CHAPTER 25
Luna
“I’ve got the guards’ schedule memorized,” I say quietly, looking around for any kind of trail markers as I walk. I haven’t left the cleared path so theoretically I can just turn and walk back in the direction I came. Theoretically.
“Good, that’s good!” I hear Mia in the background on Ellie’s end of the line.
“What, you think you can just run out during shift change? C’mon, Luna, you know you can’t.”
I sigh, “It is unlikely. Not only because the shift overlap is a whole half hour, meaning there are never any weak spots at the exits and the crew is annoyingly reliable, but you’re right, I’d just be hunted down and then probably made an example of.”
“Exactly,” my best friend says.
“But,” I add, “It’s actually a weakness that there’s no cell service here, no wifi, no cameras. If I slip out they can’t immediately track me digitally.”
“Yes! Good thinking!” Mia’s excited again.
I chuckle, “It’d have to be on foot, though. I can’t get anywhere near the vehicles.”
“What have you learned about his trucks?” Ellie asks.
I raise my eyebrows as if she can see me, “How do you know I’ve studied his trucks?”
“Um, because your name is Luna Mancini?”
“Hell, yeah!” Mia adds.
I laugh again, “I guess you do know me well, huh? I have been studying. He has the same armored trucks as the rest of us, but they rarely come here, which makes sense. He should have drop zones and garages all over Boston and outward.”
“Could you stow away on one?” Mia asks.
Before I can answer, Ellie cuts in, “Again, you crazy girl, there is no running from Skulls Quinn. Or any clan. The second she shows her face anywhere, she’s done. They’ll be on her in thirty seconds.”
Mia mutters some bitter response I can’t hear. I understand the sentiment. Fucking mafia.
“The only reason I want to slip out is to get to the internet and then slip back in. But you’re right, El, there’s no sneaking around anywhere, even small towns have traffic cams these days.
I need to go out on purpose, get online like Quinn said I could, pretend to check email and Instagram and do some research instead. ”
“Research what?”
“So far my only lead is—” I stop and switch to a mixture of Italian and Spanish and Latin.
Between Mia and Ellie they’ll puzzle it out.
“There’s a name I saw, a small sticker on one of the trucks.
If I can dig into that, maybe I can find some addresses.
Somewhere he has to have more than one warehouse, plus an actual office, maybe a factory they use as a base camp for raids and coordinating drops, pick ups, inspections. ”
“I can dig!” Mia offers, in English.
“No! And you don’t try it either, Ellie.” I switch again, “Both of your phones are being monitored, I’m sure. You can’t go spying on Skulls Quinn.”
“But you can?” Ellie asks in English, disbelieving.
“Vix can!” Mia yells.
“Mia, you’re one smart cookie. Vix has helped me with that and—” I stop myself. Again, Ellie’s phone is secure as far as the interests of the Spanish and her suspicious husband go. They are not secure for me.
I don’t need Ellie’s uncle’s minions deciphering our Italianishatin, telling their boss things that he, the Spanish don, would feel the need, out of professional curtesy, to share with the Irish don, whom I am unfortunately married to.
So, I don’t say out loud that—thanks to Ellie, who sent Vix my new phone number, even though Vix’s messages came through as if they were from Zeno—Vix sent me a USB chip that I plug in to cloak my laptop and give me incognito internet access. At least for about three minutes. She thinks.
I decide I should end this whole call. I don’t know if Quinn can monitor my calls, since there seems to be zero technology to do so out here, but he should be. I am a threat to him, whether he realizes it or not.
Hence, I’m not mentioning specifics. Really, I’ve already said too much.
“Shit,” I say, “I should go. Don’t worry about me or Vix or any of it. None of my plans are likely to work. They haven’t so far,”
Quinn hasn’t been back to our bedroom. I’m assuming he flipped the bird to my request about hookups on his way to Sheila’s room. Oh well.
“But you have to keep trying,” Mia pleads.
“I will,” I nod, though she can’t see. “Promise me you two won’t do or say anything. I’ll try to convince my captor to let me visit you.”
“We can come to Boston! Just say the word,” Ellie says with fake enthusiasm. She doesn’t want to leave Texas. I suspect she’s pregnant already, in the early days. She hasn’t said anything but I know her. She’s wanted babies since we were teens. Weirdo.
“I’ll check in again soon. Love you both.”
“You’re my queen!” Mia yells.
“Love you too. Stay safe.”
I end the call and set Marlon down for some peeing and sniffing.
I gaze up between the tall trees. It’s getting late.
This is the farthest I’ve ventured, finding exactly jack shit out here, just like Quinn said a couple hours ago.
I don’t think he’d let me get lost out here, not for real.
The bastard would let me rot overnight in the cold though, just to teach me a lesson.
I think you were with Daddy before. Safe and left to pretend like you could fight or plan or rule.
Asshole.
So condescending. So sure of himself and his security. I am genuinely starting to hate him.
I can just see him parading out to “find me” here tomorrow morning, smug smile on his face.
But that’s not going to happen. Tiny is with me. I’m pretty sure if I tell her to go home, the massive beast of a dog will lead me back to the house.
I turn in a circle.
“There is really nothing out here, huh?” I ask the dogs.
I expected to find a shed filled with weapons, a secret back gate, a power line that would lead to some kind of camera. Anything. Any single, stupid thing.
But no. My plans have amounted to nothing, once again.
Marlon whines. He’s hungry. I am too.
“Tiny,” I say. “Go home girl. Let’s go back.
Eat? Master?” The huge black face just stares at me.
“Quinn? Papa?” She barks and wags her tail.
“Yes, go find Quinn. Where’s papa? Where’s Quinn?
