eyes remain steady and level, locked on Danny’s lifeless body, growing smaller and smaller. Until the sea eventually takes him.
And I can no longer see him.
But I will always see him.
I stare down at the razor blade in my hand. Release. I need a release. I need to control this pain. I rest the edge on my arm. Close my eyes. Breathe in. And exhale as I drag it through my skin. My entire being relaxes.
“Rose!”
I startle, blinking my eyes open. Esther’s face is a picture of raw disgust as she swipes her hand out, knocking the blade to the carpet. I stare down at it. Blank. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t take the blade either. She just turns and walks out, and I stare at the bedroom door for long after she’s slammed it, until I feel the blood dripping from my arm onto the carpet. I look down, watching as the plush fibers soak up the thick red blobs.
Lost.
Flashbacks assault me, my hands coming to my head, trying to squash them. I can’t. As long as I’m living, breathing, I’ll never escape them. The boatyard was a mass grave.
Visions.
The blood. The destruction. The sounds. Danny’s face before I lost my grip.
I drag myself to my feet and wander aimles
sly through the silent mansion. I find Esther in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. She pauses. Looks at my arm. Then calmly goes to the cupboard and pulls the first aid box down. I take a seat at the island and rest my arm on the counter.
Empty.
She works silently, wrapping my arm carefully with steady hands. And when she’s done, she looks up at me, her palm cupping my cheek. I know what she’s going to say, and I absolutely cannot bear hearing it. So I start to subtly shake my head. It’s been three days. I’ve sat in his mansion like a zombie for three days, waiting for him to walk through the doors. He hasn’t, and with each minute that passes, my hopes are slowly dying.
“You need to prepare for the worst,” she says gently, and my head shakes increase.
“He’s strong,” I reply, adamant. “He’ll come back to me.”
She breathes in, swallowing, and starts to pack away the first aid box. I hate that she’s so clearly humoring me. Where’s her faith?
“He will be back, Esther,” I reiterate, ignoring the part of my brain that’s telling me to be real. That’s telling me I am alone.
I hear the door to the mansion close, and I jump down from my stool and run to the main entrance. When I spot Brad leading someone towards Danny’s office, I can’t stop myself from following. The door is closed when I get there, but I don’t knock. I walk in and find Brad with a man I don’t recognize. They both look at me, both in pity.
“Who are you?” I demand. I’ve never seen him around here before.
He pulls a badge out and flashes it at me, and I withdraw. “Spittle. FBI. If you wouldn’t mind giving us some privacy.”
“She can stay.” Brad says, catching sight of my bandaged arm before throwing me a look of pure filth. It doesn’t affect me. He walks to the drinks cabinet and pours two glasses of Scotch.
“As you wish.” The man, Spittle, takes a seat at Danny’s desk, and Brad hands him one of the drinks.
“Do I need one of those?” I ask, motioning to the glasses held at their lips.
Spittle falters, setting his glass on the desk. “A body was dragged out of the cove earlier this morning,” he says matter of factly, glancing at me.
The Brit Page 35
