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“Sort it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but can you wait eleven years to see Rose, Adams?” I ask, as much malice in my voice as I intended.
“You can’t keep her.”
“Fucking watch me.” I see Brad’s disapproving head shake, and rightly so. I need Rose around about as much as I need to be blown up. “And thirty-five million will turn into forty if I don’t see results soon.” I push myself off the desk, practically hearing Adams wince, and stab at the screen to end the call, feeling the pressure building in my head. “Find out what hospital the kid is at,” I order Brad. Kill the kid. Send Rose back. Get the marina. Find the motherfucker who’s got a target on my head. Simple shit. Or, it should be. I look up at Brad.
“What are you going to do, Danny?” he asks.
“I’m going to get rid of an obstacle.”
“What the fuck? Let’s just get Adams here and torture the fucking information out of him. Find out who’s moved in on him and get this shit done with. Send the girl back. Get on with our fucking job.”
“You don’t think whoever’s pocket he’s in will be waiting for that? I’ve got millions at stake. The second Adams is in this office denying shit, I have to kill him.” No second chances. “Have Adams watched. Send Len. Get his phone tapped. Get his bank accounts looked at. I want to know who he’s talking to and what he’s spending. As soon as I find out who wants me gone, and I can guarantee my money and the boatyard, he’s dead.”
“And the woman?”
“She’ll be dead too. The hospital. I want to know what hospital the kid is in.”
“Danny,” Brad begins, his tone worried. “Seriously? A kid?”
“I need that fucking marina,” I say calmly, but I’m far from feeling it. I pace out of the office, the bottle at my lips.
Chapter 16
ROSE
* * *
He’s slumped in a chair at the far side of my room, an empty bottle of Scotch in his hand. He looks troubled, even in his sleep. Has he been there all night? I prop myself up against the headboard and bring my knees up, circling them with my arms and resting my chin on the tops. I’m sore between my thighs, heavy and uncomfortable. It’s not an unusual feeling. It’s a feeling that goes hand in hand with my job. Or rather, my daily torment. But now, the source, the circumstances, it feels all wrong on me. Last night, Danny fucked me against the wall like he hated me. It didn’t stop me from coming, though. Fury, frustration, and guilt only seemed to intensify my orgasm. I was at his mercy before he even got me against the wall. I’m at his mercy with or without the complexity of the circumstances surrounding my involvement with him. Not that Danny knows any of that. To him, I am just a whore. No smart man gets sentimental over business. Translated: you’re business.
He has no idea.
I sigh despondently as I edge my way to the side of the bed and settle my bare feet onto the carpet. The squidgy fibers feel good between my toes, a softness in this hard, rotten world.
Making my way into the bathroom, I take only a second to look at myself, turning away from the mess that reflects back at me. My skin still smells salty, my hair is matted, and my eyes look more haunted than ever before. I close the door and lock it, going to the drawer and feeling around the back for my cell. I pull it free and stare down at the screen, torn. The guns run circles in my head, the information I’ve learned tormenting me. But not for long. The consequences of withholding information soon supersedes my doubt to betray Danny.
I turn on the phone and dial Nox, turning on the shower to create some background noise. It’s time to tell him about the guns. It’s time for me to be out of this conflicting space of heaven and hell. I need to go back to what I know, familiarity, and Danny Black isn’t familiar to me.
It rings and rings before clicking to voicemail. It’s not his voice. It’s the standard automated voicemail message. I hang up, knowing the rules when it comes to leaving voice messages. Then I dial again, my hands beginning to tremble a little. I need to offload the information before I do something stupid like change my mind. It’s not like there’s any going back. I’ve already given Nox information on Danny’s movements, resulting in the carnage last night at the boatyard. Does Nox know yet? Does he know I was there? Once again, it goes to voicemail, and I cut the call, staring at the cell.
My head snaps up when I hear a thud from beyond the door, and a second later, the door handle is rattling. I shoot toward the vanity unit and push the phone into its hiding place. “Coming,” I call, quickly composing myself before breathing in and opening. His hands are braced on the doorframe, his body leaning forward. He’s holding himself up. He looks like shit. With a cold stare, he takes me in, up and down. “What?” I ask, short and curt. He’s set the standard, and it makes what I’m going to do a little more bearable. At least, it should do.
