“Come in,” Danny calls over a chuckle. Oh good. My gorgeous, chuckling god. He’s more amenable than the growling monster, and I need amenable right now. I let myself back in his office. “What’s up, baby?” he asks from behind his desk, looking all powerful and kingly. I never thought I’d see this Danny again. He looks as if he’s never been away. Like he’s slipped back into the role seamlessly. I shake away my resentment, feeling all eyes in the room on me. James, who’s on the couch, Ringo, who’s next to him. Brad is at the desk, with the young guy beside him, and the woman and guy who came in with James and Beau. Goldie and Otto. All quiet. All watching.
“Could I have a minute?”
With one nod from Danny, everyone starts to leave, and I smile, thanking each and every one of them, feeling like a massive inconvenience. “Make arrangements for me to meet this Leon kid,” Danny says, and Brad nods.
I stop James, taking his arm. “You should stay. It involves you too.”
His face falls, his tall body tensing. “Where’s Beau?”
“She’s in the kitchen. She’s fine.” I’m quick to reassure him, shutting the door, placing my attention on my husband and taking a few discreet confidence-boosting breaths. I’m well aware that I don’t have only one man to get through.
Danny leans back in his chair, his fingers laced, resting against his torso, his face expectant, and James goes to the desk, perching on the edge, crossing his jean-clad legs at the ankles, folding his arms, his face interested. It hits me in this moment, standing here before them, who I’m faced with. Two of the deadliest men to walk the planet. I’m not even exaggerating. It’s fact.
I swallow and push on. “I wondered . . . maybe . . .” I move toward the desk, hoping their faces might soften the closer I get. They don’t. “Maybe you’d . . . if . . .” I can’t find the right words, as my brain’s empty. I look at Danny’s desk, searching my mind as I stare at an image of a man. I don’t know who. Probably someone they’re going to bludgeon. “Would it be . . .” I look up. “Could we—”
“No,” Danny says flatly.
“Absolutely not,” James adds.
My shoulders drop as they hold me in place with their deadly glares. “Do you want us to go mad?” I ask, feeling defeated, with not much faith that I can convince them. “Come with us, if you must. Send a chaperone. Put us in bulletproof armor. But please, please, please, can we just go out somewhere?”
“Where?” Danny asks, perplexed, as if he doesn’t get it.
“Shopping. I don’t know, just somewhere other than here, where all there is to do is dwell on things.” I turn my eyes onto James, making sure he’s understanding me.
He snorts. “Beau can’t do busy places.”
“Then we’ll go to the beach. The quiet part,” I say, sounding way too enthusiastic, given I’ve not got a yes, and I don’t look likely to get one either.
“The answer is no,” Danny reiterates firmly. I look at him, hurt, and see the familiar, unmoving man I know too well. “Was that all?”
My eyes drop to the carpet, my small laugh one of disbelief. “That was all,” I say, lifting my chin in an act of strength I’m really not feeling. I flick my eyes to James. He’s on the exact same page as Danny. Same paragraph. Same sentence. Same fucking word.
It’s a no.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you.” I turn away, angry with him, with James, and with myself for the unstoppable sting in my eyes. But mostly angry with Danny. No flex whatsoever. I close the door behind me. “Asshole,” I mutter, wiping at my eyes as I walk down the corridor, emerging into the foyer. I take a moment, sitting on the bottom step, to gather myself before returning to Beau in the kitchen. I can’t tell her what I tried and failed to win for us. There’s no need for us both to feel shitty. Or shittier.
On a sigh that Danny could probably hear from his office, I compose myself and take the gold rail to pull myself up but freeze when his office door opens. I hear his boots hitting the carpet. Then another pair.
They appear side by side, pacing determinedly, and my eyes follow them across the foyer until they’re near. Danny comes to a gradual stop before me. I look up at him in question as James continues past the stairs in the direction of the kitchen. Oh shit. I stand, worried. “He can’t be pissed off with Beau,” I say, ready to go after him. “She didn’t know I was asking for some freedom.”
Danny takes my wrist, halting me, and I turn, ready to order him to call James back. “Sit,” he says softly, lowering to the bottom step, pulling me down with him. He sighs, and it gives mine a run for its money. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, Rose,” he says, looking at me, tortured. “But your safety is topping my priority list.”
“I know,” I breathe, shaking my head at myself. I don’t really have a valid argument. I know of the world outside the enormous, carved wooden doors of this mansion. I lived in it for too long. “I just sat and listened to Beau’s story.” I reach for his hand, squeezing, feeling like I need to hold on to him. “So I understand why they’re here, and I understand why you’re now here too. I want justice for them.” I smile at him. “And if there is anyone in this world who can help them find that, it’s my husband.” I stand and turn into him, straddling his lap on the stairs. I take his cheeks in my hands and kiss his scar, and he exhales, circling my lower back.
“You can leave the mansion,” he says, almost reluctantly, and I pull back, shocked. “There are firm, non-negotiable rules.”
“What?” I’ll do anything.
“I know of your exact movements, if you’re not with me.”
“Done.”
“You will have protection. Always.”
“Done.”
“And this.” He reaches behind his back and presents me with a tidy silver handgun. “In your handbag at all times.”
I look at the pretty accessory. “Okay,” I agree. “And James was okay with it?”
“Like me, James doesn’t want to be resented by the woman he loves. You know I’m not comfortable with this, Rose. But I also know I can’t lock you up forever.” He places a gentle kiss on my lips. Forever? “You’ll be vigilant. I know your instincts are second to none. If anything is off, you act on it. Am I making myself clear?”
I answer him with a massive, appreciative hug. I’m not stupid. I know when I’m in danger. It’s the advantage I have after spending most of my life fighting for my life. “Thank you.”
He lifts from the stairs with me still attached to his front, reaching back to pull my arms away. He holds out my hand and places the gun in my palm, and I watch his face twist. He’s hating this. Hating that he’s having to go to these lengths. It’s as clear as day that it physically pains him. “I love you,” he whispers.
“Said no man ever while handing over a lethal weapon to his wife,” I reply lightly, trying to soften his mood.
He huffs lightly, kisses my forehead, and wanders back to his office, and I watch him go, seeing the weight he’s carrying on his shoulders. “The kid said he’s asked for jet ski lessons so he can beat you before he turns fifteen,” I call.