The Enigma: Unlawful Men Book 2

by Malpas, Jodi Ellen

  I’m amused, but I don’t smile. The Angel-faced Assassin is wary of a woman. I can relate. “Spittle was taking backhanders from someone connected to The Bear,” I tell him. “I killed the connection, had Spittle looked up, and gave him a courtesy call. He took an instant dislike to me. I think he has a thing against British.”

  Black smiles, amused.

  “Spittle knows he’s fucked up,” I continue. “He’s said things he shouldn’t have said to people he shouldn’t have said them to.”

  “Like?”

  “Like hints that The Brit isn’t dead. And when he realized he’d let on you’re alive, he tried to kill Brad to cover his arse and came to me when he failed. So I asked myself, why wouldn’t he just wait for The Bear to kill Brad?”

  “Because The Bear won’t kill Brad.” Black shakes his head, his lip close to curling. “Because he wants Brad to lead him to me.”

  “And then you’d find out Spittle’s blown your cover and kill him.”

  “So he didn’t expose me intentionally.”

  “No,” I say, forcing my body into relaxing. “Does that mean you’re not going to kill him?”

  “All in good time,” he muses, looking like he’s already plotting Spittle’s demise.

  “Like when? He’s stupid, and stupid people can be dangerous.” That’s been proven.

  “Are you stupid, James?”

  “I’m sitting here. Of course I’m fucking stupid. But I’m owning it.”

  He laughs lightly. “I’ve not met many men I’ve liked instantly.”

  “I’ve met none,” I reply, and he regards me coolly, nodding. Understanding.

  “Tell me why I shouldn’t end you now, turn Spittle inside out, and kill The Bear myself.”

  “You don’t know who the Bear is. No one does.”

  “And you do?”

  “No.” I lean forward, making sure he hears what I’m about to say clearly. “But I have a personal investment.” My head tilts. “He killed my family. He ordered the death of my girlfriend’s mother. So I know you hear me when I say I’d be fucked right off if I don’t get to look that motherfucker in the eye before I end him. For him to see me. To know who I am. To know why he’s dying.” I have to pause to take a breath, my skin sizzling with that unrelenting need again. Danny Black sits quietly, observant, watching me fighting to control my rage. And something deep and potent tells me he gets it. He comprehends. But just in case . . .

  I stand and turn, pulling my T-shirt up, exposing my back. “I will burn him alive. Listen to him squeal like a pig. I need vengeance. But more than that, Beau needs it. And I will bring her peace.” Dropping my T-shirt, I turn to face him. “Are we clear?”

  His face is poker straight, but I see the respect looking back at me. “Meet me in my office,” he says, his eyes stuck to mine, his mind obviously spinning.

  I nod, leaving Danny Black on the balcony, undoubtedly considering his options. He knows he only has one.

  Come back to life.

  Beau is still looking dazed in bed when I enter the room, and in an attempt to distract myself from the burn inside, I go to her, taking one of her legs and starting her physio routine. I can feel her studying me. Hear her silent questions.

  But she says nothing. Nothing except, “I love you.”

  My working hands falter, and I look up. Her eyes shine, life in them somewhere. I’ll bring it back to the surface, I swear it, and if I’m going to have to leave her while I hunt, I have to know something . . .

  I lower her leg to the bed and round the side, settling on the mattress and taking her hand. “If I asked you to marry me, would you accept?”

  “No,” she says, straight up, no fucking about. And she’s smiling.

  “Why?”

  “I was a cop. I can’t marry an assassin.”

  “But you can fuck one? Kill with one?” Have a baby with one?

  Her tiny scowl is cute. “We don’t need to get married.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug. “Validation.”

  “That’s exactly why I don’t need it.” She laughs lightly, looking over to the French doors. “I can’t believe he’s alive.”

  I balk, taking her chin and redirecting her face to mine. “Answer me.”

  “I already did.”

  “A different answer.”

  “No. I’m not marrying you.” Her head tilts, her expression firm, as are her words. “The end.”

