10. Quinn
10
QUINN
I nod, my throat suddenly dry in spite of all the steam I’ve been breathing. “Right. Of course. Let me just grab my clothes from the?—”
“That won’t be necessary.” The taller woman’s hand clamps around my upper arm as I try to edge toward the locker room. Her fingers dig into my skin with practiced precision—not enough to bruise, but definitely enough to control.
“I’m standing here naked,” I say, hating how my voice wavers. “I can’t exactly?—”
“Mr. Mercer will see you.” The shorter woman steps closer, her presence forcing me back half a step. “Now.”
The air feels colder against my exposed skin, raising goosebumps even in the humid air. They’re going to parade me through this place naked. A power play, obviously—keeping me vulnerable and off-balance.
Which means I got their attention. Got his attention.
This was the plan. This is what I wanted.
The two women stare at me, their eyes drilling into me from both sides, their expressions practically carved from stone. My arms twitch, instinct screaming to cover myself, but I plant them at my sides instead. Let them look. If they’re trying to intimidate me by keeping me naked, they can fuck right off.
Minutes stretch like hours in the dim light. The only sounds are water lapping against tile and the soft hiss of steam rising from the pools. My skin prickles, but I keep my chin high, my gaze steady. These women want me to crack, to show even a flicker of discomfort.
They don’t know who the fuck they’re dealing with. I’ll give them and Malcolm an eyeful before I’ll even consider giving them the upper hand.
A door opens across the room, the sound echoing off the walls. Light spills in from beyond, casting a long shadow that stretches across the wet floor. A man steps through—tall, angular features sharp in the low light. His dark eyes scan the room with practiced efficiency before settling on me. Despite his perfectly tailored suit, there’s something predatory in the way he moves, like a shark gliding through deep water.
“Leave us.” His voice is quiet but carries an edge of authority that only comes from being obeyed the first time.
Every time.
The female employees withdraw without a word, their footsteps fading until the door clicks shut behind them.
The silence grows heavier as Malcolm and I size each other up. His thin lips curve into something that might be a smile, but it doesn’t make it to his eyes. Those stay cold, calculating, taking me in while giving nothing away in return.
He steps closer, his shoes clicking against the wet tile. Steam curls around him, making his dark suit appear to ripple and shift. My heart pounds, but I force my breathing to stay even and measured.
“Interesting approach.” He begins to circle me, moving with what seems to be a deliberate slowness. “Most people try to get my attention through more… conventional channels.”
A single finger traces along my shoulder blade. The touch is light, almost clinical, like he’s examining merchandise. My skin erupts in goosebumps, but I keep my stance wide, my shoulders back, and my head high.
“Conventional is boring.” I stare straight ahead as he completes his circle, refusing to track his movement.
His fingers brush my collarbone and trail down my arm. “And you’re anything but boring, aren’t you?” He stops in front of me, dark eyes searching my face. “That symbol you drew on the glass. Where did you see it?”
“My father put it on me.” I turn slightly, showing him the small tattoo on my shoulder. “The design is hidden underneath that tattoo.”
“Your father?” His voice takes on a different tone. Sharper and more focused.
“Jonah Kent.”
Malcolm’s eyebrows rise, and his hand drops away from my arm. He takes a half step back, dark eyes sweeping over me again—but this time it’s different. There’s a new intensity to his gaze, like he’s reassessing everything about me. Something shifts behind his eyes, a calculation I can’t quite read.
My muscles tense instinctively. Everything inside me is screaming danger, warns me that I’m standing naked in front of a predator who just caught an interesting scent. But I keep my chin up and meet his stare directly. I’ll be damned if I’m going to flinch now.
“And where is Jonah now?” His eyes flick to the tattoo on my shoulder and back again.
“Dead.” The word comes out flat, practiced. I’ve said it enough times that it doesn’t hurt anymore. Much. “He never got the chance to use the marker.”