” She barks and takes a hard left, bounding along what might be this trail, or another trail connected.
I gather Marlon and follow quickly after her.
I might have to run to keep up.
And I’m already aching from the hours of walking.
“Ugh!” I grunt as I skip over a fallen branch.
Maybe Quinn is right and I am outmatched here.
I’m proud, but I’m not an idiot. If you find yourself the dumbest one in the room, you suck it up and learn something. And if there’s one thing that man can teach me, it’s how to fight.
·····
“Why hand to hand?” I ask loudly the next day. Same clearing, same fighting. Quinn is watching as two men I don’t know fight the hell out of each other.
“Why do you think?” Quinn replies without looking at me.
“Because you’re a hundred years old and stuck in the dark ages?” I huff, to the chuckles of a few of the men.
“I’m not even ten years older than you, wife.”
“Might as well be fifty years. Where are the knives? Gun range?”
“You saw both of those inside,” He says, “Watch your ribs!” He yells, then finally looks at me. “Ask what you really want to ask.”
“Why outside?”
“Because it’s real,” he studies me as he talks. “Most fights end up man to man outside. No tech, no shelter, no weapons.”
I step forward. “I want to try,” I say.
“Finally, you say it plainly,” Quinn grins, then says, “And the answer is no.”
“So much for ‘not that old fashioned,’” I make air quotes with my hands. “Can’t a woman learn to fight, husband?”
“No need, you have me to protect you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, suck up my pride, and try a different tactic. I look him in the eye, “Please?”
He stares at me, stoic and unreadable.
“Finn,” he finally says with his stupid, all-knowing smirk.
“Yes, boss!” Says an eager Quinn junior, the smallest guy in the group and definitely the youngest.
I fight a smile as I walk forward.
Finn stands across from me, loose and cocky. He’s tentative though, since I am the boss’s wife and he’s pushing nineteen. If that. Still, the boss said fight, so he will. His grin says he doesn’t take this seriously—I’m just a woman, after all.
“Go easy on me,” I say with a fake smile.
Finn’s grin widens to a genuine smile. “Of course.”
“She’s a liar and a purple belt in Jiu-Jitsu. Don’t go easy on her. That’s an order.”
Finn’s smile dies. “Yes, boss.”
Damn it!
My heart thuds in my ears. Quinn shifts to leaning against a tree on the edge of the makeshift ring, arms crossed, amused and maybe curious, too. Casual. Smug.
Fuck, I hate my husband. But this isn’t about him. This is about me. I lift my chin and my hands, pride coursing through me. I will not be humiliated.
I move first, feinting low. Finn dodges easily, too easily, and I see it in his eyes—he thinks this is a joke.
I snap into a hip throw, shifting my weight fast and clean.
He catches the move halfway through and counters, toppling us both.
We hit the dirt in a tangle of limbs, and I hear muffled laughter from one of the men.
I scramble up and shoot in again. This time, I go for a double leg move, lunging for his thighs and gripping above his knees.
He sprawls, but I slip under him, hook a knee, and twist into guard position, trying to wrap my thighs around him.
He’s a blur before his weight crashes into me.
I tighten my core and try to hold but his strength and size is too much for me.
He postures up and drives forward, which flips us both.
“Ah!” I grunt as my back flattens against solid earth. A hell of a lot harder than a training mat. I open my eyes and Finn’s on top of me, frozen. He has one hand braced beside my head, the other locking me immobile.
“Good pressure,” I mutter, trying not to sound winded.
And Finn, who’s clearly won this round without much effort, winks.
I am about to shove him off but in the time it takes me to blink once, Quinn has cleared the entire ring and pulled Finn off of me by his shirt collar.
“You’re done, leave.” Quinn says, angry. I look up at him, ready to protest and demand another round, but he’s not looking at me.
He’s looking at Finn.
And the smirk is gone.
“Quinn,” I say as I sit up. “He was just—”
“Decent effort,” he cuts me off, his voice gruffer than usual, “You’re fast and precise. But it’s clear you only know defense. You need to learn how to attack.”
“Then teach me.”
“Boss,” Mac cuts in, “Issue with a delivery.”
In what seems like slow motion, Quinn turns to glare at his cousin. If looks could kill, the heat from my husband would have instantly sparked Mac into a ball of flames.
“Ní os a comhair,” he growls. I don't know what he said but I’m sure it was something like don’t talk shop in front of my spying little wife, you stupid fuckface. “Let’s go then,” he adds in English, still glaring at Mac who is not phased.
Impressive. I think I’d pee my pants if this massive psycho killer spoke to me in that voice with that look on his face.
I start to back up but Quinn’s gaze snaps to me, still pissed as he says, “Luna.” I don’t reply but I manage to maintain eye contact. “Don’t come out here again.” I start to roll my eyes. He goes on, “I mean it. You can train in the gym. Not here.”
I square my shoulders, “Fine.”
He holds my stare, watching. I feel like he’s searching my soul, wondering if he can trust me to listen to him.
You can’t, asshole.
As if he heard me, he sighs heavily and turns. He leaves me in place, walking away with the men but then says over his shoulder, “Don’t stay out past evening, there are no lights out here, you’ll trip.”
“Okay,” I lie.
I’m definitely staying out.
If for no other reason than to watch the main drive from one of the tall hedges.
This is a golden opportunity to see which vehicles leave to deal with this botched delivery.
Will Quinn go? In which vehicle? With whom?
How many visible weapons will they carry?
I can track how long they’re gone, which will tell me how far away the drop location is.
Some training and a quality intel opportunity in the same day? I walk to the bushes and for the first time in days, I smile wide.