The Brit

I sigh and try to enjoy the sun on my skin, trying to clear my mind of those lingering questions before they drive me mad. Or am I already there? Now, this moment, alone with the bright, warm sun, would usually be something I’d seize with everything I have and make the most of. Quiet is a rarity in my world. Alone time even rarer. Except I’m not alone and it’s not quiet, not with my mind screaming at me, my questions and fears running circles in my brain. “Goddamn it,” I whisper, opening my eyes and staring at the clouds. They roll through the blue sky, free and wild. There’s nothing but open air, endless space.

But I’m still a prisoner. Whether with Danny, Nox, or Perry, I’m trapped.

Voices from the garden below drift up to the terrace, and I prop myself up on my elbows, craning my neck to see through the glass panels. Danny’s down there with Brad, looking like an evil god post-workout in a pair of sweatpants, his T-shirt draped around his neck. I curl my lip in disgust. Then my eyes fall to his arm, seeing it wrapped like mine.

“It’s all offloaded and checked,” Brad tells him, and I watch closely, seeing him scrolling through his phone. “It’s all in the containers at the boatyard ready for the exchange.”

Danny dips and ties the laces of one sneaker, looking up at Brad. “We’ll go to the boatyard later this evening so I can check the consignment before the exchange with the Russians.”

I fall back to the lounge chair when Danny rises, his head turning toward the terrace. I remain still, holding my breath.

“I need to let off some steam,” I hear him say, the collective sounds of their feet crunching the graveled path muffling their voices.

But I still hear Brad’s reply. “Call Amber, for fuck’s sake.”

“I will,” Danny replies.

“Of course you will,” I whisper to myself, dropping my head to the side to look through the glass of the panel that separates this terrace from his. And I’ll be expected to remain in here, listening to him letting off some steam? No. I have to get something for Nox, and I have to do it fast. I can’t bear this place, can’t bear him any longer. He’s going to the boatyard this evening. Will all his men go too? Either way, I need to get into his office.

Then, I’m out of here.

I get up and head for the bathroom, feeling around the back of the drawer for the cell phone. I turn it on and punch out a quick message to Nox.

* * *

A consignment arrived at his boatyard. He’s going there this evening to check it.

I’ll get into his office once he’s left.

* * *

I click send and replace the phone, then wrap my arm and take a shower, leaving my room before the sounds of Danny letting off steam start to torment me.

By five o’clock, I’m restless again. I roamed the garden, wandered the house, and when I knew it would be safe to return to my room, I did just that. All signs of mine and Danny’s massacre are gone. At least, the blood is. The wounds, especially his, will take weeks to heal.

I know Danny’s not left for the boatyard yet because I’ve been watching Brad play tennis from my terrace for a few hours now, and he wouldn’t go anywhere without Brad. But then Brad leaves the court, and I dash into my room. My ear is soon pushed up against the wood of the door, listening for any sign that Danny’s leaving his mansion.

I hear footsteps, a soft padding of feet on the plush carpet outside my room. Shit. I dart across to the bed, falling to my back and closing my eyes. How juvenile. But still, no contact. No engagement. I hear the door open, followed by an impatient grunt.

“Up,” Danny orders, and my face muscles strain with the need to curl a lip, or at the very least throw a filthy look at the asshole. But I remain still and quiet, hoping he’ll fuck off and leave me alone.

I’m outraged when he grabs my arm and shakes me. “Up,” he snaps curtly, manhandling me to my feet. What the hell?

“Get your fucking hands off me,” I yell, not at all sleepily, tossing my elbow out to the side in an attempt to shrug him off, but his face is low and . . .

Crack.

My bony elbow collides with his nose, and it seems to explode, blood pouring over his lips. Danny flinches and blinks rapidly, caught off guard, his eyes watering madly in an instant.

“Motherfucker,” he breathes, taking his hand to his nose before inspecting it. It’s a blood-stained mess. Oh shit. He looks like he’s going to launch me into outer space with his fist, his knuckles going white with the force of his clenched hands. Then his bloody nose starts pouring all over the carpet, and he curses, holding it while he paces to the bathroom. For some strange reason, I follow him, finding him bent over the sink, big fat drops of blood hitting the porcelain in consistent light thuds, splashing up the shiny white enamel.