“Why are you saying that like I needed your permission?” she asks, her tone even. She turns the page again, all casual and unflustered. I look out the corner of my eye to Beau. She’s doing a shit job of concealing her smile, dragging her glass closer and pushing the rim to her lips in attempt to hide her amusement.
I was expecting a bit of gratitude. I should have known better. “Because you do need my permission, but if you’d rather go without . . .” I detach my front from her back and push her empty glass toward the tattooed-covered barman.
“I wouldn’t,” she blurts, flying around on her stool and circling my midriff with her arms, squeezing her head to my chest. “Thank you, master.”
Beau snorts over her wine glass, and I give her a warning look that goes right over her pretty blonde head. I don’t know what she’s so tickled pink about. I might have agreed to a party, but James hasn’t agreed to let her join in the celebrations. “Don’t push me, Rose.”
She looks up at me, her face accusing. It throws me. “So when were you going to tell me that Hiatus is full of semi-naked women?”
“Hiatus is a strip club,” I say coolly. “Perfect place for a bachelorette party.”
“What?”
“I thought Friday night would work.”
“The night before our wedding?” She balks at me. “I don’t want a hangover on my big day.”
“Then don’t get drunk.”
“Danny—”
“It’s that or nothing, Rose,” I say, making her nostrils flare. She knows the deal. She knows she can’t go parading around town on a night out. What does she expect from me?
“And what about you?” she asks.
“What about me?”
“Are you having a bachelor party?”
I shrug, unbothered. “I’ll have a few drinks with the boys.”
Her shoulders drop, all fight leaving her. “Here. On Friday night too.”
“Yes. Come on, we’re going for dinner.” I nod toward Beau, indicating that I mean all four of us.
“Where?”
“A little Italian place in the center of Miami.” I quirk a brow at Rose, and her jaw drops open. “Rose and I had one of our first dates there.”
“Awww,” Beau coos.
“Yes,” Rose breathes, her expression full of sarcasm. It’s a sign of what might come next. “Danny murdered a man for appetizers, threatened to kill me during the main course, and then butchered an old enemy for dessert. It was so romantic.”
I grin as Beau laughs, completely unfazed. “My first date with James was at the opera. He handcuffed me to a chair in a box and left me there while he disappeared to murder a corrupt judge.” She toasts the air and finishes the last inch of her wine. “Where is he, anyway?”
I look over my shoulder and see him striding this way, and I break away from the girls to meet him. “Cooled off?” I ask.
“If you want Spittle alive, father or son, I suggest you make sure I’m not around when they’re brought to you.”
“Noted. See that guy behind me?”
James cranes his neck, looking over my shoulder. “The one who’s as wide as the bar?”
“That’s the one. Tank. I figured Goldie might have a problem with any further requests to watch them, so I’ve outsourced. There’s one for you too.” I point across the room to Fury, and James looks.
“You trust them?”
I see Brad emerge from the corridor with Nolan and wave them over. “He checks out.” The others arrive. “I’m taking Tank,” I inform Brad. “And what can you tell me about his brother?”
“He’s got fists like boulders, and it’s alleged he’s bulletproof.”
“His story?”
“Served time with his brother.”
“Cozy,” I murmur, taking in the unit before turning to James. “You good?”
“Good.”
“I’m going to need to replace them,” Nolan pipes up.
“Then replace them,” Brad says, pulling Nolan toward the bar, talking quietly.
James leaves me and heads for Fury, motioning him to a nearby booth to talk. That’s one issue sorted. I absolutely cannot be worrying about where and when my wife might turn up. I pull my phone out and go to the settings, shaking my head to myself at her sneakiness as I turn off the location sharing feature, looking at her as I do, waiting for the notification to drop on her phone. All I can see is Tank. But then Rose’s head slowly appears, craning around his big body. Her face. It’s thunder. I blow her a kiss, happy with myself, and lift a foot to join her o—
What the fuck?
Time slows to practically nothing, like one of those bad dreams that drag and drag and torture you by keeping you there, as I watch a group of men enter the bar, all lined up, all sneering, all looking pumped up on power. Fuck! The guns in their grasps all rise, and I swing my eyes to the bar, seeing the first signs of real movement from Tank.
“Incoming!” I bellow, reaching to the back of my trousers and pulling my gun, ducking at the sound of the first shot. It’s not from me.
“Fuck!” Brad dives over the bar for cover, resting the nose of his gun on the wood, firing constantly as bottles on the optics shatter above him.
“Jesus Christ.” I aim and fire, taking one of the men down, aim, fire, taking a second, my attention split between the gang and the bar.
“Get down,” Tank yells to the women, moving fast, getting a grip of a nearby table and ripping it from the floor, the bolts holding it in place surrendering easily with a ping. He puts himself back in front of the women, holding the metal tabletop before him like a huge fucking shield.
Thank fuck.
“Danny!”
At the roar of my name, I instinctively drop to the floor and look up, just as another of the men is taken out. He flies back, hitting the deck.
“Stay down!” James yells, and I roll to my back to get him in my sights. He’s stalking toward me, firing left and right, popping off men like coconuts off a shy. I see Ringo under a table, his lip curled as he shoots, and Otto with his back to a speaker, reloading.
James stops a few feet away from me, his gun still poised, his eyes darting. I turn over, checking the club. And then I see him. Backing out of the door, a sneer bigger than Miami coating his familiar face.
“What the fuck?” I whisper, starting to get up, my boiling blood starting to fry my veins. I stare at the entrance, struck.
No. It can’t be.
“Where the fuck is Beau?” James roars, snapping me out of my trance.
I slowly turn my eyes onto Tank, who’s gingerly lowering his shield. The relief that courses through me when he reveals Rose and Beau hunched on their stools over the bar, arms over their heads, is rampant. Rose turns and cautiously frees her head, peeking up at me. She nods at me and exhales, taking Beau’s arm and shaking her. “Beau?”
She doesn’t move, and my heart races as James sprints full-pelt toward her, taking her body gently and firmly. “Beau?”
She looks up at him, her eyes wide. “I’m okay,” she says, her voice croaky. Her words don’t satisfy him, and he starts patting her all over, lifting her shirt, checking her legs. “James, I’m fine.”