I look over my shoulder, seeing the men filing out of the villa, and all laughing vanishes like it had never been here. I assess each and every one of their faces, and I hate what I see.
Purpose.
Commitment to kill.
I sit up straight and smile weakly when Danny finds me, suddenly terrified that he’ll declare his departure back to Miami and leave me here. He couldn’t get Daniel and me out of the city fast enough. I can’t imagine he’ll be so keen to take us back as quickly. And that’s another little issue to be dealt with. Our son. It’s a miracle we’ve managed to shield him from the horrors of our lives to this point. Now what? He’s not stupid, getting more and more curious each day, and the fact he’s got two bearded mountains watching his every move is a huge red flag.
Danny takes his seat at the other end of the table, the farthest away from me, but his eyes regard me carefully, his scar seeming to glisten each time the light catches his face. He takes his water, relaxes back, and continues to watch me. Oddly, I feel vulnerable under the interrogating gaze of my husband. His icy eyes burn. “What?” I mouth, but I get nothing, not even a twitch of his lips. Damn him, what’s he thinking?
“I suppose I should go pack, then,” Brad declares, not taking his chair but pushing it under the table.
“Me too,” Ringo grunts, turning his huge nose up at his plate. “Thanks for dinner.”
I look between them, stunned. “Where are you going?” What a ridiculous question. “I mean”—I shake my head—“you’re going now?”
“In the morning.”
“And what about you?” I ask, looking at Danny. “When are you going?”
He sips his water casually, looking all too relaxed. He’s the only one, everyone else having tensed, waiting for the fireworks. Then he stands and starts walking to my end of the table and my dread multiplies. He’s coming to pacify me. Or hold me down when I go bouncing off around the villa in a temper because he’s leaving me here. Over my dead body. Which is a definite possibility judging by the veil of steel falling across my husband’s face.
I look at Beau, and her expression tells me to be cool.
Be cool, be cool, be cool.
“Time to go,” Brad chirps, making a hasty exit, followed by Ringo and Goldie.
“Yes, it’s been a lovely evening.” Zinnea stands, knocks back the rest of her wine, and scurries off on her heels. But James, Beau, Esther, and Otto remain at the table, defiantly refusing to leave. Probably because they think it’s inhumane to let Danny die alone.
I rise from my chair, wanting to have a presence, something my husband seems to find amusing. “Stow away those fists, Rose,” he says in warning.
I relax my hands, which I honestly didn’t realize were balling. “You’re not fucking off to Miami and leaving me here.”
He reaches me, rounds me, puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back down to the chair. Then he dips and pushes his mouth to my ear. “I know,” he says, kissing my lobe. I’m not the only one who relaxes. It seems the whole table does. Thank God. He starts massaging into my flesh, and my hands lay over his, my relief making way for contentment. Odd, isn’t it, that weeks ago when I was faced with a similar situation, I was pissed off that he was dragging me away from my haven back to a city I hate. But I’ve learned that my haven, in fact, is Danny.
“That’s okay, then,” I say, nodding to myself, sounding way surer than I suspect I should. Could there be a catch coming? “And you’re not locking me up in the mansion.”
“I know.”
Oh? “I will happily carry a gun.”
“You will.”
“And the Vikings?” I ask, flashing a look to Beau. She’s smiling mildly, as is James.
“Will be distributed as needed,” Danny says, continuing to massage my shoulders. What the fuck is going on? It’s as if he’s had a personality transplant.
“Am I missing something?”
“Like?”
I look to Esther, who shrugs, as equally perplexed. “You tell me.” Am I suddenly bulletproof?
“Happy wife, happy life,” he murmurs.
“Okay,” I say, standing from my chair, prompting his hands to move from my shoulders. “What’s going on?”
“Let’s go,” James says, collecting Beau and exiting quite speedily.
“What?” Beau asks, appearing to be a slave to James’s strength, unable to stop him from leading her away. It’s absurd. She’d turn the tables on him with one swing of an arm and a roundhouse kick. So, of course, my worry heightens, especially when Otto declares he and Esther are also leaving.
And then it’s just the two of us, Danny and me. His hands find my shoulders and push me back down to the chair, and I wince terribly when he crouches, his jaw tight. His chest. His beautiful, smooth, mutilated chest. A lump in my throat forms, and I damn myself to hell and back as I take his T-shirt and pull it up, as if I need to torture myself some more.
His chest is heavily bandaged, so I can’t see the damage. But I see it. I caused that. His maiming. His pain.
Gently taking my hand, he eases it away, and his chest is soon covered again. I move my eyes to his. To this day, I still can’t fathom how ice blue can radiate such heat. And yet here it is, hot blue burning through me. This is my husband. Confident and in control. This is the man I was instantly attracted to, the dark creature that reflected a version of me, but, ironically, it was the vulnerable, lost man I saw past the darkness that I fell in love with. The man I saw this morning. I flinch away from that thought, and Danny catches it.
“Never again, Rose,” he reiterates, cupping both of my hands in both of his.
I could cry for him. “Stop it,” I say. “Just stop it.” I need him to be rid of this self-loathing. I must take some of the responsibility. Finding and killing a man isn’t a cause for anguish for my husband, but the impact it’ll have on me is. I should have supported him in his hopelessness, not kick off and cause him further stress, because his hopelessness was spiked by worry for me. Haven’t I learned?
He nods, if mildly, “I have a gift for you.”
“You’re my gift. I don’t need anything else.”
He smiles, but it’s half-hearted. “I shouldn’t have been so careless with you. I shouldn’t have zoned-out. I should have been fully aware, and I wasn’t.”
And I know that will only increase his anger and purpose. God help his enemies.
“If you left me,” he goes on, squeezing my hands in his, “I wouldn’t blame you. But I’m begging you not to, Rose, because a life without you is not a life I am interested in living.”
I remove my hands from his and encourage his crouched body into mine, hugging him carefully so not to put pressure on his wounds. “I’m never leaving you.”
“Good. So you’ll accept my gift.”
“What is it, a slap?” I joke, feeling him smile against my neck.
He pulls away and reaches into his back pocket, pulling something out, holding it up to me.
A ring.
I frown. “Are you proposing, because I’m pretty sure I’ve already married you twice.”
“Oh, how my wife’s sense of humor thrills me.” His nose wrinkles, and he moves in, slamming a hard kiss on my lips.