CHAPTER 20 #2
I step out into the crisp fall day. I’m on a side patio with steps leading into a small, well-kept flower garden.
I look up and out. No dogs in sight. I start walking until I find a gardener.
Well, not a gardener. A mini-Quinn who happens to be outside trimming hedges? With his guns and knives on him.
So bizarre.
“Dog kennel?” I say. He points, not taking out his wired earbuds.
Even with the cords, I’m struck by the sight of normal, modern-day technology as I walk away.
After cutting through a little hedge maze and a giant mowed lawn, I find a small building that looks like it could be one of those pre-made tiny houses, except for the multiple doggy doors.
I brace myself for a bunch of barking and sniffing as I enter the one normal human door, but there’s only one old dog inside. And one whining, scared Marlon.
“Aw!” I say involuntarily as I hurry to him and see he’s gotten himself up on a raised dog bed and is too scared to jump down. He’s also shaking with cold. I slip into my Godfather accent when I see his underbite trembling. “Who left you up here? I’ll kill ‘em. They’re dead I tell ya, dead.”
I take Marlon out and we get to walking. And walking. And walking.
This place is massive. And in amazing condition. I venture all over the grounds nearest the house, then along the fences. Marlon gets too tired to keep walking so I start scouting with him cradled in one arm.
I don’t find any hidden cameras, secret bunker doors, drones overhead, nothing. I haven’t yet, anyway. I do find that every inch is meticulously kept in its pristine original condition. If I were losing hold of my sanity, I could honestly believe I’d time traveled here.
I walk along the edge of the woods on the back side of the property but chicken out. Something about thick, tall, trees upon trees with no end in sight makes my stomach flip. I’m not quite desperate enough to get lost outside alone.
“We’ll give it a few days, I’ll get there,” I huff to my dog.
I see Ollie in his big hat at one point and avoid him, of course.
I am not taking up gardening.
What I am doing, is getting twitchy. Because even here, back inside the palatial building, there’s nothing suspicious. I help myself to every drawer and file and folder in Quinn’s open study. Nothing.
Except for the amount of young, quiet mini-Quinns dusting and sweeping and fucking changing light bulbs with their guns tucked into their backs, this place is squeaky clean. And nothing like the clan atmosphere I expected from a man whose nickname is Skulls.
And then I hear it, a rumble of vehicles barreling down the drive.
There is honking and hollering happening outside.
Quickly, I decide to change. I don’t have a milkmaid dress but I do have a sundress with a similar cut and a floppy, soft sweater to wear with it.
Because Quinn must be back and I need to be ready.
I leave Quinn’s room to a chorus of yelling, cheering, and doors slamming open. Vehicles pulling in and honking. Dogs going apeshit. I move from the fourth floor theater room—filled with DVDs from the olden times—out to the landing.
The entry way and stairs are jam packed with men, and a few women. I spot sweet little Sheila on the second floor, gazing down like she’s looking at her lord and savior in the flesh. Actually, everyone kind of has that expression, I follow their eyes and start to walk down for a better view.
“Alright, alright!” Quinn quiets the crowd from the third or fourth step.
“Today was a good fucking day.” The people lose their minds clapping and stomping and hollering like animals.
I step forward a tiny bit to see around a guy’s raised arms. Quinn spots me and grins.
“Ah, wife.” He says, and he starts to take the stairs to me two at a time. Then the crowd splits for him.
His steps are so sure, his gaze so pointed, I want to pull the dude in front of me closer like a human shield. Or maybe run back up the stairs. Because what is he doing? What the hell is going on?
He reaches me and his eyes glance down at the dress with a hint of surprise. Yes!
He puts a hand on either side of my face and kisses me, hard.
Cheers erupt again. He hums into my mouth before pulling away and addressing the people.
“Today you brought me a rat.” More yelling.
“And we killed him. Painfully.” Applause again.
Someone hands Quinn an open bottle of beer, which he holds up.
“And yesterday, I brought you a queen.” He pulls me into his side by my ass, his grip hot and hard like he owns me.
I start to shove away but his eyes dart to mine, just a split second. But I get the message.
Play Along.
I try to smile at everyone but it feels like a grimace.
He lifts his beer and calls out, “Welcome Mrs. Luna Quinn!” He holds up his beer and again the mass of probably a hundred people in the stair wells screams and drinks and clinks their beer bottles.
Quinn kisses me again, a few times, overtaking my lips with his, not opening me up with his tongue, just sucking the tiniest bit, covering me, sealing me.
He pulls away suddenly and I’m embarrassed to find myself leaning in and up, wanting more. Damnit.
“Now, we celebrate. Let’s eat.” He dips his chin down as he says it, and the men immediately start moving toward the dining hall.
His heat leaves me when he is basically swept down the stairs by his crowd of admirers.
When he hits the ground floor he looks up at me with a spark in his eyes as he commands. “Come.”
I cement my feet in place and my jaw in a hard line.
But then I remember my mission. He knows the phrase has pissed me off but I’m not going to get into his pants by being my stubborn self.
Still, I can’t help but lift my chin and take my time.
It’s not hard to go slowly since I’m continually interrupted by all the guys stopping and nodding their heads at me in respect.
They give me a wide berth and don’t meet my eyes.
Some call me “Miss” some say “Ma’am” a few say, “Mrs. Quinn.”
But I sigh.
Because not one of them calls me, “Boss.”