James motions to the bunker. “Ready to give me a tour?”
I smile, leading the way to what was a massive hole in the ground. “Waterproof, fireproof, and bomb proof,” I say proudly, taking the steps down, James following. Once we’re in the expansive room, where the walls are lined with a racking system to hold the arsenal that’s on its way from Chaka, I point to the top of the stairs. “There will be a hatch there. The green container will sit over this. Will look like any other container in the yard.”
He nods slowly, taking in the space. “Looks good.”
It does. “You coming to Hiatus? I want you to meet someone.” I take the stairs and the men lower the container over the bunker with the crane.
“Who?”
I turn, walking backward, lifting my shades, smiling ruefully. “I’ve got a private audience with the mayor of Miami.” I can’t fucking wait to see Perry Adams’s face. Can. Not. Wait. I imagine it to be somewhere between haunted and petrified.
The new boatyard is nearly done. The guns will be here imminently.
It’s time to get Miami talking rather than whispering.
* * *
The club is quiet, which is the only reason Rose is here. I even let her sit at the bar and have a glass of wine. Surrounded by men, of course, but still. It’s relatively normal. The bartender, a unique human with every inch of his revealed skin tattooed, including his face, sets a bottle of white on ice in front of her before passing Brad a fresh bottle of Black Label. “On the tab,” Brad says, waving for Nolan to come over.
He leaves the crowd of suited heavies and approaches. “Yes, boss,” he says, as keen as ever.
“These men”—he indicates each one forming a semi-circle around Rose at the bar—“don’t move. The doors covered?”
“Covered.”
“The office covered?”
“Covered.”
“Good man.” Brad slaps Nolan’s shoulder and points the bottle across the club. “We’ll be in the office. Bring our guest when he arrives.” Brad leaves, and I look up at the guy before me who’s blocking my way to Rose. He’s a giant, at least a foot taller than I am and ten times wider, bearded, and probably bulletproof too. He wouldn’t look out of place on the set of The Vikings. I tilt my head expectantly. He doesn’t move.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Tank.”
I laugh lightly. Makes sense. “The woman behind you, that’s my wife. Do not let anyone near her.”
“She’ll be safe, Mr. Black.” He takes one side of his jacket and eases it back, revealing a Glock.
I smile. “Good man.” I pull out a wedge of notes and slip them into his pocket. “It’s a well-paid position. Great bonuses. Perks if you do a good job.”
“What are the perks?” he asks, a subtle glint in his eye.
“You don’t die.”
He pales, just a little. “Understood.”
“Good.” He remains unmoving, like a dam that’ll never break. “When I say don’t let anyone near her, I’m an exception,” I say, and he nods, moving one step to the side to let me pass. Once his big body is out of the way, I find Rose on a stool, a glass of wine in her hand, one leg crossed over the other, her expression knowing.
I don’t entertain her curious look, settling on the stool beside her. “Enjoying your wine?” I ask, taking the glass from her grasp and helping myself to a sip.
“I was, yes.” She claims it back. “Where’s Beau?”
“James took her back to the house for a checkup with Doc.”
“Why? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine,” I assure her, cupping her cheek, quick to put her mind at ease. “She missed her routine checkup yesterday because you two were wedding shopping. James rearranged for today and wanted to make sure she showed up.”
Rose’s lips purse. “She’s been good. Not wincing as much, not lost in thought so often.”
I smile, leaning in and kissing her. “You’ve helped.”
She shrugs, blasé. “It’s a good thing we get along. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the wedding.”
The wedding. “What about it? Changed your mind?”
“No.” She nudges me, but a sadness washes over her. “Who’s going to walk me down the aisle?”
I withdraw, taken aback. I wasn’t expecting that. “You want to be walked down the aisle?”
“It’s traditional.”
“We’re not traditional,” I point out. Traditionally, a father hands his daughter over to a man. Kind of like a transfer of ownership. “You’ll walk yourself down the aisle. No one owns you anymore, Rose. That’s the fucking point. Not even me.” I lean in and kiss her deeply, feeling her smile around my lips. “But make no mistake, baby, you are unequivocally mine.” I reach for her wine and place it on the bar before pulling her onto my lap, swathing her. “Are we clear?” I ask into her neck, mauling at her flesh, sucking, kissing, and biting.