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1
DANNY
I’d rather be dead. It’s got to beat constantly dodging death, and the many men out there who want to put an end to me aren’t the only ones I need to be wary of. I’m more concerned about what my wife is capable of.
I look up at our villa as I exhale and drop my arse to the sand, fucking exhausted. Exhausted of running. Exhausted of fighting with Rose. Plain fucking exhausted. I grab the bottle of Scotch and swig some more—it’s probably unwise, I need my wits about me while my wife is on the war path, need the ability to duck speedily—but... fuck it. Let her at me. Like I said, I’m too exhausted to fight, and the weightless sensation coming over me is a brief respite.
I fall to my back on the sand and stare at the black, twinkling sky, taking another drag of my cigarette and another glug of Scotch, spilling some of it over my face as I do. For fuck’s sake. It was such a lovely evening—my little boxing match with Otto aside. What the fuck’s with that, anyway? Him? My mother? I snort, sucking back another hit of nicotine, followed quickly with another shot of the hard stuff. “Not fucking happening,” I say to the sky. “Over my dead body.” Which might be a distinct possibility if Rose gets her hands on me.
I lift my head a fraction, looking back up at the villa. I hope Mum’s managed to reason with her because I certainly couldn’t. In fact, I was like a red flag to a bull. I left the room on numerous occasions to let her calm the fuck down, and the moment I entered again, hearing she’d quietened, she’d flown at me, either with words or deranged, flailing, desperate arms. I restrained her more than once, since I couldn’t fuck her into submission with my mother and Otto there. So in the end, I forced myself to leave the house before she did any damage to herself or our baby. I feel like a man on the edge of heaven and hell, and some unknown fucker out there will dictate which way I fall.
My wife might save him a job soon, though. And yet, I can’t be angry with her. Can’t be pissed off. I can’t blame her for flying off the handle. For throwing the vase at the wall. She’s pregnant and her emotions are all over the place. Next to that, I’ve promised that woman peace and failed to deliver it one too many times. I feel fucking hopeless. Useless. I know my wife better than anyone, and when she feels threatened, she fights. And as always, I’ll let her take her anger out on me.
I flick my cigarette away and finish the bottle, dropping it clumsily to the sand. The sky’s starting to spin. My thoughts are getting all tangled, telling me to go back to her. Deal with this mess. But I’m pretty sure she screamed clear instructions tonevergo back.
Unlucky for Rose, I can’t live without her.
I lift my head as far as I can manage and scowl at our villa. “And you love me too, woman, so stop being so f-f-fucking ridiculous.” My head hits the sand on a soft thud that feels anything but soft. “Bastard,” I grumble. Fuck me, I haven’t been this drunk in years. Not since Dad’s funeral. Not since I realized I’d fallen in love with the ice princess. “Why’d y-you have t-to be such a bitch?”
A face appears above me, and I squint hard, trying to get some focus. “Found him,” James calls.
“For fuck’s sake.” Brad appears, lifting his mobile to his ear. “We’ve got him.” He hangs up and gives me a nudge with the toe of his shoe. “You think this is gonna solve all our problems?”
“Fuck you,” I spit. “And go get laid. You’re a miserable fucker recently.”
“Well, there’s been no in-house whore for a while,” James says, and I chuckle, getting another nudge from Brad, this time significantly harder.
“I’m going before I beat him to death.”
“I’d like to see you try,” I yell to his back as he stomps off up the beach. “Don’t you know who I am? Be afraid, Brad. Be very af-f-raid.”
“What the fuck are you doing?” James mutters tiredly, bending to get closer, bracing his palms on his knees.
“What the fuck does it look l-l-like I’m doing?” I pat about on the sand and find my bottle, lifting it to my lips and swigging. Nothing comes out. I snarl and toss it aside. “I’m getting shitfaced. Get me another bottle.”
“No.”
“What do you mean, no?” I scramble to sit up, swaying something terrible.Fucking hell, just shut the fuck up, Black, and lie the fuck down before you throw up.“Don’t you know who I am?”
James laughs. Why’s he laughing? “Yes, I know who you are. You’re a man who’s in the doghouse. Come on, you prick.” He moves in behind me and hooks his arms under mine, getting me up with relative ease, considering I’m fucking legless. “Rose is upset.”
I laugh loudly. “Upset? Is that what we call fucking psycho these days?” I shrug him off and stagger a few paces, but quickly steady myself. I look down. My feet are in the water. And my arse feels a bit damp. “You know what I’m going to do?” I ask. “To fix this fucking mess?”
“Sober up?”
“I’m going to kill The Bear.” I start trudging up the sand toward my villa. “This is all your fucking fault, anyway.” Why’s that only just occurred to me? This shitstorm is all James’s doing, because he’s the fucker who resurrected me. I was quite happy being dead.
I stop. Turn. Sway. Blink. His eyebrows are nearly touching his hairline. “I should kill you too.” Or at least punch his fucking lights out. That’ll make me feel better.
James’s arms open up invitingly, and I clench my fist. He’s goading me. I’m not so drunk I don’t recognize that.
“I’ve always wondered who’d come out on top between The Brit and The Enigma.” His head tilts. “So let’s find out.”
He has? I thought we were friends.The fucker.I draw back my fist, narrow my eyes, and swing, intent on planting a precisely placed fist on his jaw.
But it hits precisely... nothing. “Fuck,” I mutter, spinning on the spot before face-planting the sand. I roll to my back and find James looming over me.
“You done?” he asks as I spit out endless grains of sand. “Or do I have to knock you out and drag you back to your wife?”
