We stand and wait for them to sort their positions, Rose reapplying her lipstick, me . . . not. Instead, I look at the line of dozens of people and wonder just how many there are inside. My heartbeats increase as a result, and I start the same old routine, practicing controlled breathing. I will not be pushed back in that element of my life. This I can control.
“You okay?” Rose says, placing a hand on my arm.
“It’s busy.” My thoughts tumble from my mouth without instruction, telling Rose where I’m at, so I rush to reassure her. To play down my threatening panic attack. James is in there. I just need to make it to Ja— “Oh,” I yelp, being knocked a few steps back.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” a woman says, her purse falling to the sidewalk, her things scattering. She crouches, and Fury moves in, prompting me to put my hand up.
“I’ve got it,” I say as I lower to help, collecting a lipstick and a pack of condoms.
“Here.” I look up, just as she glances up at me too.
“Thanks.” Her smile falters, her head tilting as she takes her things, stuffing everything back in her purse.
“You look familiar,” I say, taking her in, wracking my brain for where I might know her from.
“Beau,” Rose says, helping me to stand as the woman rises with us.
I hear Fury calling me, and I let Rose pull me on, looking back at the woman on the sidewalk, still wondering where I know her from, as she clearly does the same with me. I don’t have the mental capacity right now, so I give up, returning my attention forward.
Naturally, there are a few grumbles from the waiting patrons when we bypass the line and we’re escorted in.
“Who was that?” Rose asks, as we follow the two mountains, Fury tailing us.
“I don’t know. I know her face, though.” My cell chimes, and I look down at the screen, the name slowing me to a stop.
“Beau?” Rose says, as Fury’s front meets my back.
“Okay?” he asks, whistling for the two men up front to stop.
I stare down at my cell, my heart that was racing with anxiety now racing with dread. I honestly thought he’d got the message. I’m in love with a deadly assassin and nothing is going to change that.
“Beau?” Rose presses.
“It’s Ollie,” I say, looking at her, for what I don’t know. “A message from Ollie.”
Her face twists. “He’s got some seriously thick skin. Can’t you block him?”
I might have to, because if James finds out he’s still trying to reach me or turn me against him, Ollie will be dead, and while he’s been a dick, I don’t wish him dead. I nod and open the message, ready to click on his name to get his contact details to block him, telling myself not to read his words. But they’re not words. He’s sent me a picture. A picture of James.
James with a woman hanging off his front, his mouth at her ear. “What?” I whisper, recognizing the trouser suit. And where I know her from hits me like a brick in my face. I exhale and swing around, searching the sidewalk outside for her. I don’t have to search far. She’s not moved.
Staring back at me, I see the recognition on her face. She’s realized where she knows me from too. She smiles mildly, and it’s knowing, small but interested.
On top of the image of her hanging off my man’s body, it’s too much, my stomach feeling like it’s been sucker punched. My veins heat, anger consuming me. Blinding me. I feel Rose take my cell from my hand. I hear her quiet curse. I see her move toward the woman before me, ready to do God knows what, but she doesn’t make it.
Fury swoops in, lifting her from her feet and removing her. “You are not in any fit state to cat fight,” he grumbles, looping his spare arm around my waist too and lifting me, carrying us both away from the woman into the club.
He places us down and looks at me. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
“And what would that be?” I ask. “Tell me, Fury, because I am oh so fucking curious why my boyfriend would have his tongue in another woman’s ear.”
His bearded jaw rolls, his nostrils flaring, and I can absolutely appreciate that it’s because he’s mad with James too. “I don’t know,” he grates.
“Then let’s find out,” I say, pivoting and walking into the club. I collide with James just inside the entrance, and I conclude he was obviously coming to meet me. Or the other woman. Beth. That’s her name. Beth. Or maybe he was checking that Beth had left the building before I arrived.
I feel so fucking stupid. All dressed up like this, so unlike me, sending coy pictures. No wonder he didn’t reply. He was busy.
“Hey,” he says softly, holding on to my upper arms. “You’re here.”
The anger swirls in my gut, burns my blood, gaining momentum unstoppably. The pressure in my head is beginning to hurt. “Get the hell off me,” I yell, yanking myself out of his hold, squaring him with a look I’m sure could kill.
His frown only heightens my anger. “Beau?”
“Where the fuck is her husband?” I seethe, seeing Danny approaching behind James, his face a picture of concern, which makes me wonder how crazy I must look. As crazy as I feel? I’m certain it’s not possible. “Masturbating in the corner somewhere?”
James steps back, hands up, as if handling a ticking time bomb. “What?” he says warily. He knows. He absolutely knows what, but I absolutely do not mind telling him.
“This.” I thrust my cell in his face, and he is forced to seize my wrist and hold it still so the screen stops shaking long enough for him to see the image. “Tired of dealing with the shit you’re creating?” I ask. “Not getting enough out of this relationship anymore so moving back to old habits?”
His jaw rolls. It’s a fucking insult. “Stand down, Beau,” he orders in a deadly tone I should probably pay attention to. And yet I don’t. My rage is ruling me. My body trembling, a red mist fogging my vision. I feel like control is slipping away rapidly. I need to let go of this pressure. I need to explode.
“I will not fucking stand down!” I yell. “How fucking dare you? You stand down!” I shove him out of my way and march to the bar, not ordering a drink, but swiping up a glass of red that’s already there, not bothering to check whose it is or if they mind. I’m pretty sure they won’t challenge me.
I down it, praying the liquid cools my temper, and gasp, slamming it back on the bar and motioning for another. I can feel many eyes on me, but the music still plays—Swedish House Mafia One (Your Name) right now—and the dancers still dance. I order a second wine before turning around and leaning against the bar, raking a hand through my hair to pull the loose strands off my hot face. I see Danny pull Rose away. I see her grave face. I see Fury looking torn between attempting to remove me from what’s fueling me—James—or leaving me to . . . detonate.
I cast my eyes across them all again. The music seems to get louder by the second, like it’s building to a crescendo along with my temper. Then I look at James. I look at him with all the contempt I feel on a curled lip. I just want to lash out. Hit things. Be rid of this unbridled anger. Release the pressure.
Standing there, his stance wide, his fists balled by his thighs, his jaw ticking, he looks like a deadly mix of power and control. I hate both on him in this moment when I’m straining not to lose my shit. I drink down my second wine and blindly push the glass on the bar behind me. Hurt him. Hurt him. Hurt him. My eyes glued to his, I walk to him, lifting my chin, my whole body rolling with the effort to breathe. I see the veins in his throat pulse. His Adam’s apple sinks and protrudes. His lips twitch. The hollows of his cheeks pulse under his stubble. I find his blue eyes. Eyes that are flames right now. “We’re done,” I say emotionlessly, backing away.