Chapter Two Quinn
“ T his is fucking torture!”
A dark chuckle rumbled through my chest as I eyed the man strung up before me. “That’s because it is.” My fist connected with his jaw again, sending a spray of blood and saliva misting through the air. At his groan, I snatched some of his blood and sweat stained hair and jerked his head up to meet his gaze. “It’s what happens when a loyal clan member such as yourself decides to double cross us on a shipment.”
“But I–”
I threw a harsh uppercut to his jaw. As I flexed my tingling fingers, Conrad had the audacity to snivel. Nothing pissed me off more than a man who couldn't take his punishment. Or in this case, his torture. “This shit will keep going until you give me a name.”
He shook his head wildly back and forth. “I swear I don’t know.”
I tsked at him. “Now that’s not what I wanted to hear, Conrad.”
This time my fist connected with the doughy flesh of his upper abdomen. At the crack of his ribs, he squealed before a sob tore through his chest. The noises of agony fed the beast within me.
The depraved monster who fed on suffering.
Sometimes I pondered if the monster within me was a product of nature vs. nurture. Was my DNA tainted with a bloodthirst that could only be quelled through murder and violence? Or was it because of the way I’d been raised.
In the end, it seemed to be a mixture of both.
Conrad apprised me through his swelling eyes. When I grabbed the knife off the table, he started jerking wildly against the chains. “Help, help!” he shrieked.
A cruel smirk curved on my lips. “Don’t waste your breath. We’re in a soundproof room.”
My words, coupled with the gleam of the knife, caused a wet spot to bloom in the front of his pants. With a disgusted grunt, I said, “Did you have to go and piss yourself?”
When I flicked the blade under his chin, a shudder rolled through his body. “Tell me. Which part of the body will you miss the least, and I’ll start there?”
“Kolosov!” he howled.
And there it was–the breaking point. Every man had one. For some, it came sooner than others. Some like Conrad needed more physical persuasion while others you break simply with threats to those they loved.
“Are you ever going to entertain business proposals from Bratva scum again?”
“Never,” he swore.
“I want to believe you, Conrad. I really do.”
He began blubbering, his salty tears mixing with the blood on his face. “Please, I swear.”
I jerked my knife from his chin. “This is your warning. You fuck with us again, and I’ll be taking pieces out of not only you, but your family.”
Conrad sobbed so hard he could only nod his head. I flashed him a shark-like smile before clapping him harshly on the back. “Have a good day.”
After I exited the door, I turned to the two soldiers waiting outside. “Leave him strung up for another hour. Then send him on his way.”
“Yes, sir,” they murmured in unison.
With my hands and clothes covered in blood, I needed to clean-up before any unsuspecting person could see me. After nodding to the men, I headed down the hallway to the bathroom.
From the outside the Beacon Hill penthouse where my brothers and I resided appeared just as the others in the neighborhood. However, I could vouch that none of their spacious basements possessed a windowless, sound-proofed torture room, nor did they contain a medical room that could’ve doubled for any ER trauma bay.
While I’m sure most included a bathroom or two, I could pretty much bet their showers didn’t resemble ours with its numerous jets that sent high pressure water to rinse away blood and bodily fluids.
After stripping naked, I stepped into the stall and let the water beat against my body. I had exactly half an hour before I was expected at Alainn , which meant beautiful in Irish. It was the gentlemen's club my three brothers and I owned. Every Thursday at noon, we met to go over the weekly financials.
Although our darkened souls resided in Boston’s underworld, we kept a legitimate front through our business holdings, which included commercial real estate as well our newly opened nightclub, Bandia .
Once I finished with the shower, I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my waist.
When I glanced in the mirror, the familiar disgust filled me at my reflection. My gaze trailed the puckered scars that ran down the side of my face. Time had faded them from the angry red welts they’d first been.
It had been two long years since the car bomb that had been rigged for my father had almost killed me. Instead of a physical death, I’d experienced an emotional one since life as I knew it had irrevocably changed.
