“Did you miss me?” he finally asks. The sound of his voice, the distorter, makes me close my eyes and force my breathing to steady before I explode.
“As it happens, yes,” I say quietly. “I thought I’d been robbed of the opportunity to tear you apart.”
“So you’re pleased to hear from me?”
“Thrilled.”
“Good. Then I’ll make my next move.” The line goes dead, and the tension in the room goes through the roof, everyone still, quiet, looking at each other.
Waiting.
For what? An explosion? A bullet? A fire? A missile through the fucking window?
Fuck!
“Someone get Danny up here,” I say as I dial Fury, going to the window and looking out onto the grounds. For what, I don’t fucking know. “Now!” I yell. Fury answers. “Get the girls home now,” I order.
“Boss,” he confirms, hanging up, getting straight on it.
“Call Goldie. Get them back from the boatyard.” I pace, cursing under my breath. “Get Leon on the phone. Tell him to clear the cabin.”
“The club,” Brad says from the bed. “Nolan, the girls. Someone pass me my phone.” I take it off charge on the nightstand and hand it to him, and he strains to sit up, dialing and taking it to his ear.
Otto has the CCTV stream for the club up on his screen before I have the chance to ask, and I watch the shot of the front of the building, holding my breath, as if waiting for it to blow up there on the screen.
“He’s not answering,” Brad says, frustrated, immediately dialing again.
“Can you activate the fire alarm from the system?” I ask Otto.
He lifts a finger and pushes it down meticulously. “Done.” Everyone on the screen seems to still for a moment—bartenders pausing cleaning, dancers pausing mid-practice—before the place clears and we all wait, watching, Ringo with Leon on the other line.
I can hear the beats of everyone’s hearts, and the silence is only broken when Danny steams through the door at one hundred miles an hour, his face a dried bloody mess. “What’s going on?” he asks, taking in the scene and wandering over, looking at the screen of Otto’s laptop.
I can’t tell him that we’re waiting for something or someone to blow up. “Call Sandy,” I say. “Tell him you’ll meet him.” Just because we now know The Bear is still in the game doesn’t mean he still has control of the Russians, or anyone. I can get past the fact Sandy tried to kill Beau if it means I get The Bear.
“Why?” Danny asks.
“Just do it.”
“So you can kill him?”
I look at him, and I don’t answer because I can’t promise I won’t. “An old friend just called.”
“Fuck,” Danny breathes, raking a hand through his hair. “The girls? Mum? The kid?”
“All being brought back.” I’ve got to face Beau. Tell her the man she desperately needs to talk to in relation to her father’s death is dead. Another blow. Another setback amid the endless fucking setbacks.
Danny nods, his eyes dropping to the carpet. “I don’t know whether to be relieved or stressed.” I think he’s speaking for us all.
“He’s definitely been lying low. Waiting for something.”
“But what?”
“I don’t know.” I look out of the window, returning my eyes to the outside world, scanning, watching. Come on, what’s your next move?
“Pick up, Nolan,” Brad hisses, his lips pursing, part impatience, part pain. “Fuck it.” He dials again. “Someone call Mason.”
Danny pulls his T-shirt up and wipes the drying blood on his face as he dials him. “Tell Nolan to check his phone,” he orders shortly. Then he frowns, looking at Brad. “Nolan’s not there.”
“What?”
“Called earlier and said he’d be in at lunchtime.”
Brad curses, continuously dialing, trying to reach Nolan. “Little fucker.”
“Is everyone out of the club?” I ask.
Danny nods, going back to Mason. “Just taking precautions. I’m sending Otto over to check.” He scowls. “You’re asking too many questions, Mason. Just keep everyone out the back and tell Nolan to fucking call when he shows up.”
That kid’s getting a slap when I catch up with him, because I’m sure as shit Brad won’t give him one. I bet he’s living the dream in Brad’s swanky loft apartment while he’s laid up here recovering. In fact, I bet he’s late to the club because he’s cleaning up the mess from last night’s afterparty back at Brad’s.
“What the fuck took you so long?” Brad barks down the line when Nolan finally answers. Then he frowns. “What are you doing there?” A pause, and his frown turns into a scowl. “Fine, whatever. The club’s been evacuated. Just a precaution. Otto’s on his way over to check. I need you to come to Danny’s. I’ve got some things I need to go over with you.” He hangs up, muttering under his breath, and settles down. “He’s at my place, just getting in the shower.” he says calmly. “Heading over in a bit.”
I nod, still looking out of the window, dread gripping on unrelentingly. “Fucking with us?” Danny asks, joining me.
“I don’t know.”
Brad’s phone starts ringing, and both Danny and I turn back to face the room. It takes every effort for him to lift it to see the screen.
“Who is it?” Danny asks, seeing what I’m seeing in Brad’s expression. A bit of confusion.
“Unknown number.”
Looks start getting shot around the room again, everyone still and quiet as Brad answers with silence, his eyes darting across the sheets covering his waist. He’s exhales, relieved. Peeks up. “It’s my neighbor.”
I roll my eyes, along with everyone else in the room. “Probably complaining about the noise,” I mutter, but then Brad pales and his phone slides from his hand and hits the bed.
“What?” Danny asks urgently. “Brad, what is it?”
He swallows hard, his gaze jumping across his lap, and I step forward, every inch of me tense. “My . . .” He turns haunted eyes our way. “My apartment just blew up.”
22
BEAU
Everyone was silent as we were driven home by Tank and Fury, with no explanation as to why our shopping trip ended so abruptly. I know we’re all wondering what the hell has happened now. Of course, the moment I saw Fury’s face when he answered his cell, I put the pants I was considering back on the rack and calmly walked out of the store, calling to Zinnea and Rose as I did. They too left without fuss.
When we pull up at the mansion, I see a few cars missing. So a few men have been deployed. For what?
“Home Sweet Home,” Zinnea says sardonically as the three of us walk up the steps to the house. “Brace yourself, girls.”
“Always,” I murmur, looking across to Rose. Her lips are straight, her eyes fixed on the door. I can see it’s taking everything in her not to barge into the house and scream her frustration. “Remember what Doc said,” I say, as Zinnea rests a pacifying hand on her arm.