“I’m done,” he says, showing absolutely no remorse for throwing me under the bus.
“Pregnant?” Dexter finally splutters, blinking his way out of his trance. “You’re pregnant?”
“I’m pregnant,” I confirm, hearing myself say it for the first time. Odd doesn’t cover it.
“But you’re not fit to be a mother,” Dexter blurts, and then quickly looks very sorry.
“Excuse me?” James’s back straightens.
“I didn’t mean that.” He, too, staggers toward a stool and collapses onto it.
“Dexter?” I ask, deeply hurt, even if I can’t really blame him for blurting something so unkind. But is that what they think? That I’m not fit? I feel myself shrinking on my stool, feeling so small. Unfit. Unstable. Unprepared. It’s all true. Look at me. Look at my history. And the father?
I peek across to James, my eyes welling with unstoppable tears, but I still see the unbridled fury brewing. “Enough,” he snaps, standing from the stool. “Get out.”
I will Lawrence and Dexter to leave before James really loses it. This has all been so very unpleasant. I’m done. They won’t support me. It hurts so deeply, but I refuse to let their contempt add any more weight to my shoulders. “You should go,” I say, standing and walking away. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.”
I feel so heavy as I climb the stairs, needing the handrail to help pull me up each step. I make it to James’s bedroom and collapse on the bed, defeated. Tearful. Absolutely gutted. It feels eerily similar to when Mom died. That desolate, heart-wrenching pain, with nothing tethering me to life. Although, I guess this time, that’s not quite true. But I am losing my biological family, one by one. Lawrence is more like my father than I ever thought possible. Judgmental. Stubborn.
I roll over and snuggle into the sheets, at the same time listening for any signs that James has been forced to get physical. I just want this day to be over. The men in my life, Lawrence, Dexter, Ollie, Nath—especially Nath, if what James says is true—have annihilated any trust I had for them. Ripped the love for them from my chest.
“That went well.” James’s voice comes from the doorway, and I roll onto my back and find him filling it with his big body. His temper looks like it’s been stowed away.
“You shouldn’t have told them. We agreed.”
“It wasn’t exactly going swimmingly before my little bombshell.”
“It’s my bombshell too. I should have broken the news.”
“You’re right.” He wanders over and sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I was pissed off. But it was that or kill them both for being so narrow-fucking-minded.”
I look away, tears pinching the backs of my eyes. You’re not fit to be a mother.
“Don’t cry, Beau.” Taking my hand, he helps me up from the bed, wiping away the stray tears, his lips straight. He leads us out of his room.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to make us both feel better.” Taking us into his office, he sits down in his big swivel chair and pulls me onto his lap. He slides the remote control from the desk and points it at the screens, and they all come to life at the same time. I expect to see footage from various rooms of his apartment. I don’t. Instead, I see mug shots of men, one on every screen.
“Who are they?” I ask, a chill licking down the length of my spine.
“Those are all the men I have killed.” He snakes a hand onto my tummy and pulls me back, resting his chin on my shoulder.
I swallow, my eyes gliding across the screens slowly, taking in each and every face. All associates of The Bear. I arrive at the final two screens. They’re blank.
“One of them was reserved for the man who covered up your mum’s death.” James clicks a button, and the blank screen is filled.
“Nath,” I breathe, my skin suddenly freezing. “And the other?”
“The other is for the man who ordered it.”
The Bear. James won’t only be getting justice for me—for my mom—he’ll be getting justice for himself. “But no one knows what he looks like,” I say.
“I will soon.”
“What are you going to do, James?”
“I’m going to end this story.”
60
JAMES
Having a private conversation when I’m determined to keep Beau in my sights is tricky. I’ve put her on the couch on the far side of the room and turned on the TV, making sure the surround sound is as loud as can be without raising suspicion. I’m a fool. A total, first-class prick. I accepted that some days ago. I can see by the way she keeps flicking looks across to me where I am in the kitchen that she knows something is about to go down. Plus, I told her I’m about to end this. I need to learn to control my mouth around Beau. But I’m keeping her well out of it. Especially now. While keeping her close, Kel?
My brain spasms as I put in the call, turning my back on Beau so she can’t read my lips, because I know she’ll try. A cop. Of all the women I could fall in love with, I fall in love with a fucking cop. A talented cop. A cop who was destined to become an FBI agent most criminals should fear. And here I am, a criminal, fucking terrified.
He answers, sounding as wary as he should. “Where did that footage come from?” I get straight to the point.
“Fuck you.” And so does he.
I blink slowly, inhaling some patience. “You’re in The Bear’s pocket.”
“Is that what you’re trying to make Beau believe?”
“I didn’t have to try very hard.” I cast my eyes over my shoulder, checking on her. Of course, her eyes are nailed on me. “She trusts me.”
“It’s you who’s in the footage. Fuck, man, are you on another planet?”
Another planet? He’s not far wrong. I feel like I’m in orbit. “I’m in the fucking footage, you moron, because I was trying to fucking save them.” I have to take a few breaths or risk destroying my kitchen in a temper. “But you made sure she didn’t see that bit, didn’t you? I’m coming for you,” I hiss, threat dripping from every word. “Harder than I’ve come for anyone before.” My mind’s reeling, and I slam my phone down harder than I mean to. I turn around and find Beau blinking rapidly. I’d smile, if my face wasn’t straining with fury.
She pops a grape in her mouth, chewing slowly while she regards me. “The end’s going well, then,” she says, looking at me in question. Christ alive, her lightness would be welcome if I didn’t feel so fucking heavy. “Can I help?” she asks, and an unstoppable burst of laughter erupts. But I soon shut my big gob when she looks at me offended. “What’s so funny?” she asks, insulted.
I exhale and stroll over, crouching before her and laying my hand on her tummy. I smile fondly at the flat plane and look up at her. She’s smiling too, and it’s precious. “No,” I say sternly, dropping my smile and stalking back to the kitchen, hearing her huffing as I go. Help me? Someone needs to, but not Beau. “Fuck it,” I whisper. I’m out of options. “Fancy a bath?” I ask.