I would never look at life the same since no one would look at me the same. When you’d spent twenty-seven years being what the world considered conventionally handsome, it came as a great shock when you no longer were. While I’d never really been vain, I had enjoyed the attention.
And then it was gone.
At 6’5, I’d always been an imposing motherfucker. But I’d never really experienced true fear and outright revulsion in another’s eyes until I had my scars.
The greatest agony hadn’t come in my physical deformity. It had been losing Rian. While time might’ve faded my scars, they did little to ease the ache in my chest at his memory. The only comfort I took in his death came from the medical examiner who ruled he had been killed instantly. The thoughts of him burning alive while I couldn't save him was too much to bear.
At the same time, it didn’t truly lessen my grief or anyone else’s. Some nights I woke to the anguished wails of my uncle Seamus as he crouched beside the burning car. I’d been told he’d done the same thing at Rian’s funeral. His grief was so intense that Callum and Dare had been forced to carry him up the church aisle.
Other nights I’d wake to the haunted face of my aunt Elena. She remained sedated for the first year of Rian’s loss. He was her only child–the miracle baby she and Seamus never thought they could have. And then on the anniversary of his death, she took one of Seamus’s pistols and shot herself.
I didn’t get to pay my last respects at the funeral. I remained heavily medicated in the burn unit of the ICU. I stayed there for a tortuous month of therapy. Doctors tried telling me I was lucky. That with numerous reconstructive surgeries I could almost be as I was before.
I told them to fuck off.
I was done with the antiseptic smell of hospitals. The uncertainty of treatments. And the narcotics were starting to take hold of me.
And then there were other nights when I woke to fiery torment burning along my left side. The doctors called it “phantom pain”, and it was only in my mind. I didn’t know how anything in my mind could be just as painful as what I’d experienced in the moment. But it was a special kind of agony.
Somedays I didn’t know why I kept putting one foot in front of the other. But then I would look at my brothers. I gleaned strength from them, and in turn I gave them strength.
There wasn’t anything in the world I wouldn’t do for them. It was the reason why I was about to drag myself downtown to crunch numbers, which was something I fucking loathed.
After slipping on a fresh suit, I didn’t give my reflection a final glance. Instead, I flicked off the light and left.
Even though it was barely noon, Alainn had a teeming lunch crowd, most of which were made up of businessmen. If it had been Dare or Callum, they would’ve made their way through the main room, exchanging pleasantries with some of the big spenders. But the thought of that made my skin crawl.
Instead, I took the back stairs up to our office. Since we were all co-owners, it possessed one desk, but it included a large mahogany table like you’d see in a boardroom. When I slipped inside, I wasn’t surprised to already find Kellan sitting at the table.
With his head buried in his laptop, he didn’t look up. “Hey.”
“Hey yourself,” I replied as I walked over to the drink cart. “Where’s Dare?” I asked, as I poured myself a whiskey.
“Getting blown in the bathroom,” Kellan replied nonchalantly as if Dare were merely on the phone.
As if to corroborate Kellan’s story, a low groan came from the expansive private bath followed by a guttural, “Fuck yes!”
I snorted. “It doesn’t bother you?”
Kellan glanced up. “I’ve learned to tune him out.”
“Aye, I know what you mean,” I chuckled. After throwing back a sip of whiskey, I asked, “What about Callum?”
“He was interviewing warehouse supervisors.”
“Again?”
With a nod, Kellan replied, “Men like Sean are hard to find.”
Six months ago one of our warehouses by the docks was firebombed. We lost Sean, who was one of our best supervisors as well as our close friend.
The bathroom door opened, and Dare appeared with a leggy brunette. A broad smile lit up his face. “Afternoon, brother.”
“Afternoon,” I muttered dryly.
After smacking the brunette’s ass, he replied, “See you later, Crystal.”
“Christie,” she corrected.