Malcolm’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture shifts. “And now you want to claim it?”
“Yes.”
“To join the Syndicate?” His hand moves to straighten his already perfect tie. A tell, maybe—or just another calculated gesture.
“No.” I meet his gaze. “I want to use it for someone else.”
His eyes narrow, and for the first time since he walked in, genuine surprise flickers across his features. The mask slips just enough to show confusion before sliding back into place. His head tilts slightly as he studies me with renewed interest, like I’m a puzzle piece that suddenly doesn’t fit where he thought it would.
The silence stretches between us, and Malcolm’s expression remains unreadable. But the slight tightening around his eyes tells me he’s not pleased. I have to assume that the marker system exists to bring people into the Syndicate—not to be passed around as favors to outsiders.
Still, I lift my chin and meet his gaze with a challenging look of my own. “My father transferred it to me before he died. That makes it mine to use as I please.”
He takes a measured breath as his eyes bore into mine. The predatory stillness returns, and for a moment I wonder if I’ve pushed too far. But I hold my ground. Back down now, and everything I’ve worked for falls apart.
A muscle twitches in his jaw. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nods. “Show me the marker.”
“I need a blacklight.” I gesture to my shoulder. “The marker only shows under UV.”
Without a word, he moves to a panel on the wall and presses his palm against it. A section of tile slides away, revealing a hidden door.
“After you.”
I step through into a small room, where purple-tinted lights flicker on, washing everything in a weird glow. The walls are lined with mirrors, multiplying the effect until it feels like standing in the heart of a crystal.
“Clever.” Malcolm’s voice comes from right behind me. “Hidden in plain sight.”
His fingers trace the outline of my tattoo, and I fight the urge to pull away. The touch isn’t aggressive or even especially threatening, but there’s something possessive in it that makes a chill run through me. Still, I force myself to remain still as he examines the glowing pattern beneath my ink.
“Are you certain about this?” His breath brushes my ear. “A marker is not something to be used lightly. Once given, it must be honored—but it can never be used again.”
“I understand.” I meet his reflected gaze in one of the mirrors. “I want to use it for someone else.” The words hang in the UV-lit air between us. “Someone who needs it more than I do. A man named Ambrose Pearce.”
His reflection studies mine in the mirrored walls, his expression shifting into something that might be disappointment.
“I see. Such a shame.” His fingers trail down my spine, each touch sending ice through my veins. “You would have made an… interesting addition to our organization.”
I step forward, breaking the unwanted contact. My skin prickles where he touched me, and I fight the urge to scrub at it. Instead, I wrap my arms across my chest, trying to maintain an air of authority while giving myself at least some illusion of coverage. His eyes follow the movement, and that almost-smile plays at his lips again.
“When can we make this happen?” I keep my voice steady, professional. Like I’m not standing here naked while he looks at me like I’m some fascinating new toy.
“Soon.” He smooths his tie again, that same measured gesture. “Very soon. Several of our members maintain business interests abroad. I’ll need to make sure they’re all in Detroit for this. Redeeming a marker requires every member to be present.”
“Fine. Whatever you need to do.”
Malcolm’s fingers drum against the mirrored wall. “And then we’ll have to burn the marker off, of course.”
I’m pretty sure he threw that last part in just to see my reaction. I almost wince, and my stomach definitely drops at the word ‘burning.’ Of course they’d want to remove it permanently. Can’t have their secret symbols floating around on people’s skin.
“Great.” The word slips out through my clenched teeth before I can school my features again.
“Does this date work for you?” He pulls out his phone, fingers moving across the screen before flashing it in my direction. “That should give everyone time to arrange their travel.”
All I can do is nod this time. My insides are still twisting at the thought of being burned. How does that even work, exactly? Lasers? Open flame? A hot poker?
Probably best not to think too much about it right now. Besides, none of this is for my benefit, and I’m sure Atlas has already been through a hell of a lot worse at the hands of that psycho who’s holding him hostage.