  “I’m about to go to war, Beau.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “I—” There’s a knock at the door, and I growl, getting up. “We’re not done,” I call back.

  “Incorrect,” she says as I swing it open. Danny Black stands before me, and Goldie and Otto are behind him, looking every bit as stunned as Beau did.

  “You should get used to that,” I say, motioning behind him.

  He looks over his shoulder, interested. “I was just heading down to my office,” he says, and I nod, thoughtful. He didn’t need much time to weigh up his only option.

  “Give me five.” I shut the door and turn around, puffy chested. I’m injured. “I want a valid reason why.”

  Her weak body visibly sags. “I don’t have much faith in vows.” Her nose wrinkles, and I’m not sure whether it’s in discomfort or simply speaking of marriage. Both? Her parents. Her father cheated. Betrayed. That’s not me, but I haven’t got time to convince her of that right now. I stride over, drop a kiss on her forehead. “We’re still not done.”

  I walk away and swing open the door, finding Goldie and Otto whispering. They quickly stop, and I quickly hedge my bets on who will hit me first with their what the fucks?

  “What the fuck?” they say in unison, both of them pointing limp hands down the corridor, where I expect Danny Black has just wandered away.

  “I’ll explain.”

  “We’re definitely done,” Beau calls. “I’m not marrying you.”

  I show the ceiling my palms and Goldie and Otto my despair. “She’s just playing,” I say to their stunned faces, making tracks down the corridor.

  “Where are you going?” they ask as I go.

  “To make a deal with a dead man,” I murmur, rolling my shoulders, every inch of my back tingling.

  The door to his office is open when I get there, and Danny Black is sitting at the helm.

  Behind his desk.

  In the chair Brad wouldn’t take.

  Because it was still his boss’s seat.

  He motions to the chair opposite, and I take it while he pours two Scotches. “How is she?”

  “Still difficult.” I accept the glass he hands me and hit the side of his.

  “Cheers,” he replies, smiling around the rim. “You should take her away,” he suggests, waving a hand indifferently. “Give her some attention.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I have a place, just say the word. Look at it as a welcome gift.”

  “A welcome to what?”

  “My home,” he says, although I expect there’s more to it than that. “And speaking of gifts . . .” He nods at the door, and I turn, just as it opens.

  I slowly lower the glass to the table, the heat rising from my toes to my head.

  Dexter falls into the room.

  “Where did you find him?” I ask, unbending my body from the chair, taking in the pathetic, disheveled piece of shit.

  “One of my men got lucky,” Black says, simple as that. There was no luck. I imagine there was blackmail, threats, but no luck.

  He’s crying, snot everywhere, his complexion gray, blood staining his thigh. Fuck, hold me back.

  Or . . . don’t.

  I see Beau in hospital. I see her circling her stomach in her sleep. I see all the things Dexter really shouldn’t want me to see.

  The red mist can’t be held back.

  I lose my head and fly across the room, charging at him, swiping him clean out of the hands of Ringo and smashing him into the wall. I’m all out
of control. This won’t be quick and clean. “You killed my unborn child, you lanky, cocksucking fucker.”

  God help him.

  No. The devil can have him instead.

  He dribbles and moans as I drop my hold and back away, reaching for my ankle and pulling out a switchblade. “Listen to me,” he pants, eyes darting around the room.

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  “I can tell you who The Bear is.”

  That just enrages me more, and I lunge forward, plunging my knife into his eye socket. He drops, the squeals of pain blood-curdling, the shrieks mixed with pleas irritating as fuck. I get up behind him, take a hold of his head, and tilt it back. I wrestle his tongue out of his mouth and slice the fucker off, then take the blade and sink it into his ear.

  Instant silence.

  Blood everywhere.

  I step back, shaking. I’ve never seen red so vividly. Never shook so much when I’ve ended someone. I cast my eyes across the blood-soaked carpet. “Beau doesn’t hear of this,” I say clearly.

