Chapter 8 #2
“Stay the fuck away from her,” I shout, making a play for the man’s wrist to stop him.
My fingers glance over his arm before my own arm is ripped off him, and I’m thrown down on the carpet with guns aimed in my direction in the next breath.
I should try to listen to what they’re barking at me, but it’s not important. I've heard the song before; I know the dance. The counterfeit passport is ripped out of my hands, but the only thing that registers is the prick closing in on my girl.
“Kade? What are you doing?”
That pulls me up, and the fight that gathers under my skin stalls. The rage continues to twist my insides, and I know the shitty situation I’m in, but she is, and always will be, more important.
The fuckwit I was trying to reach keeps walking toward her. “Quinn, I saw you with him. Are you okay?”
Her name winds through my thoughts, and I think idly how it suits her perfectly. It’s beautiful, and I feel better knowing it.
“Am I okay? I’m not sure it’s any of your business. Who are you?” she bites, and her tone is like fingernails on a chalkboard; it makes me even closer to going off at him.
“What? How can you say that?” he asks, demanding an answer.
She stares right through him. Her head tips to the side, and her pretty mouth draws into a harsh line. “Pretty easily, Kade. I don’t date officers of the law. If you’d told me that straight up, instead of pretending you were someone else, we could have saved a lot of time.”
I nearly choke on my spit as my relief surges. She gives him a serving of fuck you. It’s amazing to watch.
He won’t let up, though, and he steps closer, his hands outstretched for hers. “We weren’t casually dating, Quinn. We were a hell of a lot more serious than that.”
She sighs softly, and I’m thrown by the genuine compassion coating her features.
“We all see things differently, Kade. For instance, I saw you working in an office, especially after you kept telling me you were an accountant, but here you are in an Interpol vest. And now I’m left wondering if you do their accounts, or were you lying out your ass the whole time?
” She hooks her fingers a few times, and her voice dips dangerously when she overemphasizes both accountant and Interpol.
He’s chagrined and doesn’t reply or argue with anything she throws at him. I mean, what can he say? He apparently fucking lied.
She stares him down before intentionally lifting her hand so the engagement ring nearly blinds us all.
“Fuck’s sake, Quinn, you’re engaged to Santiago Cabal? He’s Cartel!”
“Don’t say my name like you know me. And, agent, who I marry is of no concern to you. If my dating were something you should know about, though, let me assure you—I don’t date officers of the law. Period.” All her words are spilling and burning like lava.
I chuckle under my breath, loving the way she deals with him so viciously.
It’s both attractive and amusing. My laughter draws her attention my way.
And when she looks at me, she doesn’t hide any of her fury.
I try to get to my feet, to explain who I am, but the fuckhead behind me caps me each time I try to raise up.
Her head tips to the side, her eyes not moving from mine, but she’s clearly talking to him, although I get the message loud and clear.
“I have no clue who he is, apparently, either. But I guess because you are so interested in my type, I’ll let you in on one more thing—I don’t date criminals.
Now excuse me, I have a flight I can’t miss. ”
I watch him and realize he’s a kindred spirit. One that I’ll deal with later.
“Quinn? Quinn!” I call out for her, but she blatantly ignores me.
With a flick of her hair and a raise of her chin, the woman who was boneless in my arms, and licking come off my lips, less than an hour ago has left the building. Quite literally.
She walks away, and no one, me included, stops her. My chest feels like it’s being cleaved in two. It’s so fucking wrong that she is walking away from me. From us.
I ready myself to race after her, but before I’ve climbed to my feet, my head snaps back, the inquisitive prick she pretty much tore pieces off punches me square in the face.
“Cabal,” he roars as he gets so close his words blow my hair, “you don’t get to say her name.”
He fucking punched me. He’s lucky I don’t rip his arms from his fucking body for stopping me. I look around the airport, and there’s too many people watching. Getting away with murder is literally not happening today.
He shoves at me again, wanting me to react. It’s a common law enforcement technique used around the world—provocation until I react before I get arrested for using force against him. I do respond, just not how he expects. I use my words, my presence, instead of my fists or my gun.
“Don’t steal her lines,” I throw back with a condescending laugh.
And he bites back, like I knew he would.
Rage ignites in his eyes, and his hands flex.
I get off watching him struggle to keep his cool because, so far, I haven’t done anything illegal or out of line.
His losing his shit isn’t as satisfying as punching or killing him would be, but it takes the edge off my own souring mood.
Of course I poke at him again. “Now, look, I take more credence in what that woman says than any of you clowns, so I need to see some identification. You guys could be in town for an accountant conference, for all I know.”
His body language makes it abundantly clear he’d like to punch me again.
But seemingly, like with her, he completely screwed up how to deal with me.
By not having their badges on display, every person here who tried to detain me has messed up.
Naturally, I seize on their mistake. Standing, I pull myself out of the hold of the agent holding my arm, straighten my suit, and call my lawyer.
I hold my finger up, and he has no choice but to keep quiet while I speak to her.
The second I hang up from Layne, I wait for him to approach. His badge now hangs around his neck, where it should have always been.
He’s clearly pissed off still, but he also needs answers, so he’s tempering his mood. Or at least trying to. “How do you know Quinn?”
“Are you talking about the Omega who just served you a rather large dose of fuck you?” I ask benignly, being overly entitled.
He deserves my mood, considering he interrupted my time with her, but more importantly, clearly upset her.
He glares at me before managing a terse, “Yes.”
“Can you follow correct protocol to identify yourself, please? It is what my lawyer suggested.” I grin, taunting him some more, waiting for him to lose it and explode.
He looks away and takes a leveling breath in his attempt not to rise to my jabs.
“Special Agent Kade Memphis, Interpol, Organized Crime,” he grits, holding his hand out.
I don’t reach for it.
“Are you new?” I can’t resist goading him.
At the same time, I’d like to know what the hell my girl saw in him.
A Beta with brown hair, brown eyes, and a subtle but hard to ignore cinnamon scent doesn’t seem to be what she’d go for, but maybe that’s the attraction.
I mean, he’s good at hiding his winning personality, so it must be something else that interests her.
He grinds his teeth before eventually answering, “Recently transferred.”
I grin a little wider, loving how much he’s hating this, but if he wants to know anything else about Quinn from me, he doesn’t really have a choice. “You might have got employee of the week if you hadn’t messed up so spectacularly.”
He’s seething, already understanding how such a simple mistake on his part has been so costly to what could have been a very easy arrest. I throw him a bone, though—for my sake, not his.
“Well, Special Agent, thank you for properly identifying yourself. I’m fine if you still want to go ahead and ask your question again.”
I lead him on with a wave of my hand and the most condescending smile I can manage. I’m playing amicable for purely selfish reasons; I need to know her full name. In a world this size, “Quinn” just isn’t going to open enough doors for me.
I tip my head impatiently, waiting for him to answer. It takes a while, and I think for a moment or two he won’t ask, but he’s too much of a yes-man. But above his job with Interpol, he wants to know what I was doing with Quinn for his own personal reasons.
“Santiago Cabal, how do you know Quintessa Garcia?”
I nod my head, as if I’m contemplating how best to answer him without taking another hit to the face. But he punches like a pussy, and I’m a man on a mission. “None of your fucking business, Kade.”
I pick my bags up and walk off, leaving him having a tizzy fit. None of the officers stop me—they can’t, not until they get a new warrant, since they screwed this one up so epically.
By pure luck, I still have the second set of rental keys in my bag.
I was going to drop them in the return box the rental place has downstairs.
Instead, I’m driving off into the sunset before a new warrant is issued, waiting for my father to call me back.
Something about her name has alarm bells ringing.