“As for location…” Malcolm slides his phone back into his pocket and rattles off an address that I immediately commit to memory.
I know the place well enough, even if I’ve never had a reason to go there before now. I have a feeling that once will be plenty.
“The process will be… unpleasant.” His reflection watches me from every angle. “The marker must be completely destroyed. No trace can remain.”
Another nod. My throat is too dry for words.
“Good. I trust you understand that if you fail to appear, there will be consequences.”
“I understand.” My voice comes out steadier than I expected. The weight that’s been pressing against my chest since I walked in here finally starts to lift. Everything is arranged and the wheels are set in motion now.
I edge toward the door, keeping my movements casual even though every cell in my body feels tired and dirty after everything I’ve just been through
“One more thing.” I have one foot out the door when Malcolm’s voice freezes me in place. His reflection appears in every mirror around me as he steps closer and gives me one last once-over. “I hope whatever he’s offering in return is worth it.”
Atlas’s face flashes through my mind—the way he looked at me when he was handing me off to Nico and making sure I could get out of the tattoo parlor alive, even though he knew it would likely mean dying himself.
Yeah, it’s worth it.
“It is.” The words come out soft but certain. Getting Atlas back… there’s nothing I wouldn’t trade for that. Nothing.
His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s trying to read something in my expression. But I keep my face blank, my shoulders straight. Let him wonder. The less he knows about Atlas, the better.
Finally sensing our meeting is over, I turn to leave. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop me this time. I hurry back to the locker room, still trying to shake the lingering sensation of Malcolm’s fingers trailing down my spine.
Inside the private changing room, my clothes are still neatly folded where I left them. I yank them on with shaking hands—underwear, jeans, t-shirt. A woman in a fluffy white robe passes by, her eyes sliding over me with mild interest before she turns away. Another guest emerges from the steam room completely naked, giving me an annoyed look when I almost bump into her in my rush to get out of the luxurious but oppressive space.
I don’t care. Let them look. Let them judge. I got what I came for.
There’s no attendant to escort me back to the lobby this time, and I don’t wait to see if one shows up. I practically sprint through the halls, past the massage rooms and meditation spaces. The front desk comes into view, and the woman behind it looks up from her computer.
“Have a wonderful afternoon.” Her smile is perfectly practiced. “We hope to see you again soon.”
I give her a short nod as I burst into the lobby, and relief floods through me at the sight of Nico and Killian. They spring up from their seats, tension visible in their shoulders and on their chiseled faces. Nico’s hand twitches toward the gun I know is hidden under his jacket.
“Quinn—” Killian’s eyes dart around the lobby, scanning for threats.
“Let’s go.” I keep walking, forcing them to fall in step beside me.
“Are you—” Nico starts.
“Fine.” I cut him off with a sharp look. The receptionist’s eyes follow our movement across the marble floor, and I know there have to be dozens of security cameras tracking us from multiple angles. “Everything’s fine.”
Killian’s jaw clenches as he holds the door for me. His knuckles are white where they grip the handle. “Did you?—”
I appreciate that they’re both worried and no doubt curious about what went down after we were separated, but this isn’t the time or place to catch up. Not with prying eyes and ears around every corner.
I give a single, tight nod. “Got what I needed.”
We walk across the parking lot in tense silence. Nico’s eyes keep darting back to the building, like he expects someone to come charging out after us.
The familiar sight of our three bikes parked together helps to steady my nerves.
“Let’s go home.” I swing my leg over the seat and grab my helmet.
Killian and Nico mount their bikes in perfect sync, and their engines roar to life a few seconds later. The sound drowns out everything else—my racing thoughts, the lingering unease from what just happened inside those walls, the ever-present guilt and worry about Atlas. All of it falls away, if only for a few short minutes.
I gun the throttle and peel out of the parking lot first, my men falling into formation behind me.
Home .
Fuck, that word has never sounded so good to my ears.