“But you’re dead. How do I make out official documents to a dead man?”
I turn and point my drink at James, who remains with his back to Perry. “Put them in his name.”
“Who is he?”
“Danny James.” The bloke’s got more fucking names than the Queen of England, but he had a source who could get us a new identity quickly, and we needed a new identity quickly.
“But who is he?” Perry pushes.
“You don’t want to know. Is that all?” I ask tiredly.
I know Perry Adams is actually the one wondering that question. Is that all I want from him? A few papers and an easy route to being legit. Or appearing legit. Perry will never know about the bunker. No one will ever know about the bunker.
Adams stands, a bit flustered, and edges his way to the door, eyeing everyone in the room, as if he’s worried any one of us will pull a gun at any second.
“Nice seeing you, Perry.” Brad beams. “Just forward the license when it’s ready.”
“Oh.” Ringo slaps a palm on his forehead. “I forgot to pay those parking fines.”
“I’ll get it sorted,” Adams says, looking to Otto, waiting for his demand.
“I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries, please,” he says, deadpan, and James shows his first signs of amusement since we left the boatyard.
I hide my smile and go to the door, opening it for Adams. “Good seeing you, Perry.” He looks like he’s been hit with a stun gun. Danny Black, The Brit, opening a door for him.
His men are waiting on the other side, and the moment their attention points this way, his shoulders rise, his chest expands, and his chin lifts. Fucking dickhead. I slam the door and exhale. “I still don’t like him.”
“Nothing to do with the fact he’s fucked your wife,” Brad says, standing.
“What’s with that?” Otto asks, hands facing the ceiling. “Forgive me, but he’s a bit of a pleb, and your wife . . .” He stalls, thinking better of it.
“Is hot as fuck, I know.” I give the hairy, pierced fucker a slap on the shoulder. “I like you, Otto. Let’s not change that.”
“Who’s this lawyer? Green?” James asks.
“Derek Green. He’s the man who bought Rose’s kid on the black market.”
“Adams knows that?”
“Of course he doesn’t fucking know that.” Does he think I’m stupid? “As far as Adams is concerned, Rose needed legal representation after I died. That’s what he knows.” I feel like I need a head massage. And I’m fucking starving.
“We all set for the delivery?” James asks, looking onto the club, watching.
The guns. He can’t wait to load the new bunker and declare his own resurrection. “Chaka called earlier. Tomorrow morning. Be ready.” I leave the office, my direction automatic.
Rose.
When I reach the bar, Tank is still in position, along with the other men. “Can we lose the other men?” I ask, and he gives a short sharp nod. “And you might have noticed, but there’s another female behind you now. Who do I need?”
He points across the club, prompting me to turn.
And laugh.
“Fuck me,” I breathe, taking in the guy, a dead ringer for Tank in every way but slightly smaller in build. Only slightly though. “You’re a twin?” I ask, giving him my attention again. He nods. “What do they call your brother?”
“Fury.”
“Do I need to ask why?”
Tank shakes his head and moves to the side, giving me access to my wife. She’s oblivious to my presence, lost in articles on cakes, table settings, balloons, and more. She can have whatever the fuck she likes, but I draw the line at a bachelorette party, and only because she’d refuse me an invit . . .
My thoughts drift off, and I tilt my head back to look up at the unit of a man guarding my most prized possession, smiling to myself. “You work for me now,” I tell him, and he nods sharply. “My wife’s well-being is your one and only concern.” Another nod. “Every second I’m not with her, you will be.” Nod. He’s like a robot programmed to obey my every order.
“And when you are with her?” he asks, eyes forward.
“I’m growing to like you, Tank, but I’ll never invite you into our bed for a cuddle. When I’m with her, you’ll know when you’re needed or not. I’ll organize a room for you and your brother at my home. Do you drive?” Nod. “Your brother?” Another nod. “I’ll organize cars.” I move past him and get up close and personal with Rose’s back, my chin on her shoulder. It’s been a long fucking day, and I need it to end with food and a fuck. “You can have a bachelorette party,” I whisper, and she stills, her fingers on the corner of the page ready to turn it.
“Why are you saying that like I needed your permission?” she asks, her tone even. She turns the page again, all casual and unflustered. I look out the corner of my eye to Beau. She’s doing a shit job of concealing her smile, dragging her glass closer and pushing the rim to her lips in attempt to hide her amusement.