  “Received loud and clear,” Black replies quietly, as I turn to face him. He takes in my blood-stained form while casually sipping his Scotch. “He said he knew who The Bear is.”

  “He was lying. No one knows who he is.”

  “He’ll be coming for me, assuming he really does know I’m alive.”

  Exactly. And Danny Black isn’t the kind of man to wait around to be killed. And thanks to Dexter, The Bear knows who I am too. “He knows you’re alive,” I assure him. “You have Spittle to thank for that. So, are you ready to be my bait?” I ask, and he regards me for a while, as I stand before him, dripping in blood. Yes, I’m sick. But so is he.

  His smile now, dark and moody, proves it.

  He raises his tumbler. “To my resurrection.” He takes a long slurp and slams his glass down. “You’ll hold my fucking hand when I break the news to my wife.”

  Epilogue

  St. Lucia – a week later

  BEAU

  The wheels hit the runway, and I jolt in my seat, feeling James’s keen eyes on me. I try my hardest not to flinch, but the pain, albeit milder now, still gets me. I press my lips together and close my eyes, mentally calculating the last time I had any pain meds. I must be due some more soon.

  I hear James’s cell come to life, pinging and singing the arrival of texts and missed calls. I open my eyes. “Lawrence?” I ask, circling my stomach with my palm, sounding hopeful.

  James shakes his head, and I try so hard to keep my disappointment from my face, closing my eyes again. He’s not left his room since James took us to Black’s mansion. Not spoken. Hardly eaten. Esther, Danny Black’s mother, a lovely, gentle lady, has promised to send me daily updates while we’re away. But I need to hear from him. I need to know he’s okay. Or that he’ll be okay eventually.

  The brakes kick in, and I’m pulled back in the plush seat, breathing through the discomfort. I can feel James watching me. Has been the entire flight. Assessing me. “I’m fine,” I say for the thousandth time, and I so desperately want to be fine, but no matter how many times I try and convince myself of that, I return to the same circle of worry. This here, where we’ve just landed, is a temporary respite. A vacation from our real life, where James is a cold-blooded killer, and I am a broken ex-cop. We’ll need to return to Miami. James will need to kill. I will need closure.

  Closure.

  It seems like a pathetic word to use in such a life-or-death situation. Which brings me to something else. Something I’ve been afraid to ask. “Did you find a key?”

  He unclips his belt, despite the jet still cruising down the runway at some speed, and pulls one of his bags onto his lap. “No.”

  I eye him with suspicion. “You’re lying.”

  “Okay.” He looks up and smiles. It’s sarcastic. “I’m lying.”

  “Why are you doing that?” I ask, unclipping my belt and slowly standing, trying to get some life back into my limbs.

  “The less you know the better. Sit down.”

  The brakes kick in harder, and I’m knocked back into my seat. “Fuck,” I hiss, my face screwing up.

  “God help me, Beau,” James seethes, leaving his seat to re-fasten my belt. “Stay.”

  “The less I know the better?” Does he seriously think that’ll wash?

  “I don’t want you involved,” he mutters, returning to his own seat.

  “You mean with your new gangster friends?” I turn away, looking out of the window. It’s so bright, I have to squint. Sunshine. “You don’t get to pull the protection card now,” I say as the jet comes to a standstill. “I’ve told you, don’t treat me like I’m glass.”

  “The protection card has been in play since we met, Beau,” he replies, standing and taking my hand. I look up at him. “And you are glass. Always will be to me.” His eyes drop to my stomach. To my wound. To my womb. Fragile. And, of course, I can’t argue with him.

  I let him unclip my seatbelt and carefully pull me to my feet. “I’ll walk,” I say before he has a chance to scoop me up. “My muscles are dead.” I start a very slow wander toward the flight attendant up front, who is freshly painted to see us off Danny Black’s private jet. I smile my thanks as I pass her and break out into the sunshine.

  “Sunshine on your face,” James whispers, resting his chin on my shoulder.

  I inhale the salty sea air and let it stream out slowly. “What are we going to do with all our time now you have no one in the vicinity to kill?”

