Yes, what did . . .
It hits me, and I inhale, standing back, an unstoppable shudder coursing through me. “He raped her,” I say quietly.
James’s jaw has gone into spasm, his hand shaking as he carries the glass to his mouth, his eyes glazing. “I found her in an alleyway beaten black and blue. I intervened, gave him a few digs, but he got away.”
A few digs? I bet. My jaw starts twitching wildly too. I need to contain James and myself. “Fuck,” I hiss, discarding my glass and going to the door, swinging it open. I don’t know much, but I do know time isn’t on our side right now. I can’t sit and wait for him to be brought to my office. “No one touches him,” I warn, making my way to the entrance of my house, swinging the door open. Len is just coming up the steps, two rough-looking fuckers tailing him, and between them, a pitiful looking bloke with scraggy hair and a scrawny body. Inappropriately, I imagine the fucker trying to get handy with Goldie now. She’d crush him. And, God help me, I want to see that. “Get him back in the car,” I order curtly, making the two guys stop in their tracks.
“What?” one asks, looking mighty inconvenienced. He has nothing on me. “We were told to bring him here.”
Jesus, Conner is one efficient man, I’ll give him that, but I gave him explicit instructions for a fucking reason. “It’s my wedding day, and I made a promise to my wife I’d be conducting no business. If you two fuckers make me break that promise, I won’t think twice about setting her on you.”
“Who are you?” Brunelli demands, his bony face twisting. “Why the fuck am I here?” He bucks and wriggles, yelling his protest, and I feel my nostrils flare, anger rising.
“Get him in the fucking car,” I hiss, looking back at the house, checking the coast is clear.
They start to back up, and I see James in my side vision moving in. I throw my arm out to stop him passing, facing him, forcing him to look at me. “He’s Goldie’s,” I remind him, hoping the words cut through the red mist. “Tomorrow, he’s Goldie’s.”
Otto lends a hand, taking James’s arm and easing him back. “Come on, Kel,” he says.
“Get Leon,” I say to Brad, and he goes straight to his phone as Len ushers the men back into their car with Brunelli. “Anyone got eyes on Rose?”
“I’ll go,” James says, backing away, being sensible, leaving me to deal with this.
“Leon’s on his way,” Brad calls, just as the kid himself darts around the corner, Jerry plodding along as fast as he can behind him.
“Rose and Beau are suspicious,” he says, slightly out of breath. “What’s going on?”
“Len’s gonna drive you to the boatyard.” I put my hand out, and a gun lands in my palm courtesy of Ringo. I pick up Leon’s hand and put it in his grasp. “The guy in the car, the skinny fucker, I want you to put him in a container, you got that?”
He stares down at the gun, mesmerized. “Got it, D-boss.”
“Only shoot him if it’s you or him, okay? We need him alive.”
Leon nods, and I gently push him toward the car, giving Len a nod. He knows what to do. “Now, can I get back to my wedding?”
“Yes, please do,” Rose says, making every hair on the back of my neck rise. Shit. I throw Conner’s men a dark look, and they speed up their departure, looking past me full of caution.
“I need the restroom,” Brad says, making a hasty getaway.
“Yeah, me too,” Ringo grunts, following.
“Wait for me,” Otto calls, leaving me alone with Rose.
I look up to the heavens for some backup, before pulling a smile from nowhere and facing her. She’s a fucking vision, a blazing, beautiful vision in red, and everything about her gown sets my insides alight. “Baby,” I purr, arms out, beckoning her to me.
She doesn’t entertain me. “You’re in trouble, Black.”
I pout. “It wasn’t my fault.” I start to plead my innocence, daring to get closer. “I swear, it was unexpected. I’ve sent them away. I’ll deal with it another time.”
She looks past me to the cars driving away. “Who was it?”
I decide to tell the truth, even if, selfishly, it’s tactical. “It was the man who raped Goldie.”
As expected, she looks at me in horror. “What?”
I shrug. “James asked me to find him. I asked an associate in London to look into it. Turns out the guy was in Panama.” I thumb over my shoulder. “I only found out this morning. I didn’t think they’d turn up with him today.”
“What are you going to do?”
I have no idea why she’s asking. Given my history, she knows full well what happens to a rapist if they’re unfortunate enough to cross my path. Admittedly, I would have taken the greatest of pleasure in ending him, might have even risked the wrath of my wife on our special day to do it. But Brunelli is Goldie’s demon to end. Not mine. Not James’s. “What am I going to do?” I ask, swooping in and claiming her, feeling her soften in my arms. “Nothing.”
Her suspicion is warranted as she leans back, letting me kiss her front, from her throat to her belly. “I don’t believe you.”
“He’s not my demon, baby.” I look up at her. “She doesn’t know we’ve found him yet. Let’s keep it that way.” Goldie, the uptight she-warrior, is as carefree as I’ve ever seen her. She needs that. Uninterrupted time to let her hair down, wear a dress, and drink without fear of attack.
Rose smiles, her compassion and understanding shining through. It’s just another reason why I’m infatuated with her. “She’s like another woman.” She takes my arms, squeezing my biceps as I haul her back up. “I need to give you your gift.”
“Anything to do with the big crate out back that’s covered in sheeting?”
“You saw it?”
“You can’t miss it.” I throw an arm over her shoulder and lead her to where I know it to be. “I bet it’s not an ice sculpture,” I quip, my face straight, earning an elbow in my side. I have to admit, though, I’m dead curious about what this illusive ice sculpture actually is.
“Are you ready?” she asks, breaking free from me and taking the edge of the cover.
I slip my hands into my pockets, relaxed, smiling on the inside at her excitement. “Ready,” I confirm, and she whips off the cover revealing a live-sized imitation of my jet ski. I let out a puff of laughter, as I wander around it, taking in the incredible detail. It’s all accounted for, the art, the streamline curves, even the controls on the handlebars. I smile, reaching the back and dropping to my haunches, finding what I knew I would.
Danny.
Just Danny.
Because that is who I am to Rose. Not The Brit. Not The Angel-faced Assassin. Not Mister, Kid, a monster, or a murderer.
Just . . . Danny.
Ironic that my actual ski is probably still smoking as I stare at a frozen version of my machine. I rise again, doing another lap, taking in the detail, how it sparkles, my hand running over the ice. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing. Like a massive fucking diamond.
I would admire it all day if . . .
I peek at Rose, and the subtle concave of her chest tells me she’s read my mind. I jerk my head in order, and she drops the cover, sauntering over, slipping the top half of her dress off and pushing it to her waist, and as soon as she’s within reach, I seize her. “Consummation?” I whisper, making her bite her lip through a small grin.