Beau.
I should go home to Beau. Try and coax her back to the land of the living. My face screws up, my hand reaching for my temple. Why so fucking loud? I look at Danny seeing his mouth moving, but not hearing a fucking word. Necking my second, I slam the glass down, growl, and stand, marching to the booth and taking the six steps up to it in two strides. I don’t bother speaking, he won’t fucking hear me, so I shove him aside, my ears ringing, and start turning all the dials I can see, until the volume comes down to a more bearable level and my mind no longer feels so chaotic. I exhale and turn, finding the DJ behind me looking absolutely petrified. “That’s your max,” I grunt, passing him and going back to the bar, Danny’s eyes following me the whole way until I’m sitting back on the stool.
“Better?” he asks, as Brad pulls a stool over and joins us.
I don’t answer. At least we can talk without yelling. “Where have you been?” Brad asks, waving to Mason for a drink.
“Why is everyone so concerned by where I’ve been?” I snap. “I had something to deal with. It’s dealt with.”
Danny’s eyebrows arch dramatically, and he peeks out the corner of his eye to Brad, who peeks out the corner of his eye to Danny. “Someone’s touchy,” Brad says.
“Standard,” Danny grunts.
What the fuck do they expect? My girlfriend is currently zombified, The Bear is back in pole position, and an FBI agent is trying to make bitches out of us. My recent meeting has only made my mood fouler. “What the fuck are you playing at, anyway?” I bark, going on the attack. “Two shipments?”
Danny shrinks on his stool and looks at the glass in his hand, turning his nose up at it and placing it on the bar. “We’re not all fucking perfect, are we?” He looks around the club. “Where the fuck is Nolan?”
“Yeah, where the fuck is Nolan?” I parrot, pointing my attention to Brad along with Danny, both of us happy to divert the subject elsewhere. I forgot about that matter.
Brad all but snarls at me. Couldn’t give a fuck. “He’s at my place.”
“Why?” I press before Danny can, cocking my head.
Narrowed eyes join his snarl. “You fucking know why.” Brad’s hand clenches the bottle of beer Mason just pushed toward him.
“What do you know, how do you know, and why the fuck don’t I know?” Danny asks, looking between us.
“Nolan’s got nowhere to stay,” Brad grunts, filling his mouth with the bottle and swigging. “He was crashing in the office while we were in St. Lucia.”
“And smashing into one of the girls,” I add.
“The fuck?” Danny breathes. “So Hiatus is a hotel now too?”
“He was paying off some debts,” Brad explains, making Danny jump to the exact same conclusion we did. “He’s not taken a nickel.”
“How’d you know? There’re millions up there. You count every dollar?”
“He’s not taken any cash.” I back Brad up, feeling charitable. “The kid worked his way out of his debt. I had Otto check out his accounts. He drew cash on every payday, meaning his rent bounced so he got evicted. If he was stealing from us, he would have paid his rent.”
Brad blinks, surprised, and Danny settles, happy we’re not being fleeced. “Still,” he growls, “the girls are off limits.”
“I’ve had a word,” Brad assures him as Otto and Ringo join us.
“What’s with the baseball cap?” Danny snaps, but Otto bypasses the question and shows us his phone.
A green dot blinks on the screen. “Spittle’s phone. He’s gone home. I expect he’ll go to work tomorrow,” Otto says. “My guess is, though, whoever stored with him will have moved on. They won’t risk it. He’s been away from the bank for too long. They’ve made alternative arrangements, I guarantee it.”
“Maybe they’re storing the drugs and guns wherever they were storing the women they’re shipping in,” Danny muses, staring into space, thinking.
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” Ringo stands. “They’re one big happy fucking family, after all.” He looks past us, and we all turn to see Goldie coming out of the ladies’. She looks tired. I hate it. If Ringo makes some wisecrack now, I might slam a screwdriver in his eye myself. “I’m taking her for something to eat,” he says, clearing his throat, as we all swing stunned looks to him. He scowls. “She needs some energy. And a timeout from this fucking circus.”
He's going to start treating her like a lady now? Does he have a death wish? “Ringo,” I say quietly, checking Goldie isn’t close enough to hear. “She doesn’t want a timeout. She wants to find The Bear and crack on with her life.”
“She needs energy to do that, doesn’t she?” he practically growls at me, and I back off because . . . well, Goldie.
“Bon appetite,” I say, and he marches off, grunting something at Goldie as he passes her, to which she snarls at his back.
Then follows him out.
“I’ve got shit to do,” Brad says, slipping down off the stool. “Catch you motherfuckers later.”
“Don’t be too late getting home,” Danny calls. “You need to tuck the kids up in bed.”
Brad’s middle finger appears over his back, and Danny chuckles, turning back toward the bar. “All right, back to—” He looks past me, his face interested. “Ooh. So who’s this, then?”
I crane my neck to look over my shoulder. And balk. “Oh fuck,” I breathe, facing Danny again. How the hell did she find me here?
“Well?”
I lift my eyes and find raging curiosity staring back at me. “I used to fuck her.” I wave a hand dismissively because my statement deserves that kind of detachment. “While her husband watched.”
Danny barely flinches. Because, of course, thanks to Beau and Rose sharing everything, he knows more about me than I’m probably comfortable with. But I know a shit load about him too, so we’re on equal ground. “Cozy,” he says, looking past me again. “Which one?”
“The blonde one. Beth. I don’t know who the brunette is.”
“Oh, Beth. I don’t see a husband.”
Danny’s observation doesn’t bode well. Why has Beth been calling me?
“So this is the woman Beau walked in on you fucking?”
“Yes.” And, worse, I knew she was watching, but that was before I knew what Beau would become to me. Life. Freedom. Love. I inhale when I feel a hand land on my forearm, and look down at the long, painted nails. Nothing like Beau’s short, bare nails. I look at the suit Beth’s wearing, probably designer. Nothing like the ripped jeans and baggy shirts Beau’s sports most days. Then up at her perfectly styled and sprayed blowout. Nothing like Beau’s wild blonde waves. And finally to her polished, makeup covered face. Nothing like Beau’s natural, makeup-free skin. Why the fuck am I comparing? One woman means nothing to me. The other means the fucking world. Hell, heaven, and everything in between.
“James,” she purrs, her voice as delighted as her eyes. “It’s been too long.”
I beg to differ. I can feel Danny’s interested stare jumping between us, his body comfortable, settling in for the show. “What are you doing here?” I ask.