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“Beau,” he breathes, his patience wearing. I don’t care. This is not how I’m wired. He knows that. “You’ve been shot. You’ve lost . . .” He fades off, his nostrils flaring. “Just let me look after you, for fuck’s sake.”
I swallow, wary of the monsters in his eyes, and drop my mouth open for him. I need to pull my head out of my ass and let him do whatever he needs to do to deal with this. Take care of me. And kill. But what about me? What will get me through this? The weight of the world feels heavy again. It lightened when I met James. He provided a relief. Now, there are more secrets. There’s more danger. More hatred. And on top of that, my body is broken along with my spirit. So there will be no walking that path of nothingness with James for a while. No ecstasy. No mind-numbing bliss.
I suck on the straw and swallow, blinking back the tears. No more tears. I will not cry. God, I want to cry.
“Want some sunshine on your face?” James asks, setting the glass back on the nightstand.
No darkness.
I nod, tearful, and he helps me negotiate my stiff body to the edge of the bed. The whole time, my teeth are clenched, my muscles tense, trying to stem the pain. The soles of my feet meet the soft carpet. That hurts too. And I get a little head rush, just from sitting up.
“Whoa,” I whisper, swaying.
“Okay, bad idea.”
“No.” I grab his arm. “I’m not lying in that bed feeling sorry for myself.” Thinking about what we’ve lost. What’s happened. How it happened. Who did it. “I need sunshine on my face. I need rainbows, James.” My voice, infuriatingly, quivers. Rainbows are a long way away. I realize that.
He nods, understanding, and helps me to my feet, watching me closely, waiting for any signs that I might pass out. “I’m okay,” I assure him, lifting one foot and placing it down, leaning into his big body as he holds me around the waist with one arm and pushes the metal stand holding the bag of fluids along with the other. I look to the French doors, to the gorgeous, green, vibrant garden beyond. “It’s beautiful.”
“Isn’t it?” he says, taking it in himself. “Beauty amid so much ugly.”
I look up at him. I couldn’t agree more. He is beauty amid the ugly. We make it out onto the terrace, where there are sun loungers and another terrace directly next door. It’s a hotel. A lovely mansion hotel.
“Here.” He lowers me to a lounger and positions himself behind me, moving back and letting me rest on his front. I exhale, close my eyes, and feel the warmth of the sun on my face and the warmth of James on my back. “Good?”
“Perfect,” I say. This is perfect. Wherever we are, wherever he’s brought me, it’s perfect.
Paradise.
No evil. No hell.
But I know it can’t be sustained, because despite being in a place that looks like paradise, all I can think about is the loss.
Our baby’s gone. Nath’s gone. Dexter killed my mom. Lawrence must also be beside himself with grief. I’d thought I’d grieved enough already in my life, but the hits just keep coming. I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind. I need some facts. Something to stop all these thoughts of loss and pain that are barricading my brain from good sense. Something to show me we have some hope. “Tell me where we are,” I demand softly.
“No. Just enjoy it.”
69
JAMES
Fuck, I’m going to have to share eventually. But revealing where we are will lead to other questions I’m not sure I can answer yet. “How’s the sunshine on your face?”
I don’t like the long silence that comes. Neither do I like it when she starts to try and turn over, so I lock my arms down around her upper body, mindful of her cast and cannula. Even broken, she’s difficult. “James,” she says, her voice threatening.
“Stay still. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“I’m fucking fine.”
Anger. She’s full of it, and I know my evasiveness is only a small factor. I close my eyes and search for calm, try to push back my own fury. Fury with myself, because while trying to tame the demons in us, I’ve created more. “We’re at Danny Black’s mansion,” I say quietly, and she stills.
“What?” she whispers. “Why the hell are we at a dead mafia boss’s home?”
“Because I can’t do what I need to do while looking after you.”
“I don’t need looking after,” she says, tensing, like she’s intending to move. She jerks, not intentionally, but in pain, and the line in her arm pops out, blood starting to piss everywhere.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, slipping out from behind her and crouching by the lounger, taking a towel from the table and applying pressure on the inside of her elbow. She stares at the towel, her breathing labored. “Just give in, Beau,” I say, looking up at her. “You have to give in and let me help you.” A fat teardrop slips off her cheek and splashes onto the towel. “Stop trying to be strong. You don’t need to be.” I reach for her face and wipe under her eyes. “I’ve got this,” I assure her. “And once it’s done, we go wherever you want to go.”
