I grit my teeth and fight against his resistance. I get nowhere.
“I think three sets of twenty will do.”
“What?” I choke, alarmed, as he abruptly pulls my panties aside, burying his face between my legs. My eyes roll in the back of my head and my back plummets to the mattress. “Three sets of twenty,” I breathe, smiling when he bites the tip of my clitoris. It doesn’t take him long to get me fisting the sheets, my legs squirming around his head. I pull the sheets over my face, relishing the coolness of the cotton on my blazing skin. It’s coming, I’m there, it’s . . .
I hear a loud bang in the distance, and Danny is quickly out from between my legs, looking lost between drunkenness and alertness. My building orgasm is swallowed up by worry as he jumps up and paces to the door. “Stay there.”
I quickly cover myself as he swings the door open, completely naked, and looks down the corridor. On a curse, he slams it and finds some boxers, pulling them on and grabbing his phone from the nightstand. “What is it?” I ask, getting to my feet and fastening the buttons of his shirt down my body.
The door to his bedroom flies open, and Brad falls in, looking harassed. Ringo follows on behind. “What’s going on?” Danny asks as Brad fights to get his breath back.
“Explosion by the front gates.” He makes his way onto the terrace with Ringo.
Danny follows, his eyes raging holy hell. Every muscle on his back protrudes with uneasiness. “Fuck,” he curses, and I look past him, seeing smoke rising in the distance, a dense, dirty gray cloud that symbolizes ruin. I walk out onto the terrace, my nostrils immediately picking up the smell of burning rubber.
“Get the men together,” Danny orders, brushing past me and retrieving some jeans, tugging them on while I stand on the terrace with Brad and Ringo, watching the smoke ball growing.
I step forward toward the edge, setting my hands on the metal while Ringo and Brad back up into Danny’s room, talking urgently. Their voices morph and muffle as I stare across the grounds toward the main gate. I see a few men running through the gardens, guns poised, shouting panicked orders and instructions as they go.
Apprehension engulfs me, as grim and destructive as the swirl of smoke still rising.
This is my fault.
The shoot-out in Vegas, the jet ski, this. It’s all happening because of me. I swallow, searching for the courage I need to tell Danny. I can’t wait. I need to do it now. I turn, finding him pulling a white T-shirt over his head as Brad talks into his cell and Ringo throws Danny’s boots at his feet.
“Danny,” I say, and he looks up. I expect him to dismiss me, to tell me he hasn’t got time for me right now. But he doesn’t. He comes to me. Kisses me. And looks at me in a way that tells me everything is going to be okay. And then he walks away. “Danny,” I blurt, and he stops at the door, turning to look at me standing motionless on the terrace. A faint whistling sound infiltrates my thoughts, and I try to push it back, focusing on mentally running through my confession, straightening it out in my head before I speak. The sound grows louder and louder. I can’t find the words. Where are the words? I stare into his questioning eyes, digging deep for the courage.
Then Danny looks past me, his eyes growing wide, fear creeping in from the edges.
I frown as the whistle transforms into an ear-piercing screech, and slowly turn to look behind me, to see what has his horrified attention.
“Rose, move!”
I see something black coasting through the sky toward me, growing by the second. By the time I realize what it is, it’s too late.
The whole house shakes, my eardrums feel like they burst, and I scream, grabbing the railings on the balcony as flames billow in front of me. I’m grabbed from behind and hauled back, the terrace disappearing from under my feet, crumbling away in huge chunks. “Rose!”
My body jolts painfully, my arm feeling like it’s been ripped from its socket. It takes me a while to figure out why. Then it hits me. I look down calmly. There’s no terrace under my feet, just a sheer drop to the ground where the remains of the terrace lays in a pile of bricks, rubble, and smoke. I’m hanging over the edge, one hand in Danny’s, death staring me in the eye.
How easy it would be to let go of him. To be rid of my problems and the consequences attached to my choices.
My boy will be okay. He’ll be safe if I’m gone. Because I don’t think I can fight this battle now. The war is over. I can feel my hand slipping from Danny’s. Nox won’t take any pleasure in hurting my boy if he can’t hurt me.