“Right, right.”
While I snorted at Christie flouncing out of the room in a huff, Kellan shook his head. “You’re a pig.”
He grinned. “Come on. I was pretty close.”
With a roll of his eyes, Kellan stared back at his laptop. A ding echoed on all our phones. I glanced down at mine. “Callum’s on his way up.”
As Kellan closed his laptop, Dare and I took a seat at the table. After Kellan passed us each a copy of the monthly report, Dare cocked his brows. “Looks like between here and Bandia , I’ll be able to open my casino sooner than later.”
Studying the numbers, I replied, “Looks like it.”
Callum swept through the door then. “How’s it looking, boys?” he asked.
Kellan grinned while shoving a red folder at him “Grand as always.”
As Callum quickly perused the folder’s documents, he replied, “I’m glad to hear it.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to say thanks, would it?” Kellan teasingly questioned.
While I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at his cheek, Dare countered, “Get fucked, boyo. You’re not even old enough to have a drink here. It’s Quinn and I that keep this place afloat.”
With a scowl, Kellan countered, “I will be of age in three months.”
After ruffling Kellan’s hair, I countered, “Then keep yer trap shut until then.”
Callum pointed at me. “Speaking of running this place. I’ve got an audition for you.”
As Boston’s finest gentlemen’s club with millionaires and billionaires for clients, we were barraged with applications from dancers. With all the area colleges, we received the high-end coeds who had years of rigorous dance training under their belts. But it wasn’t just dance ability that made a stripper, nor was it their pole aptitude. It came down to whether they could make every man feel desired and special.
When we’d first started the club, Callum had decided that I would be the ringer. The maker or breaker when it came to hiring. If they could successfully give me a lap dance without pissing themselves in fear, then they were hired.
It wasn’t about my physical appearance at the time either. The club came before the bombing. No, it was about the fact that I possessed an aura that drove fear into women. I guess it went with being the family’s enforcer.
But in the last year, it started grating on my nerves. I was tired of having beautiful young women balk at riding my dick. I’d never admit it to my brothers, but it was starting to give me a fucking complex.
I couldn’t fight the growl that reverberated through my chest. “I’m not a fucking plaything you can trot out when it serves your purpose.”
Callum snorted. “As if anyone could ever think of you like that.”
“I’m serious, Callum.”
“I know. But I need your services.”
At my continued hesitation, Dare clapped me on the back. “You’re the only man I know who begrudges a lap dance from a fine as hell woman.”
“Fuck you,” I muttered.
“Quinn’s not the only one who would,” Callum remarked.
Dare’s brows rose questioningly. “Who else?”
He eased back in his chair with a smile. “Me.”
Since Callum had married Caterina, he hadn’t partaken in any lap dances. He was completely true to his wife, which still shocked the hell out of me. None of us, except for Kellan, had ever truly fancied monogamy.
When his phone buzzed, Callum grimaced at it. “Speak of the devil?” Dare questioned with a grin.
“Yeah, she had a doctor’s appointment earlier.”
Scowling at him, I countered, “Shouldn’t you ask the wee lass how it went?”
“She already let me know everything was fine.”
When I continued scowling at him, Callum sighed. “Look, she’s asking to come see me at the office. There’s no way in hell I can tell her where I’m at.”
Dare’s brows popped. “Sister Sassy doesn’t know we own this club?”
Rolling his eyes at him, Callum replied, “Caterina would lose her mind if she knew about this place. In her book, I already have enough vices on my plate. There would be nothing of my dark soul left to salvage if she found out.”
While Dare chuckled, I tsked at him. “You’re just digging your grave deeper for when she does find out.”
“I believe you have a dancer waiting to ride your dick.” He wagged his eyebrows at me. “Her pole dance was to some shite Taylor Swift song.”
My growl echoed through the room. “I’ll pay you back for this, fucker.”
Callum grinned as he rose out of his chair. “I look forward to it.”