He inhales, the distorter muffling. “Okay.”
He’s weighed up his options, and it didn’t take long. My offer is the best he’ll get. He knows that, and I can’t keep dodging death, because there will come a time when it won’t be dodged. “There’s a green container at my boatyard. I’m sure you know where it is. He’ll be in there at seven tomorrow morning. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Why the change of heart?”
I look at the door where my family is beyond. I see Daniel. See my wife sleeping peacefully in our bed in St. Lucia. She hasn’t slept like that since we got here. Uninterrupted. All through the night. And I see the image in my mind of my baby on the monitor. But I don’t need my enemies knowing I have another Achilles heel on the way.
I don’t answer, hanging up and staring at the painting hanging over my safe. I walk across and pull it down, turning the dial until it clicks open. I reach in and pull out a VP9, checking the magazine before replacing it, getting the painting back on the wall just as Daniel bursts into my office. “It’s time, Mister.”
“On my way, kid.”
22
ROSE
* * *
The dress is my taste, and it’s what I like. Just enough flesh revealed and off the shoulder. My tall body feels comfortable in the floor-sweeping, figure-hugging silk gown, and the shade of red is not whore red. It’s classy red. It’s not tarty.
Because I’m not a tart anymore.
I love it. Danny will love it, and, more than that, he will love what me in this dress symbolizes.
Freedom.
It represents control, but not being controlled. Ironic, really, since my love for Danny absolutely rules me. But not him. He will never control me. And to pay homage to the fact that no man will ever control me again, I’m standing outside the tent alone, just as Danny said I would. In my long red gown. That I chose all by myself.
I smile, brushing my bare hands down the silk. No flowers. Empty hands because I don’t need to cling to anything anymore. Clinging suggests a fear of it being taken away. Nothing will be taken from me. Not this day. Not my beautiful son, who I saw walking back down the aisle once he’d seen me and blown me a kiss. God, I love that kid.
Not my beloved, death-dealing groom, who texted me a picture of the queen of hearts half hour ago.
I approach the pergola arching the entrance on steady legs. The smell of honeysuckle is potent. The entire inside space comes into my sights, but I see nothing except him, his back to me, his tall, dangerous body adorned in the finest black suit, his dark hair still on the longer side, small locks flicking out here and there. My masterpiece. Deadly in every sense of the word.
Only when Nina Simone’s I put a Spell on You starts does he look over his shoulder, a wry smile on his insanely handsome face. A small laugh escapes me as everyone else turns to see me.
“I’ll ask this only once,” Danny calls, his face full of expectancy as his whole body turns leisurely to face me. “Do you want to be mine?”
My heart constricts but feels like it bursts all at the same time. Could I love him more? “I want to be yours.”
“Then what the fuck are you doing just standing there, woman?” he asks, making Father McMahon balk a little and everyone else laugh. And so he sets the tone for our wedding, lifting his hand for me to go to him, which I do. There’s no lazy, lengthened wander down the aisle. No taking my time for people to take me in. If I wasn’t in heels, I’d probably sprint to him, but I am, so I take a safer walk, reaching him in no time, with still virtually the whole track to play. He takes my hand and tugs me into his body, putting his mouth to my ear. “You. Are. Exquisite,” he whispers, starting to sway us, turning us in circles, pulling back to get me in his sights. And so is he. Trimmed, even stubble, his scar prominent, his eyes bright with happiness rather than coldness. I’m one of only three people in this world who gets this side of Danny Black. Soon, it will be four people.
He is oblivious to Father McMahon and the congregation watching and waiting. “Tell me you love me,” he says.
“I love you.”
“Tell me you trust me.”
“I trust you.”
“Tell me you’re happy.”
I laugh, and he nudges me for an answer, his smirk matching mine. “I’m so, so, so happy.” I link my arms over his shoulders, lacing my fingers together on his nape.
“I think you’re crazy,” he murmurs.
“I think you’re mine,” I reply.
“I think you’re beautiful.”
“I think you’re mine.”
“I think I hate you more than I’ve ever hated you before.”
I circle his nose. “I think you’re mine,” I whisper back.
“Do I have a choice?”
I take his hand and lay it over my stomach. “What do you think?”
His smile is one of those smiles that doesn’t fit his deadly persona, as he looks at my stomach. “I think you want a crazy, murdering, depraved arse to be your baby daddy.”
I laugh, and it’s unstoppable. “Whose name is Danny Black.”
“Whose name is Danny Black,” he confirms. “You ready?”
I nod, looking past him, seeing Beau sitting close to James, her palm resting on his thigh, his hand covering hers. Her smile is small but there. Her damaged arm covered. My happiness suddenly feels so incredibly wrong, and my heart breaks for my friend, especially when she mildly shakes her head at me, silently willing me not to feel sorry for her. Impossible. I feel like I’m standing here with everything I never dared dream of, while Beau continues her battle to comes to terms with what she has lost.
23
JAMES
* * *
I have never in my life been to a wedding, but I’m pretty sure this is not how they’re done. Then again, I’ve not been living in a normal world for some time, least of all now. Regardless, it was a beautiful service. It was personal, almost private, and as I sat there with Beau close to my side watching Danny and Rose doing their thing, oblivious to the small congregation of family and friends, all I could think about was how hopeless I feel. I’ve experienced pain of unthinkable levels, but knowing Beau is hurting for reasons other than her mother’s death and her uncle’s betrayal is raw agony. The former I can and plan on fixing. The latter I have no clue how to right. And the helplessness only emphasizes the rage inside. I need to channel that energy before it consumes me.
There’s one grand round table in the room. One table seating everyone. This isn’t a big wedding in the sense of guests, but colossal in the sense of lavishness and expense. It’s like an elaborate dinner party with friends. The food—all eight courses—was, as expected, exceptional. Oysters to start. I know that was personal too, especially when Danny made a public display of feeding them to Rose and begged her not to chew. The silver service staff has cleared the tables and pretty much all of us are resting back in our chairs, full to the brim with good food and wine.
I feel Beau’s palm stroking circles across my back, like she’s getting comfort from my scars, and my eyes fall to her arm. I don’t know if it’s a negative or positive thing that it’s covered again. I reach for her hand and peel her fingers from the wine glass, bringing it to my mouth and kissing the back for no other reason other than wanting to show her some love. Show her that my need to be close hasn’t waned. That I love her with every fucked-up, murdering fiber of my being. Always will. And yet I might have to accept that she will never marry me, because I can’t keep the fact that I murdered Dexter a secret forever. I know that.