“Then why does he want your marina too?”
“To start up a scuba diving business,” I reply dryly. “You dumb fuck, Adams. He wants the most secluded part of the coast to ship women into the fucking country. He gets the best of both worlds. Me dead, and the perfect route into the country. He planted Rose on you to get intel on me. He knew you were dealing with me.”
“The little bitch!”
There goes my last thread of sanity. I launch myself across my office to him, just holding myself back from kicking his head in. He sits back in his chair, wary. “Don’t push me, Adams,” I seethe. “I already want your death to be slow.”
“She really has got under your skin, hasn’t she?”
“It’s not that simple.” I push myself away and return to my chair.
“Wait,” Adams says abruptly. “My contact, he referred to his partner. I don’t think he’s working alone. There’s someone else.
“There was someone else, yes.”
“Was? What do you mean, was?”
I look at the drawer where my father’s picture is kept. “He’s dead,” I declare with the finality it deserves. I refocus on Adams and what I need to do. “Now, are you going to listen to me, because there’s something you can do that might change my mind about murdering your corrupt arse?”
“If you don’t kill me, he will.”
“Not if I kill him first.”
“What?”
“You heard. You can continue your campaign trail. The photos of you and Rose disappear. Your debt with me will be wiped clean.”
“The money? I won’t owe you?”
“If you pull off what I’m about to ask, then yes. You get your life back and you don’t owe me. And for fuck’s sake, stop cheating on your wife. Are you listening?”
There’s just a slight pause. “Yes. Yes, I’m listening.”
“Good, because I’m your only hope.”
* * *
After I finished detailing exactly how Adams was going to redeem himself, I made a few more calls to various significant people, my accountant included. I hang up and breathe out, staring at the ceiling. I thought I knew everything. In fact, I know nothing. Enlightenment seems to have rained down, pelting me with purpose. Everything seems to make perfect sense to me now, even if it’s hard to grasp. How can you be in this world for twenty years, think you know every depraved thing there is to know, and, actually, know nothing at all? How is it possible I had no fucking idea?
As I wander to the kitchen, I take a call from Uncle Ernie, nodding sharply to Esther as I start to make a pot of coffee. “Morning.”
“Still alive, then?”
“I’m immortal, Ernie.”
He laughs, the laugh that throws me back to my younger days when Pops and Uncle Ernie used to share cigars and brandy on the terrace. “We should do dinner,” I say, the suggestion sounding odd, but I need to see him. Talk to him.
“We should.” Ernie’s easy agreement makes me relax somewhat. “Your father would want us to stay close. I never had kids myself. You and Brad are the closest I’ve got, and my asshole cousin will haunt me forever if we lose touch.”
I falter in my motions before carefully setting two cups on the tray. “Tomorrow evening?”
“My place. It’s private.”
Private. Good, because what I’m going to say needs to remain private. “Looking forward to it.” I hang up and brace my hands on the edge of the counter for a few seconds, thinking. Logic tells me I’m chasing a rainbow. Hope tells me I deserve respite from this world. Guilt slivers through my veins, my father’s voice chasing it. He can go fuck himself.
I collect the tray and make my way upstairs. Rose is still snoozing, splayed on her front with the sheets covering her legs, the material finishing just shy of her arse. I smile and set down the tray as quietly as possible, easing myself down gently to the edge of the bed. Her arms are stretched above her head, buried under the pillow where her head rests. Blush lips parted, thick black lashes fanning her lids, a flushed glow painting her cheeks, her hair strewn all over the pillow. I touch the space between her shoulder blades and draw a perfectly straight, light line down her spine, following my path with my eyes until I reach the two cute dimples above her arse. I circle each lightly, flattening my palm and ghosting over the area that’s now tinged yellow from the fading bruise. I blink back the sting of rage that makes my eyes water, making myself enjoy this moment of silently admiring what is now mine. How? How the fuck did she survive so many years of torture? Her life wasn’t all that different to mine, yet I had someone step in and provide solace, a home, a purpose. Even if it stands for shit now. She was shafted from such an early age and never rescued. Always living a nightmare. Always in fear and pain. And yet, she gave the terrifying Angel-faced Assassin cheek from the minute she met me. Stood up to me. Didn’t flinch. A survivor. And I’m going to make her a victor. Because it’s about fucking time she won.