  “Have a holiday.”

  “A vacation.”

  “Yes, that.” He ushers me down the steps, and a driver meets us. He nods and passes us, collecting our bags. “Dinner,” James says. “Relaxing, reading, recharging.” He opens the car door and looks back. Danny Black emerges from the plane, looking cool and casual in a cream linen suit.

  “Strategizing,” I add, my face straight when James turns tired eyes onto me. “Am I wrong?”

  “You’re talking too much about the wrong things.”

  “I want to know every move you make,” I inform him. “Before you make it.” A wave of something washes over his features, and I tilt me head in question. “Have you got something to tell me?”

  “Not a thing.” He gently pushes me into the seat as Black approaches, slipping on his shades.

  “The driver will take you to the beach hut,” Danny says, nodding to the guy who’s loading the trunk with our cases. “When you’re settled in, we’ll have dinner. The four of us.”

  “Us three and who?” I ask, curious. Don’t tell me the Angel-faced Assassin has a girlfriend. I pause for thought, looking at James. The Enigma. How the fuck did I go from being a cop to a gangster’s moll?

  “My wife.” Something shines in his eyes, softening them. “Rose. Something tells me you two will get along great.”

  “Why?”

  Danny looks at James, serious. “Difficult. Was that the word?”

  My eyes swing from Danny to James. He’s smiling too. “Difficult? Me?” The nerve. “Forgive me for needing to know the finer details of my boyfriend’s planned killing spree.”

  “Thanks, mate,” James says, and Danny Black smiles. There’s definitely something different about him here. Something lighter. His wife? “Wish me luck,” he says. “And if you don’t hear from me by morning, you’d better come check I’m alive.”

  “You’re scared of a woman?”

  “Terrified. And she’s not just any woman.” He appears to shudder for effect. “She’s my wife.” He starts backing away, eyes on James, a certain amount of communication happening with that single look.

  James nods, understanding, and turns his attention onto me. “Ready?” He shuts the door, rounding the back and sliding in next to me. My cell starts ringing, and I dig it out of my purse. “Oh . . .” I breathe.

  “Who?”

  “My father.” I flash the screen at James. “I’ve got to take it.” It was a cop-out leaving a message with his secretary but explaining why I�
��m leaving the country seemed like a mammoth task.

  “You can’t tell him where we are, Beau.”

  “I know,” I say on a sigh. “Dad.”

  “Beau, what’s going on? I’ve had a message that you’ve gone on vacation.”

  “A small break,” I say as the driver pulls away. “I’ll be back in a week or so.”

  “Where are you? You should have said, I would have chartered a flight for you.”

  I smile, looking out of the window at the shiny private jet we just disembarked. “It’s fine.” James upgraded us. Into mafia territory. And yet, undeniably, I feel safe. Did at Casa Black, and now here in St. Lucia.

  “So where are you?”

  “Somewhere quiet.”

  “With him, obviously,” he says, and I look at James. What happened when I was out cold for a week? Something tells me my father and boyfriend didn’t bond.

  “With James, yes.”

  “I see.” He coughs. “Well, enjoy. Call me when you’re home. We still need to do that lunch. Just the two of us.” He hangs up, and I shake my head.

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

  James reaches over and takes my hand. “Still got daddy issues?” he asks, and I laugh under my breath. “I don’t want to be an issue for my kids.”

  I swing my eyes his way. Where did that come from?

  “My father was a drug tycoon, yours is a conceited wanker. Do you think we’ll be shit parents?”

  My mouth falls open to speak, but I can’t find the right words. Something tells me he’s thought about this a lot. I, however, have pushed our loss into a safe box in my brain, never to be opened. It’s self-preservation. It’s all I can do because the alternative would be bloodshed, and one murderer in this relationship is enough.

  What the fuck am I thinking?

  I force a smile and look away. “Can we go swimming in the sea?” I ask.

  He doesn’t answer the question that was plucked from thin air in an attempt to change the subject. He’s still thinking. I’m not sure I like James on vacation.