Oh God. “So I can see him?” Do I care what Danny did, what he took, what he used, if it means I get to see my boy?
He pushes himself up, resting his weight on my thighs, and leans in, biting my cheek. “He’s coming to stay with us for a while.” He heads to the bathroom, as if he hasn’t just landed a bombshell, leaving me on the edge of the bed, struck dumb. A statue. Coming to stay?
Snapping to life, I go after him. “What are you talking about?” I enter to find him standing at the toilet, his dick in his hand. And this is how warped I still am because every time I see him taking a piss, I smile, being taken back to the very first day he took me from a casino floor and slapped me.
I quickly shake my untimely reminiscing away. Daniel can’t stay here. And surely Hilary and Derek wouldn’t have agreed to that. Especially now. I pull up. Especially now, what? “What happened?” I ask. “Why did Daniel tell me he wasn’t allowed to see me anymore?”
Danny flushes and goes to the sink, flipping on the faucet. “I expect because Derek found out who Mister is.” He raises his eyebrows.
“How? We’ve always been so careful.”
“Rose, baby, we’re back in Miami.”
“Don’t remind me,” I grumble, backing up into the doorjamb when Danny stalks toward me. My back hits the wood, his fingers claw my jaw, and his face comes close. “How long did you think we could be here without them finding out who I am?”
“Which begs the question why they’ve agreed to let Daniel come stay with us. First, I can’t see him. Now, he can live with us?” I narrow my eyes. “What did you do? And don’t say polite persuasion.”
“I held a machine gun to Derek’s head.”
I balk at him, reaching for his hand and pulling it from my face. I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is my husband I’m dealing with. I shove him out of my way and go to the toilet, lowering to the seat. “They’ll take him away forever.”
“Will you let that happen?” Danny asks. “Because the Rose I know wouldn’t.”
I look up at him, confused, and he exhales, coming and crouching before me. “Derek isn’t the standup man you thought he was, Rose.”
“What?” I whisper.
“He has a client. One of The Bear’s men.”
My mouth drops open. “Jesus. That’s too close to home, Danny.”
“I know. Derek was legal counsel for a high-profile case a couple years ago. He got a lot of media attention, which led to The Bear moving in and hiring him to take the case of one of his men, a man called Vince Roake.”
“But what if—”
His hand lands over my mouth, silencing me. “If The Bear knew Daniel was my step-son, don’t you think he would have taken him by now?”
It’s hard to think rationally in the face of such a potential nightmare. “What about school?”
“I don’t have all the answers yet, Rose. I can’t allow him to go to school until I can guarantee he’s safe. We’ll have him homeschooled while I deal with this.”
“But—”
“Have I ever failed you?” he asks, looking at me expectantly.
“No.”
“And I never will, baby. In my world, I do what I need to do to survive. You and Daniel are a part of me, so I will do what I have to do to keep you both safe and keep my sanity. You’ve played ball for three years. You’ve protected Daniel by dancing to their tune.” Placing a gentle kiss on the edge of my mouth, he whispers, “It’s time to stop dancing and start fighting again. No second chances, baby.”
I whimper, taking his shoulders and hauling him into me, cuddling the grizzly bear like he’s a teddy. He is sometimes. I know he’s right. I’ve been more than understanding of Hilary and Derek, more than flexible. All for the sake of my son. And how have they repaid me? They’ve tried to push me out of Daniel’s life. Do they have any idea of the world they’re in? The safest place for Daniel is here with me. His mom. I realize that now. I wouldn’t trust anyone to keep him safe like I trust Danny, and with that thought, all of my anxiety transforms into relief. He’s safe. My boy will always be safe, and I trust my husband to make sure of that.
A knock at the door disturbs us, and Danny pulls out, smoothing over my skin with his fingertip. “That’ll be Doc.” He gets to his feet.
“What?”
“He’s come to check you over,” he calls back as he goes into the bedroom, and just like that, I’m all anxious again. “Don’t even think about fighting me on this. It’s non-negotiable.”
“It’s my body,” I shout, outraged and, frankly, worried.
Danny’s back at the door in a heartbeat, his expression deadly. “Wrong,” he grates, his scar seeming to flash like a warning beacon. “Anything more to say?”
“Yes, fuck off.”
“Oh, baby, you’re one of the only people in this world I would never kill, and yet I want to kill you the most.”
“Make it bloody,” I practically snarl, and he laughs under his breath.
“Fond memories.” He winks, and it absolutely doesn’t suit his murderous face. But it’s still sexy as hell. God damn me. “Come,” he says, jerking his head. “Let’s get this over with. I have men to kill.” He smirks and leaves, and I drop my head to my knees, staring at the floor where my hair pools around my bare feet.
“Mr. Black.”
I peek up at the sound of Doc’s old voice, digging deep for the grit I need to appear fine, when now, more than ever, I feel the sickest.
“Rose,” Danny calls, sounding all too happy about my impending examination. I don’t even want to ask what he thinks I might be hiding from him. Am scared to. Like I’m scared to seriously ask myself. I drag myself to the bedroom, finding Doc setting his medical bag on the end of the bed.
“Hi, Doc,” I sing, way too happily, dropping to my back on the mattress.
“Mr. Black said you’re feeling under the weather.” He pulls his stethoscope out and taps the end before hooking it around his neck.
“He’s worrying over nothing.” I keep my eyes off Danny, avoiding his displeased look, but I see him lower to a chair by the bed. So he’s going to supervise?
“Well let’s put his mind at rest, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s.” I smile sweetly and drop my head to the side to get Danny in my view. “He’s busy mutilating men.”
Doc laughs as he plucks a thermometer from his bag. He actually laughs. I don’t know if it’s genuine humor or nerves.
I keep my potent stare on Danny, who’s silently observing, the side of his finger thoughtfully brushing across his lips as Doc takes my pulse, checks my heart, my temperature, and flashes his pen light in my eyes. “These waves of sickness,” he says, packing his stethoscope away. “How frequent and how long do they last?”
“They’re sporadic. Some last longer than others.” Depending on the level of stress I’m being subjected to.
“Headaches?”
“Sometimes.”
He packs his things away and snaps his bag shut. “A virus, I’d say.” He reaches for his gray beard, stroking it thoughtfully. “Nothing to worry about.”