Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
KADE
Since she shut the door behind her, I’ve felt like ants are crawling over my skin.
I know Quinn. Her coping strategy is a brutal combination of isolation and disregard.
What she is doing now is nothing new, and while I’m out here, it doesn’t mean I want to be.
I’m fighting a constant battle of giving her the space she so desperately wants while knowing I should be in there with her, forcing her to admit we are way more than friends.
Santiago is absorbed in his own thoughts, and the silence is a relief, but it doesn’t stop the unease I’m feeling.
He wasn’t quiet before; he was pushing hard for answers.
I get he wants information on how she knows Victor, but in my mind, how they know each other is irrelevant.
Santiago is saying he’s here for her, but when it's just me and him talking, he constantly contradicts himself because he can’t let the Victor thing drop.
Each time I bring it up, he twists his own frustration at himself back on me, throwing around comments suggesting I’m here for my career or to gather evidence, despite me telling him differently.
Honestly, I’ve ignored each barb he’s thrown my way.
I’m not getting into it with him. I’m not here for him.
Quinn’s right—each of us needs to figure out if staying is going to work for us individually. Especially after she laid out the future so clearly.
Does it make me a sap for her that I’d take this over not being in her life? That spending time in her presence, while she’s married to someone else, is worth more than not seeing her? Am I going to be happy with never touching her again?
Every answer is the same—I’m staying, and I will quickly become the best bodyguard she's ever had. Hopefully ever will have. I’ve got a solid handle on how organized crime syndicates are set up; they’re a law unto themselves and follow a strict hierarchy.
If Quinn is marrying the head of a Russian syndicate, she’s going to be granted security.
It goes with the territory of being allied to someone powerful.
Deep in thought, I’m still entirely focused on everything happening around me, so the light-colored dog standing up and trotting down the hallway is cause for notice.
The way the black dog adjusts his position stirs more than notice through my awareness.
I follow the direction it takes as it moves without making a sound.
Outside, the wind is howling, but years of working on the force means I can block outside distractions.
From deep inside the house, a noise whispers, causing me to retrace my steps back to the sitting room.
Santiago is out of his chair already, waiting for an update. I use hand gestures, letting him know we’ve got incoming.
It might be nothing, but I doubt it. Checking that my weapons are where they should be, I ignore the black dog’s show of his teeth as he attempts to block my entry and reach past him to open her door.
I wave him in first, and he circles the room, then jumps up onto the bed where Quinn is sleeping. The jostle of the bed has her waking up in a rush of noise and movement.
“Quinny. Quinn.” My voice is barely above a whisper, and instantly, she catches on we’ve got a possible situation.
She rubs her eyes, looking more alert with each passing second. I used to tease her about being dead asleep one second, then instantly alert the next, and now I’m grateful because she knows immediately that she needs to be as quiet as possible.
“There was a noise downstairs. Santiago and the other dog have gone to investigate.”
She climbs off the bed, and I don’t pass up the opportunity to check her out. I mean, that is why we’ve got the black dog; he’d go nuts if anyone was close enough to attack. And that means I get all the pieces in between with her, as her guard, of course.
Quinn has an incredible body. Legs that go on for days, but they’re not deathly skinny, like you see on models. They’re perfectly in proportion to how a fit and healthy woman should look, and I’ve run my tongue up them on more than one occasion to confirm how good they are.
Her eyes are on my face, and I’m not going to pretend she didn’t catch me. She’s always known I’m a sucker for her. After folding up the legs of an oversized pair of sweats, she tucks herself against me, flooding me with her scent.
And because we’re alone, and maybe about to die—though the probability is zero on that—I have my hands buried in her hair before she’s taken a breath.
“Quinny, I’m so sorry. I hate myself that I hurt you.
I am never leaving your side. And one day, I’m going to give you the chance to try to make me come, because you are, and always will be, my absolute favorite whore. ”
I get to watch the effect of my promise.
It happens first in her eyes, desire seeping through and darkening them.
Her cheeks flush candy pink, somehow accentuating the galaxy of freckles dusting her skin.
And then I get to watch her regain control of her own, equal, unspoken obsession with me, blinking this thing we share away until I’m left looking into her deep ocean-blue eyes.
A playful smirk tugs at her plump lips. “You’re the best friend a girl could ask for.”
I force my fingers to relax, then make a concerted effort to memorize how her silky soft hair glides over my hand. If this is my last touch, it’s practically poetic. But that’s Quinn—making things feel so much more intense.
I watch the last strand fall and take a deep breath, closing my eyes and becoming who she needs me to be.
Pushing her behind me, I crouch down in front of her and unholster my gun. “Do you have a weapon?”
The quick shake of her head flames anger in my gut. It’s another reason to hate the prick she’s marrying.
