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“Tell you what?”
“Why I can’t go on my honeymoon.”
Because James won’t dare to leave Miami in case all fucking hell breaks loose, which is likely when Danny finds Sandy. “No idea.”
One eye narrows on me. Fucking hell, I feel cornered. “I did a little investigating,” she says, and my walls fly up.
“I’m late for the gym.” I turn.
And walk straight into someone.
Red.
So much fucking red.
All I can see is red.
I clench my eyes closed and breathe in and out, composing myself, getting my thoughts under control before I face her. The vibrancy before me is too much at this hour of the day. At any hour of the day. “Mind where you’re going,” I snap, sidestepping her and stalking away.
“Wanker,” Pearl mutters to my back, and I don’t argue with her. I’m a first-class cunt these days.
I make it to the gym and push my way inside, slamming the door behind me. “Fuck.”
“What?” Danny shoots up from the weights bench, startled, disorientated.
And slips off the leather, hitting the gym mat with a thud. “Fuck.”
I look down at him on his back, making no attempt to get up, probably because he’s not got the energy. Now here is a man who will understand my sleep deprivation. Not that I can tell him I’m deprived of sleep. Poor guy is fucking knackered.
“Another rough night?” I ask, sipping some coffee before setting it on the towel cabinet.
His head drops to the side, his tired, red-rimmed eyes looking me up and down. “I’m so tired, Brad,” he breathes, and I laugh.
“Don’t ever say that in front of Rose.”
He hums, closing his eyes, staying exactly where he is, on his back, on the mat, in the gym. I lower to the bench on the other side of the room, smiling to myself. The Angel-faced Assassin, The Brit, Danny Black, put on his ass by a newborn baby. Uncle Carlo would turn in his fucking grave. And that’s another thing. Where the fuck is his body? I’m sure Danny will beat that information out of Sandy when he finds him.
I fall to my back and look up at the weights. They look really heavy this morning. Really fucking heavy. I close my eyes, resting them for just a moment, thinking someone around here needs to get better coffee. I need just a few minutes. I sigh, my back melding into the leather.
Red.
Fuck!
I shoot up.
And smack my head on the pole. “Shit.” I blink, dazed, glancing around. Danny’s still on the mat, mouth open, catching flies. “Fucking hell.”
“What the fuck are you two doing?”
James is in the doorway, looking between Danny and me, one lethal eyebrow lifted in amusement. “What’s the time?” I ask, feeling around on the floor for my cell.
“Eight.”
“No shit.” What a result. Another two hours in the bag. Maybe I’ll only need two grams of coke today. For fuck’s sake. I dodge the pole, sitting up, rubbing at my forehead. “I need to get to the club.”
“We need to have a conversation,” James counters.
That’s worrying. “What about?”
