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“I think that’s enough.” A man appears above me, dusting off his hands. He actually dusts off his hands. “I’m placing you under citizen’s arrest.”
I burst out laughing, hysterical. Or psychotic. My stomach aches. My nose continues to bleed. Water hampers the red mist further, forcing me to wipe my eyes. I find Rose by the door again. She takes one look at my eyes and pulls it open, leaving.
Because she knows what’s coming.
But the sight of her walking out chases away my amusement and I am livid once again. Unfortunately for Mr. Do-Gooder, he’s my outlet. I look up at him, just as another man steps in, flanking him. And another on the other side. Three beefy pricks who want to save the day. I feel my lip curling and inject all of my rage into my limbs, taking the one on the right down with a kick of my leg. Naturally, in response, the other two pounce, throwing their bodies onto me and trying to pin me down, like two wannabe wrestlers. For fuck’s sake. I don’t have time for this. I have a woman on the loose and being out there alone is not ideal. The thought ramps up the anger, and I use it as my fuel, roaring as I heave them off me, getting to my feet and kicking each of the fuckers in the stomach, not neglecting the other guy on the floor. If I didn’t need to get to Rose, these men would all be in for a very real lesson. I pull my gun out and aim it between the three of them, raising my voice so they can hear me over the panicked gasps. “Get up, get back to your table, and eat your fucking dinner.” Not surprisingly, they all look at each other in question.
“Get the fuck up!” I bellow, searching for Rose out of the window. My patience and sanity lost, I start kicking them up, and practically boot them all back to their tables. “Now sit down, shut up, and eat.” I grab a handful of one of the guy’s pasta and ram it in his face. “And next time, think very carefully before you step into my discussions with my wife.” I shove my gun in my trousers and stalk out of the restaurant, raking a hand though my hair as I look up and down the street. “Rose!” I yell, walking to the corner, searching. “Rose!” I pull out my phone and dial her. It rings off. “Rose!” I pace back up the street, breaking out into a run to the other corner, looking left and right. Nothing. “Fuck.” I dial her again as I rush back to my car, falling into the seat. I get her voicemail, so I leave her a loving message. “I swear to God, Rose, ring me back or—” What the fuck will I do? I slump in my seat. “Baby, please. Don’t leave me here worrying about you. Tell me where you are. Let me pick you up. We can sort this out.” I start the car and pull away, my eyes searching the streets for her.
My heart pounding anxiously.
* * *
I drive around for an hour with one of Maggie’s muslin cloths held at my nose, trying to stop it bleeding. Definitely broken. I call Mum to check if she’s gone home. “What’s going on?” she asks. “I’ve had Brad on the phone demanding the whereabouts of everyone too.”
I don’t have the energy or capacity to wonder why. I need to find Rose. “Everything is fine, Mum,” I assure her half-heartedly. “Do you have enough milk for Maggie?”
“I have plenty. Danny, do not leave me in the dark.”
I sigh, relenting. She’ll find out sooner or later. “On the night I went after Sandy, after I found out he was the man who raped Rose . . .” When I found out he’s my son’s biological father. My hands turn white around the wheel. Sandy can never know about Daniel.
“What about it?”
“He got away.”
“What?”
“He got away, Mum.” I will never forgive myself for letting that happen. For going after him without thinking about it carefully. For putting myself and everyone else at risk. If Brad, James, and the others hadn’t turned up, I would be dead, no doubt. And as if to remind me that I didn’t walk away scot-free, all three bullet holes twinge their presence.
“Oh my God.”
I take a left, still searching for my wife. “Some bodies have turned up. Russian and Mexican—all with the Black family emblem cut into the chests.”
“Oh, Danny.”
“My phone’s been bugged, and Sandy’s called me to make sure I know he’s still holding a grudge.” The phone crackles a little. “Mum?”
“Did you know about this?” she hisses, her voice muffled. Because she’s covering the bottom with a palm. Talking to Otto.
“Now come on, Boo,” he says, pacifying her. “You know we like to keep you girls away from the?—”
“You should have told me!”
I shake my head, dumping the red-stained cloth on the passenger seat, wrinkling my nose, waiting for the flow to start again. It doesn’t. “Mum,” I say, raising my voice to get her attention and the heat off Otto. “Call me if she shows up, okay?”
She doesn’t answer me, but hangs up, and I reach back to my nape, stroking it. I hit James’s number on the control display. “How did it go?” he asks.
I laugh, because it’s all I feel capable of right now.
“Oh fuck,” James breathes.
“What?” I hear Beau say in the background, her senses not failing her. “What’s going on, James?”
He hushes her. I can’t imagine that will go down well. “You know,” I breathe, still scanning the sidewalks as I drive, “she actually thought I was going to tell her I was fucking another woman.”
“What?”
“Yep.” I laugh, with zero amusement. “She thought, because she can’t put out at the moment after giving birth to my daughter, that I would stray.”
