The Brit

“I said, stand down. Don’t fire. Mission aborted. Understand?” I turn my body toward Brad and find his eyes. “Stand. Down.”

He smiles mildly, nodding. Yes, I’ve come to my fucking senses. Let’s not make a big deal of it. I shake my head to myself, hanging up. The boy is out of the equation. And now I’ve told Rose to get out, so is she. I’ll think of another way to get the marina. I’ll find out who the power of attorney is and convince them to sell it to me in the best way I know how. Threats. Blackmail. Death.

I stand for a while, just watching the kid. I don’t know how long for, but it’s enough time for Ringo to make it down off the roof, and just when I’m about to tell them the new plan, one that involves Brad’s suggestion, torturing Adams, a sharp bang sounds out, followed by a high-pitched scream. I jump, as does Ringo and Brad, all of us ducking, the sound familiar to us.

Gunfire.

“No,” a female voice screams, anarchy breaking out around us. Everyone starts running for the doors into the hospital, causing a stampede of panicked people.

“What the fuck’s going on?” Brad asks, scoping the area, his hand automatically going to the back of his trousers. Ringo does what’s natural to him and grabs me, pulling me out of the open, but I shake him off, rising to my full height, my eyes shooting toward the pond. The boy is alone, a sitting duck in his wheelchair.

“Fucking hell.” I break into a sprint toward the kid, hearing Brad yelling at me. When I reach him, I scoop him up out of the chair, flinching when the sound of a bullet ricochets off the metal of his chair. What the fuck?

“Danny, you stupid fuck,” Brad roars, and I look over to him as I cuddle the kid close to my chest, finding him frantically searching around the garden, his gun ready to fire. “Run!”

My brain engages, and I sprint across the garden with the kid, wincing when I hear him cry out a few times, his healing body jerking in my arms, hurting him.

I make it into the hospital, Ringo and Brad close behind, guarding us, and pace toward the nearby desk. “Some assistance,” I yell, stopping a nurse and pretty much dragging her over. The boy’s staring at me in shock as I lay him on a nearby gurney. “Take care of him,” I order before I walk away, passing between Ringo and Brad, their eyes everywhere.

Brad stops me just shy of the door, his hand in my chest. “Ringo will get the car and meet us out back.”

I can’t argue with sensibility, and since I seem to be short of it recently, I’m listening, no matter how eager I am to get out of here and finally fix this shit. “Fine.” I back off and let them do their thing while I wonder what the fuck just happened.

When we pull up outside the mansion, I remain in my seat, staring ahead at nothing in particular. I have not a fucking clue what’s going on, and not for the first time, I wish Pops was here to help me figure this shit out. I pull the lever of the door and step out, my mind homing in on my office and a brand-new bottle of Scotch. I need peace. Quiet. Alcohol. It’ll help me untangle all this shit.

Esther appears, stopping me in the hallway. Her face. It’s not an expression I’ve seen on her before, though I’ll be damned if I know what it is.

“What?” I ask, as short as ever, my patience diminished.

“It’s Miss Rose.” She flicks her eyes to Brad and Ringo behind me, and it’s now I realize that her expression harbors fear. Esther has been here for ten years. For ten years, she’s accepted my brusqueness without a word. For ten years, she’s watched me become more like my father every day, and she’s accepted it, no questions. I know she hates what we do here, and it begs the question why she sticks around to watch. Why she indulges my every demand. Why she watches me with a mixture of admiration and disappointment.

“What about her?” I ask, steering away from the direction of those thoughts. I’m angry enough already. “If she’s still here, I’ll throw her out myself.”

“She’s still here.” Her lips purse. “In her suite.”

A rage like no other consumes me. “It’s not her fucking suite.”

“I delivered tea to her a while ago.”

What? “Is this a hotel?” I bark, taking the stairs fast and stalking down the corridor to her suite. My suite. I can smell her, the sweetness of her scent stuck to every wall, every door, every fucking piece of me. It would be sensible of me to stop for a moment and calm down before I do something I truly regret. Unfortunately for Rose, I’ve had a bad day, and she’s just made it a whole lot fucking worse. I steam through the door and find the suite empty. The bed is made. The terrace doors are closed. My eyes fall to the bathroom. The door’s shut. The ten paces it takes me to reach it doesn’t give me the chance to cool my temper. Nothing could. I take the handle and push, meeting the resistance of the lock. With my teeth clenched, I pull back and ram my shoulder into the wood, and the door flies open, hitting the wall behind.