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“I’ll take one too,” Brad pipes in.
“And me,” Ringo grunts.
“Count me in.” Goldie shrugs. “I’ve never had a holiday.”
“St. Lucia it is, then,” I declare, reaching into my pocket and pulling out some keys, tossing them to James.
He catches them and lets them dangle from his finger, pointed toward Goldie. “You have a job before we can go on holiday,” he says, prompting her to frown and reach for the keys tentatively. “In that container.”
She looks across to where James is nodding, then to everyone else, her eyes passing across each and every one of us. “What is it?”
“A surprise,” I say, watching as she walks across the stones in her dress and opens the door, looking inside. I see the lift of her shoulders, and I look across to James, seeing he’s watching closely in fascination.
“Did you load it?” he asks without looking at me.
I can only smile. “Fully loaded.” I had Leon lay out every tool, knife, and weapon known to man on a table inside that container. We won’t be seeing Goldie for a while. “And what are we doing with Kenny Spittle?” I ask.
“Let me think about it,” James grunts, rolling his shoulder.
“Get your arse to Doc.” I start to walk Rose back to the car, and the first wail of pain sounds from the container when I open the back door for her. I flick my cigarette away, glancing back, seeing Brad and Ringo following us. But James, Otto, and Beau?
They’re still sitting there, and they’ll wait outside that container until Goldie decides she’s had enough.
“Flight leaves tonight,” I call.
James holds his hand up in acknowledgment. They’ll be there. Of course they’ll be there.
Don’t trust anyone.
I understood why Pops lived and died by that mantra, but I also knew that putting my trust in James Kelly would finally allow all threats to die. And by gaining my freedom, it seems I’ve also gained a family.
I smile and slip into the driver’s seat, looking across to my wife. She’s gazing at me, taking in my light, relaxed self. I put my hand on her thigh and she seizes it. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” she says quietly. I smile and pull away, looking up at the sun as Otis Redding comes on the radio and The Dock of the Bay joins us.
Epilogue
St. Lucia – Two Weeks Later
* * *
JAMES
* * *
Slumped back in the white rattan chair on the terrace, I watch Beau on the beach, returning after her walk with Rose, Esther, and Zinnea. I can’t see her face clearly. Can’t see her expression. Her smile. But it’ll be there. Peace looks good on my girl. And it feels fucking great on me.
Her pale blue sundress is flapping in the breeze, along with her hair, and her arm is bare. Except for the thick layer of sunscreen I rubbed in this morning, which I know will have been topped up throughout the day by one of the girls. I’ve missed her today. I’ve been busy, spent hours on the water with the guys, but she was on my mind every second. Every moment of my headspace dedicated to her. No plotting. No blood. No revenge.
Just Beau.
I smile as she approaches, her straw sunhat dangling from her hand, her feet bare and sandy. She clocks me in the chair and the corner of her mouth lifts as she walks the path, eyes on me. She drops her hat and climbs onto my lap, falling onto my chest and exhaling. No words. But we’re certainly getting better at speaking them. I let her be, quiet and still in my arms, as I look out at the ocean.
“Remember Rose and Danny’s wedding?” she asks, keeping herself hidden in the crook of my neck.
“No,” I reply, getting a nudge. “Which bit?”
“The bit when I was stupid drunk.”
“Oh, that bit,” I say, smiling. “When you blew out the brains of many dangerous balloons?” I feel her lips stretching across my skin, her hands pressing into my pecs gently.
“No, the bit when I told you I want a baby.”
God damn my heart for skipping a few beats, and I know she felt it. I’m really fucking surprised, not only because she remembers, but because she’s brought it up. I’ve not mentioned her drunk ramblings or the demands she made because . . . well, she was drunk. I’ve thought about them, though. Non-stop.
“Why are you tense?” she asks.
“Why are you hiding?” I throw back, and she stills against me. “I’m not tense.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“Then let me see you, Beau Hayley,” I whisper, turning my face into her hair and kissing her. “Let. Me. See. You.”
She slowly eases away from my body, her hands pushing into my chest, and she looks at me with too much uncertainty in her eyes. And it’s all because of who I am and what I do. She shouldn’t love me. She shouldn’t understand me. She shouldn’t want babies and marriage and a happily ever after with me.
