The Resurrection (Unlawful Men)

“All of the above, but something tells me he’s been even more stupid than that.” I get up, grab my phone, and jog out of the gym, Danny on my tail.

“James, for fuck’s sake, talk.”

I make it to Danny’s office and push my way in, finding Len clearing up the mess. Dropping to my knee, I scan Spittle’s body, feeling at his jacket, working my way down the buttons. I find exactly what I knew I would. I pull the button, and a wire follows. I look up at Danny, my eyes telling him to keep his mouth shut. His face. Fuck, he’s raging. I yank at the wire, cutting the reception.

“The fuck?” Danny breathes.

“It was a trap. He wanted you to bring Spittle here.” I toss the wire aside and rise. “What was said before you decapitated him?”

He walks over to the Scotch and pours himself a large glass, his workout sweat becoming an angry sweat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“Did you mention me?”

And as if my phone has heard me, it rings, and we both turn cautious eyes onto my hand where it’s held. “I’m going to assume that’s a yes,” I say, making Danny’s nostril flare. So he knows I’m alive now?

I answer my mobile, my jaw rolling.

Silence.

I look at Danny, seeing the monster drop into his eyes.

Silence.

I hit the loudspeaker icon.

Silence.

I will not be the first to break it.

“How’s Beau?” he asks, and then he hangs up.

“Fuck,” Danny yells, throwing his glass across the office.

I’m gone like a bullet, tearing through the mansion at breakneck speed. “Everyone,” I roar, crashing through the doors and leaping down the steps. I fall into the nearest car and feel around at the ignition. “Keys!” I get out, moving to the next car in the long line of Mercs, flinging the doors open one by one. “Get me some fucking keys!”

“Here,” Danny yells, racing to the Merc at the front. “I’m driving.”

I don’t argue, sprinting to the passenger side and falling in. I go straight to my phone to dial Fury, seeing a text message from him. Ten minutes ago.

The restaurant is below ground. Reception spotty. I won’t move far from Beau.

“Fuck!” I slam my fist into the dash, dialing Fury anyway.

“What is it?”

“Bad reception.” It goes straight to voicemail, and I curse my head off some more as Danny skids out of the gates onto the main road. The sound of a phone ringing fills the car, and I glance down at my screen. It’s not mine.

“Tank,” Danny says, taking the call through Bluetooth. “Now’s not a great time.”

“We just dropped the kid home. Rose and your mother are insisting on stopping off somewhere.”

He stares ahead, his hands flexing around the wheel, his already terrible mood getting some stress added to the mix. “Where?”

“Some workshop near the airport.”

“Workshop?”

“I think it’s supposed to be a surprise, so I’m feeling a bit backed into a corner here, boss.”

“Text Len and tell him where you are so he can join you.” He hangs up and scrubs a hand down his face.

“Put your fucking foot down, Danny,” I order, dialing Fury again.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe

No answer.

I reach forward and pull open the glovebox, dragging out the Glock I find and checking the magazine. “You know what this means, don’t you?” I say to the gun, my veins burning, my trigger finger twitching.

“Yeah,” Danny whispers. “It means we’re both back from the dead.” He turns cold blue eyes my way. “I will fight you to the death for this kill.”

“Then I’d better find him first,” I murmur, my eyes constantly passing between the clock, the speedometer, and my phone.

12

BEAU

* * *

An hour. For one whole long hour I’ve sat here listening to my father talk non-stop about himself. His investments, his unbearable girlfriend, and the development of new apartments he’s building on the marina near South Beach. Maybe he’s nervous. Or perhaps he is simply that egocentric. The only thing pleasurable about dinner with him so far is the food. And the surroundings are quite lovely too. The Mexican downtown is traditional and quaint. The food is delicious. For that alone, I’m glad I didn’t turn away at the door when I realized Dad had failed to take into consideration my issue with busy spaces. Although, really, it wasn’t all that busy in the main restaurant. I’ve faced worse in recent times, but James isn’t with me tonight.

My father seemed oblivious to my building stress as we stood on the sidewalk outside, his eyes fixed on my exposed scar. I think I saw regret in his eyes. Regret and pain.

“I can’t eat here, Dad,” I’d said quietly. It was in that moment he clicked. He apologized profusely, held me by the tops of my arms, and begged me to let him fix it. He didn’t let me down. We’ve been seated downstairs, away from the main restaurant upstairs. It’s quiet down here. Just us. No journalists, no girlfriend, and no anxiety on my part. But the presence of Fury hasn’t gone unnoticed, my dad recoiling when he caught sight of the mountain shadowing me as I got out of the car.