The Brit

“Wait,” Brad orders, hauling me back. “Just wait. Let him finish.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Selling his soul to the devil.”

“What?”

“That’s Volodya. Russian mafia. Danny just handed the Romanians to him on a silver platter.”

I inhale, my eyes falling to a body not far from Danny’s feet as if a magnet is pulling them there. But this body is still breathing. “Oh God.” I stare, enthralled, as Danny releases the Russian’s hand and turns toward Nox’s bloodied, limp body. He lowers to his haunches. Gets as close as he can. He smiles. Then he nods to a nearby man who steps in and drags Nox to his feet. He’s battered, bloodied, and disheveled. But he’s alive. At least, for now.

Danny’s saved him for last. For himself. Nox spits at Danny, the move labored, leaving saliva dribbling down his chin as he heaves. “Any last words?” Danny asks, rising to his feet and holding his hand out. A machete is placed in it, the blade sparkling, freshly sharpened and glistening.

“Fuck you,” Nox rasps.

And Danny grins. It’s the dirtiest, most evil grin I’ve ever seen. Not just on him. On any man. He raises the machete and sweeps it through the air smoothly, taking Nox’s head clean off his shoulders in one accurate stroke. The thud when it hits the ground is deafening, and I wretch, turning into Brad’s chest and hiding, my stomach revolting against my swallows. There was so much pleasure on his face. So much satisfaction, and though I have wished Nox dead for years and years, triumph is hampered by my shock and nausea.

“Rose.” Brad muscles me from his chest, and I turn, tears painting streaks down my face. The Russian accepts the blade when Danny hands it to him, and he smiles, as satisfied as Danny. And they shake hands again before Danny turns to me. When he spots me, he stills, watching me from a distance. Mildly, he nods, his fist coming up to his chest and tapping over his heart. “For you,” he mouths.

I crumble, wiping at my eyes, suddenly ashamed of myself for being so emotional. For being so weak. For letting him see me like this, but the relief that he’s alive, the relief that Nox is dead . . . it’s too much.

Danny starts toward me, his expressionless face slowly cracking, a smile growing as he comes closer. My surroundings blur and eventually vanish completely, the sounds dulling to nothing. In my world, my entire existence, there is only Danny.

But I’m abruptly yanked from my comforting place when Brad roars, “No!” Everything returns—sound and sight. It’s chaos, men running and shouting around me. Confused, I look toward the container.

The Russian has a gun pointing at Danny’s back.

“Danny,” I scream, and he frowns, turning away from me.

“Goodbye, Black.” The air is pierced by the sound of a gunshot, and Danny’s body catapults back, landing with a thud on the gravel.

“Fuck!” Brad grabs me as more men appear from every direction, all brandishing guns. He fires round after round as I struggle with him.

“No,” I yell, breaking free and running toward Danny. I can’t feel my legs. Can’t feel my heart pounding, though I’m sure it is. “Danny.” I fall to my knees by his side, my palms instinctively resting on his chest. “Oh God. Oh God, please, no.”

“I’m fine,” he wheezes, his face screwed up. “I’m fine.”

“Rose.” I’m ambushed from the side by Brad, who hauls me to my feet.

“He’s been shot!”

Ringo appears, taking Danny’s arm and dragging him up. “Come on, you stupid fuck.”

I watch as Danny struggles, his legs unstable, his face an unbearable picture of pain. “Fuck,” he chokes, just as Ringo aims and fires at a man running toward us.

“The boat,” he yells, dragging Danny toward the shore. “Get on the fucking boat.”

I’m pulled along by Brad, as he and Ringo fire shot after shot, holding back the men coming at us. But the sounds are dull, my eyes nailed to the back of Danny, watching as he stumbles along with Ringo’s help. “Rose, down!” Brad yells, shoving me to the ground. I land with a crash, my head hitting a nearby rock. Pain sears through me, and I cry out, immediately feeling hot blood trickling down my face. Disorientated, I look up, blinking, the gunfire still constant. I see Danny look back. I see him find me on the ground. I see him fight his way out of Ringo’s hold and run back to me. He claims me and yanks me to my feet like I’m weightless, taking my hand.

“I need you to run, Rose.”

His words, the sound of his voice, the feel of him holding my hand. I find life again, and I run, flinching with every shot that’s fired around us. We hit the water, wading through, and Danny swoops in and lifts me. I practically fall into the boat as Ringo starts the engine, still firing as he does, his attention split between the men shooting at us and getting the boat moving. The engine roars as I scramble to the side, reaching over for Danny to help him up. But he turns away, catching a gun that Brad throws him and starts to wade back toward the shore.