Chapter 14 #2
Getting to work and wiping down the aircraft helps me settle the growing tension that started the instant we landed in Russia. I want to say she’s going to be thrilled to see us, but I’m not sure, given how cold she was at the airport.
I’ve got some serious apologizing to do.
I constantly lied to her face about my occupation, and I’ll be sorry for a long time. But at least I’m here, in a position to protect her while I try to make amends.
Cabal rejoins me as I’m changing into the all-black getup we decided on, standard bodyguard attire. I drew a line at us wearing matching aviators.
The car Victor arranged for her “guards” befits his status; new model, blacked-out Range Rover, diplomatic staff plates in place.
Supposedly it’s bulletproof. I’m not putting Quinn inside it until I know for certain.
Cabal is on the same page as me, thankfully, and before I can tell him to step aside, he’s walking around the car, firing into the glass and panels.
Nothing shatters. He uses silicone spray and a rag to buff where the bullets hit until there’s no sign of our test.
After storing the bags in the back, he punches the coordinates into the GPS, and then as soon as I pull the door closed on the hangar on the private landing strip we used, we start driving towards Moscow.
“How long?” I ask, ripping into our food supplies, handing him a protein bar.
He takes a bite, not mentioning how bland it tastes. We’re not about to stop to get fresh food now that we’re so close to her.
“Six hours. If it was clear skies, I’d say four,” he says, taking another bite.
“And Victor has no clue?”
“None. Let’s keep it that way.”
We don’t talk for the first few hours. Cabal clears his throat before glancing at me. “Do you have your affairs in order? As much as I’d like to have left you in a burning car, like we did…”
“You did,” I insist, not wanting to think too much about the bodies we stashed back near the meetup point for Victor’s guards.
“No, Kade. There is no way you’d be able to cover up the fact you were the one that pulled them over. The flashing lights and the badge you used to do that were as authentic as my level of distrust for you.”
Avoiding him, instead looking out the window, doesn’t detract from the truth. I was complicit in the crime. And would do it again if needed.
“The Russians are…”
I interrupt. “I’m aware of what we’re walking into. To some extent.”
“Then let me enlighten you,” he says, overly polite in his polished English.
“Any Bratva is ruthless. They won’t negotiate, like you and I would.
They solve issues with violence. Extreme violence.
Someone challenges them, they retaliate hard and fast as a show of their strength.
They do it publicly as a warning to others.
“The same could be said about Italians or the Irish, even the Cartel, but in a way, we police ourselves about what is acceptable and what is not, because we’re more structured.
The Russians are the opposite. No one trusts them because they do what everyone expects them to do, which is fuck over their enemies and their friends.
If there are terms in a business deal that says they can’t touch women or children, before morning women and children will be dead, and they will offer no explanation.
I asked if you have everything in order because there’s a good chance we might not walk out of this alive. ”
What he says rings true. Across the world, organized crime exists.
And exactly like Cabal said, despite the clear factions, they are forced into some kind of truce due to shared shipping routes or commodities needed.
Each region has its own version of a similar business structure, and each individual outfit has its own unique way of operating.
The Russians are similar in those ways, but Cabal hit the nail on the head when he said the Russians are a separate entity entirely.
All of what he said makes sense, except one thing I can’t figure out. “How did she end up here? Honestly, I had no idea she was involved in anything associated with organized crime. Even now, I can’t see it. The Quinn I know is married to her job.”
Cabal takes a turn off to the highway, the directional sign taking us to an area I know is more affluent than other parts of Moscow.
He’s as introspective as I am and as confounded.
Eventually, he answers. “I have no idea.
And what is more interesting is trying to figure out her tie to Ambassador Hernandez.
There are records of Quintessa Garcia, but nothing links Garcia to Hernandez.
Whatever the connection is, it's buried deep.”
“Which is your answer. Someone buried something for a reason. Why hide something?”
“So no one else finds it.”
“Or so no one knows the value you see in it and then holds it against you. Perhaps, it’s just another thing we will have to add to our list of things to ask her.”
“We do not discuss anything in the house,” he replies.
I take a slow exhale, fighting against a burning desire to punch him in the face. “I’m aware, we’re there to watch over her and not fucking interrogate her.”
One other thing has been bugging me because I know how criminals work.
They're opportunistic parasites only out for themselves. “What’s in this for you, Cabal? You talk like you’re Quinn’s most loyal servant.
By your own admission, you hardly know a thing about her, and the only time you’ve spent with her is half a day, at most. Something isn’t adding up. ”
He takes a long, drawn-out inhale and exhales slowly too.
He’s almost unguarded when he looks at me again.
“It’s probably the same reason you just left a role you’ve been chasing for years…
she’s mine. Honestly, I knew my whole life got turned on its head after a handful of minutes in her presence.
Now all that remains to be seen is whether she’s going to acknowledge we share a bond or not.
I’m okay, for the record, if she doesn’t acknowledge yours. ”
The smug fucker laughs before accelerating with a sudden burst of eagerness. I don’t join him in laughing, because he just said out loud my biggest fear.
Cabal, despite being involved in organized crime, has everything I don’t.
He’s a strong Alpha, with obvious connections and money, where I’m a Beta, with not even ten grand in savings and a huge-ass lie to explain.
That doesn’t mean I’m walking away honorably or not fighting dirty for my girl, because Quinn and I were never just friends with benefits.
Her scent made sure of that.
We both made it our mission to skirt around the truth of our scent-matched relationship, but there’s no denying the intense draw and deeply rooted need we had for each other.
Hopefully still have.