I come on a strained bawl, my groin slapping against the backs of her thighs, and I snap my eyes open, blinking repeatedly, my stomach muscles clenching. Her stifled yell signals the end for Beau too, and I collapse forward, practically bending her in half, battling for air. “Jesus,” I whisper, my face finding its place in her sweaty neck. “You okay?”
She hums, sounding sated and happy, her thighs limp around my torso. “Were you hoping someone would walk in on us?”
I lift, getting her in my sights. She’s staring at the ceiling, panting, so I nuzzle her cheek to win her attention. She looks so drowsy. Spent. “I don’t feel the need to be seen anymore.” I kiss her hard and deep, with all the passion I feel for her and her alone. “So long as you see me.”
“I see you.” She bites my lip harshly, dragging it through her teeth, and I hum, eyes on hers until my flesh pops free. “Is there any news on Dexter?”
The biggest passion killer, if ever there was one. “No.” I slip out and dip from between her legs, pulling a Kleenex from the box on Danny’s desk and wiping her clean before pulling her leggings back up. “There’s been no breakthrough.” My mind is feeding words to my mouth, and I have no control over them. Getting Dexter’s body back was a priority. Then we found out Spittle’s son heads up the bank where Beau’s mother held the safety deposit box and the Russian’s ambushed Hiatus. Naturally, the latter two moved to the top of our priority list.
I pull Beau up and help her get her sports bra back down. “Come on.” I dip and start collecting up the few things I swiped from Danny’s desk, and Beau joins me.
“Who’s this?” she asks, collecting up the photograph of Spittle and his family, studying it.
“That’s no one.” I plunk it from her grasp and slide it onto the desk, and then take her hand, leading her from the office.
“Sure it is,” she mutters.
I ignore her and bypass the kitchen to pick up the master key from Esther, and by the time we make it to Lawrence’s room, Beau is silently apprehensive. I unlock the door but when I try to open it, it doesn’t budge. “Lawrence?” I call, putting some weight behind me. “He’s pushed something against the door.”
“What?”
I strain, pushing my shoulder into the wood. “For fuck’s sake.”
“Lawrence!” Beau yells, starting to panic. “Lawrence, let us in!” She starts banging on the wood next to my head. “Lawrence!”
Her urgency fuels my own, but for the life of me, I can’t get the fucking door to move. What the fuck has he put behind it? “When was Doc here?” I ask her.
“Earlier.”
“Need help?”
I look down the corridor, seeing Fury emerging from his room. “Yes, get this door open.” I kick it with my boot, pulling Beau out of the way of the bull that’s about to charge.
“Hurry,” Beau orders, frantic, her voice cracking. “Please, hurry.”
“Hey.” I spin her into my chest, holding her close. I look at Fury over Beau’s head, my eyes telling him to get it done, and get it done fast. Something’s not right. “It’s fine. I’m sure it’s fine.”
Fury backs up as far as the corridor will allow, and he stomps forward fast, his shoulder meeting the wood with a deafening bang. The door doesn’t budge and, as inappropriate as it is, I’m relieved, because if the unit that is Fury is struggling, I don’t need to lift those extra weights as I thought. He looks across at me on a frown, obviously thinking along the same lines as me. What the fuck is behind the door?
“Bro?” Tank rumbles, appearing at the end of the corridor.
Yes. Two battering rams. And if they can’t shift the door, I’m going to have to break a window and climb up the face of the house.
“Help me,” Fury orders, waiting for his brother to join him. They run at the door like rhinos, crashing into it, knocking it off its hinges. A collection of bangs sound from inside the room as Fury takes the door and lifts it out of the doorway, propping it up against the wall. A pile of furniture greets us, wardrobes, chests, chairs.
“What the fuck?” Tank mutters, walking through the heap, shifting it aside, like a snow plough clearing a blocked road.
“Oh my God, what?” Beau breathes. “What is it?” She tries to go after him, but I grab her, a nasty feeling falling.
“Beau.” I pull her back, looking to Fury. “Get Doc,” I order, and he stomps off at a steady jog. “Wait here.” I give Beau eyes to suggest the consequences will be dire if she ignores me.
“Fuck you, James.” She dips, dodging my reaching hand, disappearing into the room. “Oh my God, no!”
“Fucking hell,” I hear Tank gasp.
I’m in the room like a bullet, and find Lawrence on the bed with a plastic bag over his head, his lifeless body surrounded with pill pots.
“No!” Beau screams.
“Shit. Get that bag off!” I grab her and haul her out of the room. “Rose!” I yell, restraining Beau’s flailing arms and legs. I don’t even know if Rose is up here. “Rose! Beau, calm down.” I hear footsteps up ahead, and Rose appears with Esther, both out of breath. “Rose, please, take her,” I beg as Beau wails and screams in my arms, hitting my chest repeatedly.
“What’s happened?” she asks, racing down the corridor, her face horrified by the state of Beau. “Beau, babe, come on. Come with me.” Rose looks at me, alarmed, eyes questioning, and I turn my stare toward Lawrence’s bedroom. Rose gasps, catching sight of Beau’s uncle. “Shit, fuck. Okay. Beau, I need you to come with me.” Rose doesn’t let Beau’s fighting body deter her, grappling with her arms, enduring the constant, deranged hits. “Beau, listen to me,” Rose shouts, and Beau stills, but her breathing is shot. She looks up at her friend on a despairing sob. “He’s going to be okay,” Rose says, leading a now compliant Beau to her room. “I promise.” She looks at Esther, who watches on, stunned. “Will you make sure Daniel’s okay?”
Translated: Keep the child away from the fucking carnage happening all over this house.
I blow out my cheeks, dragging my palms down my face. He’s going to be okay. I think Rose just made a promise she can’t keep. “Fuck,” I yell, punching the door that the twins just charged down, knocking it to the floor. I brace myself, trying to get my head on straight. Beau’s being taken care of. Now . . .
I stalk toward the bed, seeing Tank with his ear to Lawrence’s mouth, his fingertips on his wrist. “Well?”
“He’s breathing but has a weak pulse.”
I exhale, relieved, scanning the scene and trying to assess exactly what we’re dealing with. Endless pill pots. Photos scattered everywhere. “I’m here,” Doc announces, racing in with his case, Fury following with another two hefty bags of equipment. “Oh goodness.” He gets to work immediately while Tank and I stand back, useless. I haven’t seen Lawrence for weeks. He was a slight man, all arms and legs, but the weight loss is dramatic, his limbs now bony. It’s a shocking sight, and one I take absolutely no pleasure from.
I force my eyes away and start pacing the room, wanting to get back to Beau so much, but not without the news I know she’ll need. Doc won’t insist on a hospital. He knows that isn’t possible, both Danny and I made that clear when we brought the retired doctor into our world, and he accepted on the condition that we provided everything he could possibly need for every eventuality. He got it.