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Charming.
Because once Beau and Rose know, they’re definitely cutting my dick off. Will you still want me if I’m dickless?
I smile, and I know it’s stupid and goofy.
It’s not you, it’s me . . .
You’ll pay for that. Signing off. Danny’s about to kill Rose.
I frown, checking the time. She couldn’t have gotten to the school, dealt with what she wanted to deal with and gotten anywhere else by now.
Rose is at the school
And so is Danny. With his gun.
“Oh fuck,” I breathe, hearing the proverbial fireworks going off all over Miami.
“What?” Fury asks, moving in, sipping from his takeaway cup.
“What?” Anya asks, joining us.
Should I say? I’m sure the whole house will hear when we get home. “Danny was at the school when Rose got there.”
“Oh, fucking hell,” Fury breathes, going straight to his phone, undoubtedly to call his brother and get the finer details. He doesn’t need to do that. I can tell him. But then it occurs to me . . .
Fuck.
Fury frowns down at his phone for a few uncomfortable moments, obviously thinking, then looks up at me. “How did you know Danny was at the school?”
Shit, shit, shit. “Beau,” I squeak. “She was checking in. We should go.” I get up and grab my bag.
“I have to go to the club,” Anya says, shrugging her jacket on. “Mason doesn’t have Nolan, and Brad’s not there.”
“We can drop you off before Fury takes me home.”
We all walk out together, my worry for Rose real. As is my worry for Danny. Those two can’t half go when they’re pissed off with each other. I step out into the afternoon sun and immediately shield my eyes from the glare. “Quinton seemed nice,” I say as we walk to the car together, Fury tailing us, still on his phone, endless fucks coming at our back.
“Yeah, really nice.”
“I was sur—” I swallow my words, jarring to a stop, my heart crawling up into my throat, suffocating me, as I watch a man get out of a car down the street. “No,” I whisper, as Fury crashes into my back. I slip into a nearby doorway, struggling to breathe, staring at the bricks, blinking, shaking my head.
It’s him.
Huge, menacing, a constant leer on his lip, a cigar hanging from his mouth, a ridiculous fur coat. Terrifying.
“Pearl?” Fury appears, and I look at him with wide, blank eyes. “What’s up?”
“I feel faint,” I whisper, my gaze dropping to my feet. “I’ll be okay in a moment.” Breathe, breathe, breathe.
He’s here.
In Miami.
How did he . . .?
I inhale, thinking . . .
Oh no. The man that Brad killed. He must’ve followed the scent. And now he’s here to get me. Here to claim what’s his.
