CHAPTER 19

J'veux Pas Mourir Toute Seule

"I t's called Monopoly Empire," I explain, holding the small box of cards up. "It's Monopoly, but instead of stupid streets, you can own McDonald's."

Henry, Ian, Ambrose, and I are sitting on the floor around the coffee table, with an episode of Downton playing in the background—one of the earlier episodes so H and I don't miss anything while we play.

I designate myself as banker and begin setting up the pieces, allowing Henry to explain the rules. He and I had this game at the office to play if we ever got bored during a late night or were stuck there for weather, which happened a few times. We are both competitive people by nature, but when you sit us down to play Monopoly Empire, we become feral. We got a noise complaint once while playing this game; we were shouting so loud that it "disturbed the work of our neighboring businesses."

Once the rules are explained and the money is distributed, we begin to play. It quickly turns competitive, and before long, the shouting and outraged cursing begins. The bottle of rum I opened for the four of us to share didn't help. We've all paced ourselves, so we don't get drunk, but we're all tipsy enough that chaos is bound to happen.

I win the first round, H wins the second, and Ambrose has won the last two. Poor Ian hasn't won once, and coincidentally he's the one being the loudest. When Ambrose gets a chance card and gets to switch one of his properties with another's, he picks Ian, who up until this point had the lead. His mouth falls open as Ambrose trades Hasbro for Coca-Cola, and then he bangs his fist on the coffee table, shouting, "Fucking Christ!"

Ambrose smirks, dramatically adding Coca-Cola to his ever-growing tower. "It's not personal, Beast. Just business."

Ian glowers at him, but I see some amusement in his gaze that Ambrose returns.

Henry clasps Ian's shoulder, giving him a look of sympathy. "For a man so skilled in strategy, you've always been terrible at board games."

As I roll the dice for my turn, I ask H, "You guys used to play games like this in the Navy?"

Ian takes another swig of rum, brushing Henry's hand off his shoulder. "Not like this. Chess, checkers, and some card games. Poker was a dangerous game to play in our team; Grant could drain you of your life savings in a single game. No one could beat him. Don't even get me started on playing blackjack with this one." Ian points his thumb to H, who takes the bottle from his hands and grins into the rim before taking a drink himself.

I glance at Ambrose, who is softly smiling at Ian from across the table. "Are you good at cards?"

My words pull him from the trance he was trapped in, and he gives me a shaky smile, like a kid caught stealing from his parents. "No. I'm good at chess though. My brother and I used to play it all the time growing up."

"Are you and your brother close?" I ask, passing Ian the dice.

Ambrose shrugs, his smile faltering. "We were. Then he became an FBI agent, and I became a smuggler."

Yikes. "I bet he doesn't approve of your job."

Ambrose laughs, shaking his head. "Not in the slightest."

Ian lands on one of Henry's properties and has to pay him four hundred dollars, which he does while grumbling every curse word I've ever known. As Henry takes his turn, I let my curiosity get the best of me and I ask Ambrose, "How did you get into smuggling?"

He looks at me then, and in his gaze, I see an exhaustion I know all too well: the all-consuming physical, mental, and emotional exhaustion you feel having a chronic illness. "I worked for a cyber security company that did freelance work for various corporations. One of our client companies was Elias Rose."

Elias Rose is one of the three biggest pharmaceutical companies in the world, and the leading supplier of insulin in the United States. "I bet that was hard for you."

While Elias Rose and other pharmaceutical companies have done a lot of good, they are also one of the biggest pains in the ass any disabled person has to deal with. They have infamously high prices for insulin that far exceed the cap at $35. Before I worked for Henry, I was paying a $50 co-pay every month for just my insulin alone, not including my pump supplies and my CGM. Even with insurance, I had to pay around $300 a month, and even then, sometimes my insurance would refuse to cover my supplies. It's ridiculous.

He sighs, grabbing the dice off the game board. "It was. I had to be in meetings with the very people who made me pay a fortune every month to survive. We were hired to tighten their security because of people hacking into their system and stealing money, and I eventually discovered that the hackers were not only stealing money, but insulin as well. They would sell it for an even higher price in countries that didn't even have access to insulin. I gave all this information to my brother, who had them all arrested…but those people scammed still didn't have access to insulin that was affordable to them, or any supplies for that matter. Since I was already in the Elias Rose system, I got into contact with some people in their shipping department, people who helped those hackers, and offered them a new job: help me smuggle supplies and I'll pay them double their current income. They agreed, and I started my smuggling business."

