Page 123 of Freeing Denver

“Just say sex on the beach. We all know you mean sex on the beach.” JJ says.

I roll my eyes and Colt winks as he pulls me to my feet.

It’s windier today, my hair whipping around me as we walk close to the surf. Colt tightens his hold around my waist, and we eventually stop and look back at the house. The rich smell of salt and sand is all around us, and the bitter chill of winter is finally giving way to spring. It should be a welcome feeling, leaning into the warmer months, being at this beach house together after having so much time apart.

The heaviness can’t be ignored, though. The bitter taste of betrayal overwhelms any good feelings I could have here.

“Maybe Kitrick was wrong,” Colt says.

I keep my gaze on the house. “Maybe. But even if he’s wrong, that means there’s still someone leaking information about us. And only the people in that house had access to it.” He pulls my front to his. “We can only trust each other right now.”

Colt groans and his head drops back. “I feel like a fucking traitor. I’m doubting people I’ve known most of my life.”

“It’s being safe. We know it has to be one of them. We have to think worst-case scenario.” He nods and tucks my hair behind my ear, and I grip his jacket. “We can do this, right? It’ll work.”

He pulls me to him, and I rest my ear against his chest.

“It has to.”

Chapter 37

Colt

Ronan and I watch the door to the warehouse. Night fell hours ago, and with it came a chill that settled on my bones, chased away only by the anticipation that’s sat with me since Kitrick’s visit last week. Denver and I told Ronan everything. He was a victim of the bombings too, so there’s no way he’s the rat. So far, he’s remained calm.

Tonight is a different story. His anger is like a current on his skin, the tension palpable, and it’s ramped up since the cars started arriving, each one holding the head of a New York crime family.

It’s been decades since every unofficial powerhouse sat in the same place to discuss business. There was too much bloodshed in the past, too much risk, Finn told me. But in the years I’ve been doing this, I’ve cultivated relationships that helped make tonight happen. Ronan has, too, though he wields fear more than respect.

Denver is in the car with Lewis, keeping warm, and I lean against the hood as people exit cars and make their way into the warehouse. It was the only space big enough to contain everyone and empty enough that they would know armed men weren’t hiding behind closed doors.

“We’re making history,” Ronan says quietly, his green eyes tracking the movements of the people arriving.

I nod. “Yes, we are.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “He should be here.”

Finn. Yes, he should be. He should be guiding us, or at the very least be by our side.

“We’ll just have to make him proud.”

Ronan meets my eye. “I’m gonna miss you. Don’t exactly know what life is supposed to be like without you in it.”

“Dull, I bet.” I grin and grip his shoulder. “You were born for this. You’ll be fine.” I straighten off the hood and open the car door. Denver looks up from her phone. “Ready, Del?”

“Nope,” she says but holds out her hand, and I take it. She steps out of the car, looking every bit a mafia queen. Heels. Designer dress. A gun hidden well. She looks at the long line of cars, security waiting by them.

Lewis gets out of the car. “I’ll be at the door.”

I nod, and he leaves.

“Everyone in position?” Denver asks, playing with the bracelet Holly made for her last night. It’s white and gray, a single white bead with a pink heart stamped onto it.

Ronan nods. “They’ll call you.”

Her shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep, steadying breath. Alistair approaches, tucking his phone into his pocket. All four of us stand together, Denver’s hand in mine.

Four heads. McEwans and Harlands.