I was expecting a bit of gratitude. I should have known better. “Because you do need my permission, but if you’d rather go without . . .” I detach my front from her back and push her empty glass toward the tattooed-covered barman.
“I wouldn’t,” she blurts, flying around on her stool and circling my midriff with her arms, squeezing her head to my chest. “Thank you, master.”
Beau snorts over her wine glass, and I give her a warning look that goes right over her pretty blonde head. I don’t know what she’s so tickled pink about. I might have agreed to a party, but James hasn’t agreed to let her join in the celebrations. “Don’t push me, Rose.”
She looks up at me, her face accusing. It throws me. “So when were you going to tell me that Hiatus is full of semi-naked women?”
“Hiatus is a strip club,” I say coolly. “Perfect place for a bachelorette party.”
“What?”
“I thought Friday night would work.”
“The night before our wedding?” She balks at me. “I don’t want a hangover on my big day.”
“Then don’t get drunk.”
“Danny—”
“It’s that or nothing, Rose,” I say, making her nostrils flare. She knows the deal. She knows she can’t go parading around town on a night out. What does she expect from me?
“And what about you?” she asks.
“What about me?”
“Are you having a bachelor party?”
I shrug, unbothered. “I’ll have a few drinks with the boys.”
Her shoulders drop, all fight leaving her. “Here. On Friday night too.”
“Yes. Come on, we’re going for dinner.” I nod toward Beau, indicating that I mean all four of us.
“Where?”
“A little Italian place in the center of Miami.” I quirk a brow at Rose, and her jaw drops open. “Rose and I had one of our first dates there.”
“Awww,” Beau coos.
“Yes,” Rose breathes, her expression full of sarcasm. It’s a sign of what might come next. “Danny murdered a man for appetizers, threatened to kill me during the main course, and then butchered an old enemy for dessert. It was so romantic.”
I grin as Beau laughs, completely unfazed. “My first date with James was at the opera. He handcuffed me to a chair in a box and left me there while he disappeared to murder a corrupt judge.” She toasts the air and finishes the last inch of her wine. “Where is he, anyway?”
I look over my shoulder and see him striding this way, and I break away from the girls to meet him. “Cooled off?” I ask.
“If you want Spittle alive, father or son, I suggest you make sure I’m not around when they’re brought to you.”
“Noted. See that guy behind me?”
James cranes his neck, looking over my shoulder. “The one who’s as wide as the bar?”
“That’s the one. Tank. I figured Goldie might have a problem with any further requests to watch them, so I’ve outsourced. There’s one for you too.” I point across the room to Fury, and James looks.
“You trust them?”
I see Brad emerge from the corridor with Nolan and wave them over. “He checks out.” The others arrive. “I’m taking Tank,” I inform Brad. “And what can you tell me about his brother?”
“He’s got fists like boulders, and it’s alleged he’s bulletproof.”
“His story?”
“Served time with his brother.”
“Cozy,” I murmur, taking in the unit before turning to James. “You good?”
“Good.”
“I’m going to need to replace them,” Nolan pipes up.
“Then replace them,” Brad says, pulling Nolan toward the bar, talking quietly.
James leaves me and heads for Fury, motioning him to a nearby booth to talk. That’s one issue sorted. I absolutely cannot be worrying about where and when my wife might turn up. I pull my phone out and go to the settings, shaking my head to myself at her sneakiness as I turn off the location sharing feature, looking at her as I do, waiting for the notification to drop on her phone. All I can see is Tank. But then Rose’s head slowly appears, craning around his big body. Her face. It’s thunder. I blow her a kiss, happy with myself, and lift a foot to join her o—
What the fuck?
Time slows to practically nothing, like one of those bad dreams that drag and drag and torture you by keeping you there, as I watch a group of men enter the bar, all lined up, all sneering, all looking pumped up on power. Fuck! The guns in their grasps all rise, and I swing my eyes to the bar, seeing the first signs of real movement from Tank.
“Incoming!” I bellow, reaching to the back of my trousers and pulling my gun, ducking at the sound of the first shot. It’s not from me.
“Fuck!” Brad dives over the bar for cover, resting the nose of his gun on the wood, firing constantly as bottles on the optics shatter above him.
“Jesus Christ.” I aim and fire, taking one of the men down, aim, fire, taking a second, my attention split between the gang and the bar.