"Did you get caught?"

He nods, placing his game piece in jail, ironically enough. "My brother found out. He told me that if I didn't leave the country in twenty-four hours, he'd arrest me, so I fled down here. I bought a bar with the money I'd saved, and it's been the base of operations for my smuggling ever since. I'm not just taking from Elias Rose anymore; I take from all of them, sending crates of insulin and other medical supplies along the African and South American coast. My customers don't pay more than five dollars."

I stare at him in awe, my admiration for the man next to me growing tenfold. "That's truly incredible. You've got yourself a new client."

Ambrose winks at me, making Henry stare daggers at the back of his head. Upon my own glare directed his way, Henry's peeved expression fades, though he still doesn't look happy.

"How did you and Ian run into each other?" I ask, trying to redirect.

Both men share an alarmed look, and when Ian attempts to answer, he stumbles over himself a few times. "Well, I was at a bar."

"My bar. The one I own," Ambrose interjects.

"Yes, that bar. We ran into each other, got to talking, had some drinks…" Ian clears his throat, shaking his head. "Then the next morning I caught him taking boxes of medical supplies to a boat."

"My bar is next to a harbor," Ambrose explains, his eyes firmly on the game board.

"And when I confronted him about it, we struck up a deal—"

"You blackmailed me," Ambrose corrects.

Ian rolls his eyes. "I asked if he would help me find Harrison and his team and in exchange, I would keep his operation a secret from authorities."

I hum, tilting my head to the side. "That sounds like blackmail to me."

"Fine, I blackmailed him," Ian grumbles, his cheeks growing a bright rosy red.

Henry and I share a look across the table, and I know he and I are thinking the same thing: they hooked up at the bar, and amidst the afterglow, Ian found out Ambrose was a criminal, so he blackmailed him into helping look out for the vengeful assassins coming after us.

That would make a really good book.

"I think we should all get some sleep," Ian suggests, avoiding eye contact with anyone. "We have a long day ahead of us."

"Henry and I have been sharing my room, so you're welcome to share his," I tell them, starting to clean up all the Monopoly money.

"Is that the only room available?" Ian asks.

"Unless you want to sleep on the couch," Henry replies, trying his best not to smile as he helps me put the game away.

"You can take the room," Ambrose immediately offers, gesturing to the couch behind him. "You need to get as much sleep as possible for tomorrow."

"I could say the same of you," Ian counters.

"It's fine, I don't mind."

"I insist."

With a roll of my eyes and a sigh, I whisper to Henry, "This could go on forever."

Clearly in agreement, Henry helps me up off the floor and interrupts the argument unfolding before our eyes. "For fuck's sake, share the damn bed, it's not like you haven't already."

Ian and Ambrose fall silent, shocked by Henry's outburst, and the former looks like his face is about to melt off from how red he's turned. Ambrose doesn't look embarrassed though; if anything, he looks pleased, like having slept with Ian is something to be proud of.

It's absolutely adorable.

"We'll see you two in the morning," I say, tugging H along with me as I retreat down the hall, knowing the pair are likely to continue arguing over their sleeping arrangements.

When H and I make it to my bedroom, shut behind the automatic doors, I give him a pointed, amused look. "That was subtle."

Henry shrugs, placing his hands on my hips, with his thumbs toying with the hem of my shirt. "Ian is wound so tight that if you shoved a lump of coal up his ass, in a few hours he'd shit out a diamond. If I didn't say something, he would have argued all night. He has this unwavering sense of honor and chivalry that very quickly becomes annoying as fuck."

"Ambrose really likes him. I can tell." I lock my hands around his nape, smiling at him.

"So does Ian. I've never seen him so flustered." Henry laughs to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "He's such a hypocrite, developing feelings for a criminal after spending the better part of three hours riding me for being a killer for hire."

The irony wasn't lost on me either. "The heart wants what it wants."

"It certainly does," he murmurs, his eyes glued to mine, his mouth parted slightly.

I don't know which one of us moves first, but our lips clash together with an urgency that is almost violent. Henry cups my nape with one hand while holding my hip in the other. He slides his palm down my thigh, and without needing to be directed, I lift my legs to straddle his waist, and he holds me firmly in his embrace as he walks over to the bed, collapsing on top of me.

When he lifts his head, I see a coy, mischievous smile, and I know that we've officially stepped into our bedroom roles. "With our guests sleeping, you'll need to be quiet. Think you can do that?"

I pretend to ponder, squirming on the mattress. "And if I'm not?"

