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“Yeah, really. And who the fuck’s complaining about the noise?”
“The people in the Presidential Suite,” I say, walking to the door.
Brad snorts his revulsion. I can literally hear him cracking his knuckles, ready to march over there and put whoever’s in the Presidential Suite in their place. “Who the fuck’s in the Presidential Suite?”
I turn at the door, my eyebrows high. “The president.”
“Oh.”
Nolan sniggers.
“Shut the fuck up,” Brad warns.
“Get dressed. I’m taking you home.” I carry on my way, tucking my gun away as I pass the others, who are all looking around in disgust at the mess Brad’s made with fuck knows how many women.
“I haven’t got a fucking home,” he yells. “Some fucker blew it up.”
“Then it looks like you and your pet are staying with me,” I shout over my shoulder. “Why the fuck not?” I murmur to myself. “Everyone else is.”
“I can’t,” Brad calls, more quietly, making me turn at the door, my expression questioning. “I just... can’t.”
“Why?”
He scowls. “I like my own space.”
“You don’t have a choice.” I get on my way. “Sort your shit out, Brad, or I’ll sort it out for you.”
When we pull up at the house, I see the car James took to go find Beau is parked haphazardly in front of the steps. But there’s no Range Rover, and when I get into the lobby and find Mum waiting, her face pensive, I know he’s not in a good way. “How bad?” I ask. “On a scale of one to Incredible Hulk?”
“He’s even greener than that,” Mum says quietly. “He went straight to your office after he grilled Rose.”
“Bet that went down well,” I muse, looking toward my office. “Where is she?”
“Running her palm under the cold tap.”
“Oh, fucking hell,” I breathe, heading to the kitchen. I find my wife looking fucking livid. “Hey, baby.”
Glancing up, her lips twist more. “He deserved it.”
I have no doubt. I can only imagine James trying to squeeze Rose for information. “We found Brad.” I see her small exhale of relief.
“Where was he?”
I swerve that question. “So has she?” I ask, going to her. “Been in touch?”
“No, she hasn’t, and even if she had, I wouldn’t tellhim.”
I take her hand and check her palm. It’s pink. Ouch. That’s a stinger. “He’s worried.”
“I know, but I don’t appreciate being grilled. He was fucking relentless. Following me from the sink to the cooker to the fridge, around and around, question after question. He was frenzied. I had to snap him out of it.”
I flinch for James. Of course, I know Rose slapping him would never have been because he laid a finger on her. He wouldn’t dare, and not just because of me. He loves Rose.
“Where the hell has she gone, Danny?” she asks, truly worried.
“You really don’t know?” I ask, shocked. She’s not giving us lip service? “You’ve not spoken to her?”
“No,” she mutters, indignant. “Her cell’s off.”
