Chapter 14
Lincoln
Nine Years Ago
Eat, Quinnly.
Sleep, Quinnly.
That’s what I’d like to text her, but I usually reserve my messages for taunting. It’s what she expects, what she knows. So instead, I’ve settled for slipping a sleeping aid into her drink tonight. Her sister, Naomi, brought her out to a club they’ve been to a time or two.
It’s one of the easiest places for me to hide, but it’s also one that tends to make me lose my temper.
Seeing people dance on her, as if they have any right to touch what’s mine…
Shaking off the threat of violence, I watch from above the dance floor, ignoring the looks thrown my way. Some women approach, but when I don’t engage they slink away with pouty lips.
The leather couch I’ve commandeered tonight squeaks under my jeans as I reach for my glass of bourbon. Leaning back, my eyes never leave Quinnly’s neon pink and orange hair. It’s shorter now, cut to her shoulders. She did it herself, like she always does.
Naomi dances with her, the two of them like magnets for people. They have this carefree quality that others can feel when they smile or laugh, and it draws people into their orbit.
Whispering something to Naomi, Quinnly slips into the crowd, heading toward the outskirts of the dance floor. I can watch her from here, see how her eyes scan the room. Even in the near darkness, Quinnly clocks everything.
There’s a man sitting in one of the higher booths, and she walks past his table. He watches her walk past, craning his neck in his effort to keep his eyes on her, completely forgetting about the women by his sides.
My teeth gnash together, lips form a straight line, my fingers threaten to shatter the glass in my hands, and I have to remember to take a breath. She’s been tracking this guy for days, so focused she hasn’t properly taken care of herself.
I know he’s going to die, and I’ll most likely clean it up.
Like I always do.
Still, the look of interest on his face makes me want to off him before she gets the chance. After a few minutes, Quinnly appears back at the table and the man smiles at her.
She twirls a piece of hair around a finger, and pops out her hip. I can’t hear what they’re saying, and I don’t care, but I know the sleeping aid takes a few hours to start working. If she doesn’t get home in a hurry, she’ll be the one needing a rescue.
Naomi walks up behind Quinnly, whispers something in her ear, and the two of them walk off together.
Whatever Quinnly said to him in lieu of goodbye has him laughing loud enough the women in the booth move on to some other schmuck.
He follows the pair, and they dance, Quinnly throws her arms up and the man grabs her hips.
Looking over her shoulder, she gives him a smile and when she turns back to Naomi, she yawns.
Fuck.
Naomi tilts her head, watching Quinnly and they communicate in the special way they have, not saying a word and yet understanding each other regardless.
It’s fascinating.
Shifting down the stairs, away from the crowd, I watch them move. Naomi guides the three of them off the dance floor, back to the booth and Quinnly leans over onto the man.
Looking around the space, Naomi turns back to Quinnly and holds up her hands before disappearing. I don’t care where she’s going as long as she gets Quinnly home soon. She reappears not long after, and drags a hysterically laughing Quinnly out of the club.
They both pile into a cab, and I follow on the bike I’ve become used to using around home. When they arrive at the house, Naomi grabs Quinnly by the shoulders and shoves her out onto the driveway pavers.
“Nooooooo,” she giggles, “I have to stabby-stab tonight.”
“Shut. Up. Q!”
“Ruuuuuude.”
I watch as Naomi huffs in exasperation and throws a few bills back into the cab before he drives away. Quinnly sways on her feet, and stumbles on the stairs. Naomi sighs and unlocks the door. I know Cicero’s not home–off on another job–and Naomi flips on the lights as she walks through the house.
Propping my bike against the bushes, I walk across the lawn toward the house.
The women have disappeared up the stairs, leaving the door wide open.
I’ll have to make sure they remember why that’s a bad idea.
For now I simply close the door, lock it with the key I had made, and send a text to my Menace.
Me: Since you won’t choose to sleep, I’ll make you.