CHAPTER 24
Quinn
“You’re not watching your back!” I yell at Finn. He’s still a teenager but he’s hungry and driven. I like him. But he’s our weakest fighter. And he’s too emotional.
“How’m I—ugh—supposed to watch my back and fight this—ow!—fucker at the same time?” He asks between blows.
“By anticipating. And you’re lighter on your feet, you should be faster. Plus, he’s ancient.”
“I’m younger than you!” Mac yells back.
“Aye, and I still beat all of you. Embarrassing,” I say and everyone in the clearing chuckles.
I’m joking around with them, but I’m twitchy.
I love sparring in the open, in the dirt.
No fancy gear or weapons. In many of our attacks, it ends up like this.
One man against one man, or two or three.
Sometimes there are guns, sure. Knives too.
But in our circles, both parties are usually smart enough to disarm each other.
Then what are you left with? Your brain and your hands. Your speed, your training.
We don’t normally train out here this much, though.
But I can’t speak freely in my own damn house.
Luna Mancini is fucking everywhere.
She walks around the grounds like a ghost. My people wouldn’t even notice her if I hadn’t warned them. She’s good. Quiet, subtle. And listening. Sneaky as hell, that’s what my little wife is.
Easier for us to discuss clan business out here. We spar and we strategize. I listen, answer questions or make decisions when necessary. I think clearly. Or, clearer. No siren to distract me with her dark stormy eyes and barely-there clothes.
I miss the peace we had before.
I miss my own bedroom and my own damn bed. But sleeping out in the woods seems safer.
Coward.
Mac suggested I send her away. I considered it. But she’s too smart. I can’t have her out in the wild, or even worse, on the internet, gathering intel, which is exactly what she’d do.
“Your leg, Finn, if he’s got your arms, use your leg!” I correct, trying to keep my mind focused on the here and now. Not the wife wandering the estate. Not the vulnerable warehouse on the Hudson. Not the secrets I keep out here in the woods. Not the—
Fuck me.
She’s here again, on the same trail, Marlon tucked into one of her arms, Tiny standing by the other.
So.
I think this is the real Luna Mancini, at last.
She’s in all black and gray. A long sleeve shirt and black jeans.
The clothes are still skin-tight but not paper thin.
Not seductive, more like…practical. Armor.
No make up, I think. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, up high and out of her way.
Combat boots, they’re designer, with a heel, but still more fitting to the woods than the little fashion sneakers she had on yesterday.
She’s openly angry.
Openly curious, watching.
Her small fists are clenched, ready for a fight.
She’s a fucking masterpiece is what she is.
I look away and, because I can’t help but push her adorable buttons I say, “No lemonade, Lasairéan?”
The men snicker.
“Fresh out,” she says casually, not looking at me.
She’s studying Mac and Finn’s every move.
I assume she’s trying to learn, either some moves or maybe our moves.
Our weaknesses. Not that she could take on any of my men but it’s only a matter of time before she tries.
She probably already has the guard schedule memorized at all the exits.
I watch her watching, a cute frown taking over her forehead. Her eyes narrow.
She licks her pout and damn it, bites her lower lip.
“Deiseil,” I say quickly.
“We’re done?” Finn asks, surprised. We haven’t been out here long. Long enough, I guess.
“Yeah. Go inside to spar if you want.” I say as I walk towards my wife. The men scatter, but, as expected, she stands her ground.
“They don’t have to quit. If you’d like to continue having your man beat a child half his size, I can go,” She says with a lift of her chin.
I watch the last of the men leave earshot.
“He won’t be fighting men his size out on the streets. That’s why we train. And if I wanted you to go I would’ve told you to go.”
She huffs, “Well, maybe I wouldn’t have listened.”
I chuckle, “Probably not.”
“Why do you fight out here when you have such a nice gym?”
“Many reasons,” I say as Tink runs her head into my hand. I give her a scratch and wait to see what Luna will ask next.
She shakes her head, sighs and starts to walk past me, “This place is so fucking weird.”
“You won’t figure us out,” I call after her.
“I’ve been underestimated before,” she shouts in reply.
“I don’t think so,” I say, “I think you were estimated perfectly.” She pauses, her shoulders tensing up to her ears.
“I think you were with Daddy before. Safe and left to pretend like you could fight or plan or rule. You’re not in Kansas anymore, little Dorothy.
And you are outmatched. Find a job here, a hobby.
Because you can walk these woods until you get lost, you won’t find anything. ”
“Well,” she says, her tone laced with acid. “Maybe I’ll trip and hit my head and die out here. Better than staying married to you.” With that she stomps off. Tiny bounds after her.
I watch both of them go—and Marlon—with a smirk.
My smirk falters when my eyes zero in on her tight ass without my permission. Trouble. That’s all she is. She won’t find anything out here, I’ve made sure of that. She could fall though. She could get lost and end up scared, in shock, dehydrated.
I get out my phone.
Quinn: Eyes on my wife. Woods, third sector.
I put my phone in my pocket and follow after my men.
I should feel content, she’s covered, literally and figuratively.
She’s ditched the acts, the outfits. But I feel twitchier than before.
I want to follow after her, walk with her, see what else she asks.
See what she sees, how she puzzles us out.
Because she’s right, we are a weird clan.
I just don’t want her to figure out why.
I glance her way again, she disappears behind a corner in the trail, ponytail swaying as she goes. That hair looks like thick silk, like a rope I could hold, tug…
Ugh! No.
“Mac,” I call out, agitated, “Come back to the dirt with me.”
“What?” He asks as he hustles back from the group to join me in the rear.
“Let’s go back to the clearing, you and I.” He lifts a brow so I elaborate. “I need you to beat some sense into me.”