Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Because when The Bear dies, so does the merciless assassin that James became after his family was murdered. When The Bear dies, so does The Enigma. I’m not deluded enough to believe it stops there entirely, though. Like Danny, you don’t make a name for yourself and walk away as if you never tortured and murdered dozens of men, even if they deserved to die. Expect the unexpected. I have to live by that motto if I am to live with James, and I cannot live without him, so that is that.
“There’s Otto and Esther,” I say, motioning to the path that leads down from Esther’s place to the beach. “They’re surely not arriving together?” I saw Danny earlier. Today would not be a good day to piss him off. I find my pace increasing, wanting to get to them before they make it to Danny and Rose’s villa, to warn them about what they’re walking into. “Esther!” I yell, waving. “Wait up.” I grab James’s hand and start jogging through the sand.
“You need to stay out of it, Beau,” James mumbles. “Not our problem.”
“Do you want Otto to die?”
“Danny won’t kill Otto.”
I snort. I may not have known Danny Black for long, but I know him well. He’s unpredictable. Shoots from the hip. And today, he’s in a bad mood. “I’d rather not chance it,” I say, reaching them.
“Chance what?” Otto asks, looking between us. “What’s going on?”
“Danny.”
“What about him?” Esther asks, her voice high and worried. “Did something happen?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I went shopping with Rose earlier. She was weirdly cagey, and James said Danny hardly murmured a word while they were out on the jet skis earlier.”
“I imagine that’s because he drank enough Scotch last night to sink a fucking cruise liner,” Otto mumbles. “Understandable, given the circumstances.”
“You shouldn’t have told us,” Esther says, looking between James and Otto accusingly.
James laughs, and Otto rubs at his forehead. I won’t join them in openly expressing their thoughts on that, but I have to agree, it’s a crazy suggestion. Esther is basically saying we women are gullible. That we don’t know our men. That they could disappear for fuck knows how long to find and kill someone and we wouldn’t suspect a thing. For God’s sake.
“I mean it,” she affirms, pointing toward Danny and Rose’s villa. “If that bloody bear doesn’t kill my son, his wife will.”
“The Bear won’t kill him,” Otto says, and I smile at his gruff voice being all soft and pacifying. “I promise you that, Boo.”
“Boo?” James blurts, earning a scowl from Otto.
“Say a fucking word . . .”
James’s hands come up in defense. “Wouldn’t dream of it”—he backs up as Otto stomps off and Esther follows—“Boo,” he adds. I smack his arm, and he laughs again, as Otto slows to a stop.
“You clearly want to die too,” I sigh, willing Otto to pick up his feet, which he eventually does. I tug James along, watching as Esther catches up to Otto and nudges him with her shoulder. He nudges her right back. But no touching. No handholding. I know Esther’s history. I know she deserves happiness and freedom from her guilt. I just question whether Otto—a man renowned for being a frequent visitor of strip clubs—is the man to give her that.
“Do you think they’re . . .” I pout. “You know.”
“Fucking?”
I flinch on Danny’s behalf. “Esther doesn’t look like the kind of woman to fuck.”
“And that’s all Otto does, so if you’re asking me if they’re going to work out, the answer is no.”
Another flinch, but this time for Esther. “Perhaps you should have a bit more faith.” I look at him. “I bet a million people would vote against us working out.”
His scowl is instant as he looks down at me. “I couldn’t give a fuck what a million people think. Only you.” He stops us walking, takes my purse, and sets it on the wall with the bottle of wine and my shoes. He turns into me. “So, what do you think, Beau Hayley?” His eyes scan mine as I half smile, his palms cupping my cheeks.
“I think,” I say, scanning his glorious face, “I love you.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
He nods, the pad of his thumb dragging across my bottom lip, wiping away the gloss. And he lowers his face to mine slowly, making me wait for his kiss. I inhale, bracing myself, taking hold of his wrists, my eyes closing. I feel when his mouth is level with mine, his breath warming my skin, and I whimper, begging him to indulge me, and yet he makes me wait some more. Makes me burn more. Makes my heart boom more.
And suddenly, the heat dies.
His hands fall away from my cheeks.
I lose my hold of his wrists.
And I stumble forward a fraction from the loss of support before he quickly catches and steadies me.