“Tell me something,” he says, watching his glass as the waiter tops him up again. I wait silently for him to go on. “Do you want to come back to life?”
I smile. “If my wife asks, no.”
“Your wife isn’t asking. I am.”
“It never leaves you,” I say, leaning forward. “You think you’re going to kill your enemies and disappear off into the sunset and set up a life with Beau?” I huff, relaxing back, taking another drag of my cigarette. “There’s always someone who’ll want to exact their revenge. Someone who’ll want you dead. I’m living proof, and I’m supposed to be dead and fucking gone from this world.” Brad was right. He once told me that you don’t walk away from this life. You can’t. “Spittle tried to kill my best friend. My cousin. He did that for a reason, and we both know what that reason is.” I give him a dark smile. “I’m not the kind of man to wait around for the danger to find me.” I’ll find it. And kill it.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
I cock my head, looking down at the beach. I can’t see Rose. But I always see her. “It’s going to be messy,” I say, not telling him anything he doesn’t already know. Besides, I’ve seen him kill a man. Neither of us do things by halves, but there will be plenty of men to get through before we find who we need.
“I know nothing else,” James says, tipping his drink to his lips.
“I never did extend my condolences.”
“For what?” he asks, as I catch his jaw starting to pulse. “The massacre of my family? My baby? Or the attempted murder of my fiancée?”
“All of it.”
“I don’t want condolences.” He sneers into his glass. “I want retribution.”
I like this man more and more, and I am not the type of man to like a man. Only very few have ever had the honor of my approval. But James? He’s understatedly immoral. And he’s enamored by a fucked-up woman.
It reminds me of someone I used to know.
Still know.
“You haven’t had kids.” James looks up at me, and my drink falters at my lips.
“No.” It’s time to show him something of who Rose and I were. Who we might be again soon. “Rose was planted on me by an old enemy. Blackmailed to do everything he demanded, or her son would be killed. Probably her too.”
“She has a kid?”
“When she was fifteen after being repeatedly raped by any man who desired her.” My stomach turns, churning up the anger that lays sleeping in the pit of my stomach. “She had a boy. It was a rough birth.” I shrug, like it’s nothing, when it’s every fucked-up thing. “She can’t carry anymore.”
“You saved her,” James says with absolutely no emotion.
I fix my stare on him. “We saved each other. Sound familiar?”
He smiles, though it’s mild. “And the kid?”
“I found him. He’s thirteen now. Lives with his parents in Miami. He visits.”
“And they’re okay with that?”
“They don’t have much choice. They bought the kid on the black market. They’re lucky to be alive.”
“I was talking about you. They’re okay with him spending time with you?”
“They don’t know who I am. I’m Daniel’s biological mother’s husband, who she met after moving to St Lucia.”
“So what does he call you?”
“Mister.” I smile, and I know it’s fond. Daniel’s a good kid. Smart, polite, accepting. I only wish I could give Rose more of him, but we’re real. His parents are all he’s ever known. His education is important. So is stability. Hilary and Derek give him that.
“What’s your plan?” James asks, getting us back to business.
“First I’ll take Byron’s Reach. If there’s anything going into Miami, it’ll go through there.”
“Take it how?”
“With force.”
“And The Bear? How do you propose we get to him?”
“We put some piranhas in his pond.” I roll the glowing red tip of my cigarette around the edge of the ashtray.
“Smoke him out.”
“And kill him,” I whisper, my tone as deadly as I feel.
“Is that the end?”
“There’s no end when you’re in this world.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, if we go back to Miami, we set the bar. You don’t walk away from the bar. You defend it, or you die. You need to be prepared for that. It’s what you get for being prolific.” When the waiter comes over, I take the two bottles from his tray before sending him on his way and topping us both up. “So the question is, James, are we going back to Miami?”
His eyes darken. “We’re going back to Miami.” Holding his glass across the table, he turns his stare onto me. “I’m prepared for anything.”
I’ve seen many killers in my time. The one with the most vengeance in his stare was the one I looked at in the mirror every day. I could be looking in the mirror now, seeing an equal swirl of darkness and hate.
“To revenge.” I hit my glass with his and throw back my drink, getting a flash of white in my peripheral vision. Rose is approaching, her feet bare, coated in sand. But no Beau.
She reaches the table and drops her heels to the ground, setting a hand on my shoulder to hold herself as she bends to dust off her feet. I turn my face into it and kiss her wedding ring, before laying my hand over hers. Rose catches James’s questioning face. “She—”
“Wanted to feel the last bit of the sun on her face,” James whispers, almost sadly, sinking back in his chair. “I’ve known what that woman has needed from the moment I set eyes on her,” he says without looking at Rose, his gaze on the break in the wall that leads down to the beach. “Now . . .?” He stands, and my eyes lift with him. “I need the restroom.” Striding off, he pulls his phone from his back pocket, dialing on his way. He’s a lost man. And again, I know exactly how he feels. Women do that to you. Fog your senses. Make you question your instinct.
“Are you ready to go?” I ask Rose, waving for the bill.
“I need the ladies’.” She dips and kisses my forehead, and I smile, watching her go, leaving me alone at the table. Until Beau appears from the beach.
Approaching slowly, her sandals dangling from her fingertips of her cast adorned arm, she takes in my seated form.
“Restrooms,” I say before she can ask. “Sit.” I motion to the chair opposite, and Beau takes it, never looking away from me. I see the same resilience in her as I do Rose. The same fight. She’s simply lost her way momentarily. “Can I ask you something?” I look over my shoulder, a solid indicator to Beau that this isn’t something I want my wife to hear. Not until I know what the answer is, because it could change things significantly and, frankly, I don’t want to give Rose hope that’s wasted.
Beau doesn’t answer, leaving me to go on.
“You used to be a cop.”
“Yes. And now I’m the girlfriend of a murderer.”
“There are worse things you could be.” I feel my lip quirk, but Beau’s face remains eternally impassive.