A series of thuds and grunts reaches us in her room. I know she heard them as soon as I did because her tension presses against my skin like sandpaper. Her scent sharpens, and I hear her take a long, deep exhale to settle her nerves.
The dog is a statue as he stands on the bed. I use him as a guide to where the action is and how close it is to us.
More fighting echoes back to us. There’s no shouting or speaking, but grunts and groans of effort and pain filter back, followed by an excited yip of the other dog before the unmistakable shout of an Alpha’s bark breaks the silence. “Roshka!”
The dog on the bed responds. His muscles bunch, and I triple-check Quinn is behind me, flicking the safety off.
“Roshka!” Another shout, and the dog barks in return.
Quinn does the strangest thing; she drops her forehead to my back.
“What is it, Quinn?” I demand.
“It’s him,” she says quietly, not moving away.
“Who?”
“Sergey’s second.”
“I kind of need to know if he’s a good guy or a bad one, Quinn.”
I swear I hear her say, “I wish I knew.”
I don’t get the chance to double-check because her door opens slowly, the tan-colored dog doing it with her snout as she walks in.
But now that the door is open, Quinn and I get to see Santiago and the other Alpha locked in a brutal, and eerily similar, stance.
Their bodies are rippled with tension and pulsing danger as they grip each other, making it hard for either to move an inch.
Their faces are contorted by their focus and promise of violence to each other, the barrels of their respective guns pressed under the chin of the other.
They’re in a stalemate, although my gun aims on the newcomer, so no longer a stalemate, as such.
I stay still, and so does Quinn. Even the dogs are unmoving as we take in the scene. The newcomer is an Alpha. It’s as easy to see as his anger. Despite the gun under his chin, he searches the room for Quinn, the same way Santiago does—desperately.
Once he sees her, his posture changes, and it’s almost like his presence grows along with his bulk. It must be a twist of light, but it’s intimidating to watch how he becomes more as his entire focus shifts to Quinn. “Are you okay?”
It’s the concern in his heavily accented Russian that stops me from blowing his fucking brains out. And then it’s Quinn’s soft “yes” that has me flicking the safety back on.
“We’re her guards. We’re protecting her,” I offer blandly, without moving.
“My dogs protect her. Not you.” His terse tone brooks no discussion on the matter.
He’s only said a handful of words, but in them, I decipher his handle on the English language is much better than he puts on. Interestingly, it's exactly what Santiago does when he’s around people he doesn’t know—pretend he isn’t fluent and eloquent to hide the truth.
I hold his stare, but not for long, because he’s likely to see everything as a challenge, considering he has two guns aimed right at him.
“Quinn was attacked earlier. We’re on edge.
” I probably don’t need to be quite so condescending, but maintaining control of the situation and keeping my girl safe are my only motivations.
The shithead blatantly ignores me and flicks his eyes to her again. The intensity of his stare has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up in warning. His head tips to the side, acting like the gun under his chin, and mine, isn’t aimed and ready to kill. “True?”
Behind me, Quinn moves. I assume she’s nodding her head.
Santiago clearly doesn’t like the vibe the guy is giving off, and he shoves his gun harder under his chin, forcing the Alpha's head to rise, breaking off the intense stare.
“We kept one alive. He’s in the kitchen,” she says softly.
A flash of shocked disbelief alters his presence before he pushes back against Santiago so he can look at her again.
This time, he’s displaying more Alpha traits than human qualities; challenge is in his eyes and in his posture.
Everything about him is a reminder of his strength, but he’s amped up, so he packs an extra punch of warning into his strangely smoky, leathery scent.
He looks at her impatiently, expecting more of an explanation than the indirect pussyfooting around we’re all guilty of.
I’ve seen what happens when someone levels that kind of look at Quinn; she comes out swinging. I move to block his view of her, hopefully to curtail her whiplike defense. But I’m not fast enough.
“You do realize I was left alone, right?” There’s an edge to her voice that’s not an outright challenge, but she’s dropped pretending not to be angry.
“Completely alone, as in not one fucking person left in this damn house. I nearly got eaten by the fucking dogs outside, and just when I had finally managed to relax, three armed intruders broke in. Three! It’s lucky Victor’s guards arrived when they did, or you’d be looking at my violated corpse.
The hospitality your Bratva keeps showing is…
exemplary. What a delight being his wife is going to be. ”
She stops breathing, then snarls under her breath before a small, meek, “Sorry,” follows from her and fills the space with her regret.
Santiago and the other Alpha react the same, growling at her distress—and her apology. And then the fucking dogs join in on the dump of testosterone, responding to the rising tension by growling and snarling.
“Enough!” I snap as my own designation flares bright, bringing with it a bone-deep need for everyone to stop fighting and to focus on caring for Quinn.
My girl.
My Omega.
Even if our bond shifts to being forever unrequited, she is and will always be the only one for me.