“Should I kill him?”
“What?”
“Should I—”
“No, you shouldn’t kill him. Why would you ask that?”
“Because I’m pretty sure that’s what James would tell me to do.”
I close my eyes, my meltdown very real. Not only because Fury is right. “Fucking hell.” All is suddenly very clear. This is a trap. A ploy. A joint effort to reel me back into Ollie’s affections. “We need to leave.”
“Stay there,” Fury orders, one arm moving out to hold me behind him, the other remaining under his suit jacket where his gun is holstered.
“You don’t need your gun, Fury.”
“You might know him, but I don’t.”
“He’s an FBI Agent.”
“And James is a mass murderer so I’ll take my chances, thanks. Ready?”
Oh God.
“Beau?” Dad’s voice comes at me from the side, and I cautiously peek at him.
“Why?” I ask. “Why would you do this?”
“Do what?”
He astounds me at every turn. Is he that thick-skinned? I move out from behind Fury and face the situation. My ex.
Ollie raises a hand in hello, but his eyes are set firmly on my muscle-bound guard. I can only imagine the conversations between my father and Ollie. It’s worrying. Ollie was there when Dexter held me at gunpoint. He heard what was said, and in a moment of panic, I try my hardest to remember exactly what that was. And if Ollie was even conscious when it was said. I can’t be sure. I can’t recall. It was a frantic situation, most of it a blur, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in The Brit’s mansion. But what I can be sure of are the damaging statements that Ollie flung around when I broke my wrist. Dad definitely heard that. So now what? They’ve formed an alliance?
“Why did you bring Ollie here?”
Dad recoils, moving closer, his neck craning to see the bottom of the stairs. “Ollie?” He smiles immediately. “What a nice surprise.”
God, give me strength, does he actually expect me to buy his horseshit? “Dad, give me some credit.” I move forward, but quickly get tugged back by Fury, obviously getting too close for his liking. His hand’s still on his gun, his eyes still resting on my ex. He doesn’t break his stare, simply shaking his head, and because I trust him, and perhaps because I want my dad and ex to come out of this alive, I listen, remaining where I am.
“Beau, darling.” Dad comes to me, arms open. “I had nothing to do with this.”
“Then why is he here?” I look to Ollie, for the first time noting how forlorn he appears.
“I saw Tom this afternoon,” he says. “I asked after you, of course, and he mentioned your dinner plans. Since you’re not taking my calls and I can’t seem to get close to you . . .” He turns his eyes onto Fury, who moves in closer to me, his massive chest pressing into my shoulders. “Beau, I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but—”
“Is it that man?” Dad pipes in. “Are you talking about that man? James?” Dad comes to me. “Has he hurt you again?”
“No, and I’m not in any trouble,” I grate, going to the table and grabbing my purse. “Everyone needs to stop interfering.”
The panic on Dad’s face as he rushes to me pierces my heart. “Beau, don’t go. We were having such a lovely time.”
“I’ll call you,” I say passing him, just as an almighty bang comes from upstairs. “Oh fuck,” I whisper. The sound of charging men pounding through the restaurant is deafening, and he crashes down the stairs like a wrecking ball, landing at the bottom, armed, his face nothing short of raw, burning rage. And as if James wasn’t enough, Danny speeds down behind him. Both are in workout gear. What the hell is going on? I watch, pensive, as James’s gun swings back and forth from my father to Ollie, as if he can’t quite decide who to kill first.
“What on earth?” Dad cries, arms held in the air, moving back.
Ollie remains silent, backing up into a wall, watchful eyes on James, whose breathing is off-the-charts heavy. I would like to think the mere fact that my ex is here isn’t a good enough reason for James to be charging in on my dinner with Dad, brandishing a gun. But I know James. He hates Ollie. Yet something isn’t sitting right, and with Danny backing him up?
“What’s going on?” I ask, splitting my attention between them. “Why are you here?” Neither appear prepared to talk, both silent, both looking pretty fucking murderous. “James?”
He doesn’t look at me, his focus elsewhere. What is he thinking? For a man who’s been encouraging me to make amends with my father, he’s not exactly helping matters.
“Fine,” I snap, pushing my way past them, done with this. With them. I get two steps up before I’m hauled back and pulled into James’s chest, his gun now set on Ollie.
“You take your hands off my daughter!” Dad bellows.
“Dad,” I breathe, willing him to shut the hell up. Now is not the time to wield his ego. “Please.”
“What are you thinking, Beau?” he goes on, waving a hand at James, deranged. He looks at Danny. “And who the hell is this? His partner in crime? Another wannabe gangster?”
Oh Jesus. Dad really doesn’t want to know who this is. He doesn’t want to know anything. “James is not a gangster.” He’s a murderer. An assassin. He’s The Enigma, and I know my father will have heard of him because his dead wife was chasing him down before he left her for another woman.
“That there is Danny Black. Better known as The Brit,” Ollie says, his face unmoving, as if he’s heard the whispers of Danny’s resurrection. “And him,” he goes on, turning his eyes onto James. “There’s no record on him. Nothing. Nowhere.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Danny asks, moving forward threateningly. “Inspector Gadget?”
“Danny, please,” I beg, feeling James’s white-hot gaze on the back of my head. “He means no harm.”
“Do you, Ollie?” James asks, his voice ice. “Do you mean any harm?”
“I’m not standing around listening to this. Seeing this,” Dad yells, yanking his jacket off the back of his chair, his disappointed gaze landing on me. He has no right to feel disappointed, and yet it still stings. “This is absurd.” He stalks away without another word, and I watch, annoyingly disheartened. “This isn’t the last you’ll hear from me,” he yells back. “I’ll have you thrown in jail.”
Danny’s suddenly moving fast, and he seizes my dad, throwing him against the wall, wedging the gun in his cheek.
“Danny,” I yell, scrambling to get free from James’s tight hold and failing.
“This is definitely the last we’ll hear from you, Mr. Hayley,” Danny whispers menacingly, moving his hand to Dad’s throat. My father’s eyes widen and fear falls into them.
“Danny, stop.”
“The only reason,” he hisses, “you’re not dying now”—Danny moves the gun to my father’s temple, and Dad flinches—“is because you’re Beau’s father, and I have a really fucking annoying fondness for your daughter.” He shoves him away. “So fuck off before I misplace my morals.”