"If this were any other night, I would tell you that if you made a noise I would edge you, sending you towards an orgasm only to take it away from you until you learned to behave." Henry licks the hollow of my throat, grazing his teeth over my skin. "But I need you tonight. I need to be inside you, Beth, and I need to remind myself what I'm fighting for tomorrow."

"Then what are you waiting for?" I whisper, arching my chest upwards, silently begging for him to undress me, to touch me, to do something.

I let out a little squeak when H rips off my shirt with one hand and undoes my bra with the other. My pump, still attached to my bra, tugs hard on the tube still inside me as Henry attempts to chuck my clothes onto the floor. After seeing me flinch from the sharp pain it caused, he gives me an apologetic look and detaches the tube, then he proceeds to chuck my clothes onto the floor. My upper half is now naked, and Henry wastes no time doing the same for the rest of me. He drags my pants and underwear down my legs, and once they unceremoniously drop to the ground at the foot of the bed, Henry spreads my legs, giving a satisfied hum at what he sees.

"Someone is already wet," he observes, letting go of my thighs to rip off his shirt, but he leaves his pants on.

"You tend to have that effect on me," I reply, taking in his Achillean physique, which still manages to leave me breathless, especially now that I know what it feels like to have that body covering mine, to have all of Henry's energy focused on me and my pleasure.

He pulls his cock out of his pants, palming himself as his body once again covers mine, and in a couple quick thrusts, he's fully seated in me. His body gives a slight shudder, and I can't describe the bliss that flows through me seeing his reaction to me. It makes me feel like a goddess. True to his word, he doesn't waste any time before pulling back and thrusting back in, beginning a brutal, rough rhythm that shows me just how desperately he needs this, needs our connection, an anchor.

"Tell me you love me," he demands, never faltering his pace.

"I love you," I tell him, my fingers digging into the cords of his neck.

"Tell me you want to stay with me forever."

"I want to stay with you forever." Emotion clogs my throat, and tears begin to prick my eyes.

"Tell me who your body belongs to."

"You," I whisper, tears lining my eyes as my orgasm draws nearer.

"Tell me you'll marry me," he whispers into my ear, speeding up his thrusts until the sound of slapping skin fills my ears. "Tell me you'll be my wife."

I hit my peak as those words leave his lips, and a tear rolls down my cheek as my walls ripple around his cock. With a curse and a few more thrusts, Henry comes inside me, pressing his face into the crook of my neck, right where my pulse flutters under my skin.

H props himself up and looks down into my eyes, and his expression is so open and honest, his gaze earnestly searching my face for a reaction to that last request he gave me. "Are you serious?" I ask, another tear slipping down the side of my cheek.

He nods once, pulling out of me and rolling over onto the other side of the bed, still facing me. "I've never been more serious in my life."

"But we can't—not legally anyways."

Henry chuckles at that, wiping away the tear clinging to my jaw. "When have we ever cared about doing things legally? Whether we commit fraud and get married under false identities or we stand alone with nothing but the stars as witness as we declare ourselves to one another till death do us part, I don't care. I just want to be able to call you my wife."

I smile so wide my cheeks hurt. "You have to do this properly before I give you an answer. You gotta a ring?"

He gets off the bed and bends down on one knee, linking his fingers with mine. "I didn't think we needed one, because I thought we were perfectly entwined. Like branches on a tree or twigs caught on a vine."

That's oddly poetic of him.

Henry continues, locking his gaze with mine. "Like all those days and weeks and months I tried to steal a kiss, and all those sleepless nights and daydreams where I pictured this. I'm just the underdog who finally got the girl, and I'm not afraid to tell the world."

It finally dawns on me, and I gasp in excitement. "Are you quoting a One Direction song to me?"

He grins, enjoying my reaction. "Yes, because I am truly, madly, crazy, deeply in love with you, and somehow you caved all my walls in. So, baby, say you'll always keep me, say you'll be my wife."

This man, who has gone on record saying he hates "boy band music," memorized the lyrics for "Truly Madly Deeply" by One Direction to say during his proposal to me. It's straight out of a rom-com, which is just the kind of cheesy and sappy I need when I'm about to accept a proposal. So, after cupping his face and planting a long and sloppy kiss on his lips, I give him my answer. "Fuck yes, I'll marry you."

Henry gathers me in for a hug, laughing into my bare shoulder. I lock my arms around his neck and let him pick me up off the bed, swinging us around in a circle with glee like Mary and Matthew in the Downton Abbey Christmas special. It's absolutely perfect.