Page 118 of The Rising


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Beau smiles softly. “Actually, no, we should. I need to keep up my momentum when it comes to busy spaces.”

There it is. She so desperately doesn’t want to go back, and I’ll do my best not to let her. I take her hand and hold it up, flashing her ring. “So when can we start planning the wedding? I need some joy in my life.”

She looks at my belly, and I cringe. As a friend, I’m on fire today.

“Stop it,” Beau snaps firmly. “Stop watching every little thing you say about babies or pregnancies or bumps or joy or death. Everything happens for a reason.”

Is that what she’s telling herself these days? I smile lamely as we take the stairs, and when the front door swings open and Goldie steams in with a woman across her arms—a woman with long dark hair—I freeze, losing my breath, seeing... me. Not being rescued, but unconscious. Helpless. “Oh God,” I whisper, taking hold of the gold handrail as Goldie stares up at me. Why? Why is she looking at me?

“Where?” she asks shortly, and I blink, shaking my head, as more women come through the door, all disheveled, all with ripped clothes, all looking lost, bewildered, and terrified.

“Rose, where?” Goldie asks, firm but also gently.

“The TV room,” I blurt, looking around me, as if seeking approval from someone that it was the right answer to give. “I... we... they... I need to check the bedrooms.” I finally convince my legs to take me down the rest of the stairs, thanking everything that Esther will be back in Miami imminently. My mother-in-law is a pro at taking care of houses and people. She’ll know what to do.

Goldie leads the line of women into the room, and I follow her there, clearing the enormous couches of scatter cushions to make room. “Doc’s busy with Brad.”

“How is he?” Otto asks, the last to enter after all the women and Ringo.

“Still unconscious. Blood loss.”

He nods, and when one of the young women looks at him, he tries his hardest to give her a friendly smile. If the whole situation wasn’t so tragic, it would be hilarious. He looks so awkward, as does Ringo, and Goldie doesn’t look all too comfortable either.

“There’s a pasta bake in the oven,” I say, ushering them out, looking at Beau, telling her she’s staying. “Tell Doc to come straight here when he’s done. Order some pizzas or something. And get some water.”

Otto stops at the door and looks back at me. “Esther here yet?” he asks.

“Very soon.” I force my brows not to raise and shut the door, facing the women. They still look utterly terrified, and in a moment of lucidity, I wonder if they think we’ve kidnapped them.

“Oh shit,” Beau says, joining my side. “They think we’ve kidnapped them.”

“English?” I ask, casting an eye across them all. “Anyone speak English?”

A few hands raise—I count three—and someone speaks up. A redhead. “I’m English,” she says, tucking her vibrant bobbed hair behind her ear. “From London.”

London? Beau and I look at each other in shock. Not many are taken from countries like England or the States, but then again...me.

“My name’s Pearl,” she goes on, looking around the group of women. But as I too look again, I thinkgirlsis more apt.Soyoung. “Melitza and Jana are from Serbia. Zala is Slovenian. Maria and Inessa are from Russia. I don’t know the other’s names. Their English is non-existent.” She points to the unconscious girl. “And Anya is from Romania.”

I nod and go to Anya, feeling her pulse, if only because... isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? It’s strong. Her chest is moving up and down.

Goldie knocks and pokes her head around the door. “Water.” She enters with a tray resting on one hand and places it on the coffee table in the middle of the sofas before silently leaving. I start pouring, and Beau starts giving out glasses to accepting but wary hands.

“How old are you, Pearl?” I ask, perching on the coffee table before her.

She sips, looking over her glass at me with suspicion that I just can’t stand. I need her to know she’s safe now—I need everyone here to know they’re safe.

“I’m Rose,” I say quickly before motioning to Beau behind me. “This is Beau. She used to be a police officer.”

“Rose,” Beau breathes in disbelief, and I look back at her, as if to ask her what the hell she thinks I should tell them. That our respective others are criminals? My husband, The Brit, a renowned mafia crime lord and her fiancé, The Enigma, the silent, deadly assassin extraordinaire? I show the ceiling my palms, and Beau shakes her head, joining me on the table, nudging into me so I scoot along.

Pearl looks between us, like we’re a pair of crazy people. Worryingly, she might be right. “I did used to be a police officer, but now I’m not.”

“Why?” she asks, lowering her glass.

“I chose love over duty.” Beau smiles mildly, and I’m compelled to reach for her hand and squeeze, because when she says love, she means her mother. But I have no doubt she’d choose James over duty if it came to it. In fact, she already has. Although Pearl doesn’t know this so, of course, her next question makes sense.

“You’re married?” she asks, looking at Beau’s finger, prompting Beau to reach for her ring and spin it.

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