Chapter 7
Reid
I’ve refused to return to my brothers in Chicago, even for a debrief. For one thing, the gash on my head is still prominent, and thanks to the recording Mace has of Quinn’s attack, all my brothers have seen it. They’re pissing me off.
Holed up in the log cabin I’ve been sharing with Jake, I stare at the grid of faces on my laptop.
Ash is in our office with Mace, and Hunter is at the house we share.
Our Chicago home isn’t an opulent mansion by Barrett’s standards, but it’s big enough to accommodate all four of our egos.
It’s become our stronghold in the last few months, and I foresee a time when we won’t be able to leave home without a security detail.
It’s almost dusk and my image on screen is hidden in shade. Unfortunately, the shadows have exaggerated the lump on my head. Hunter sniggers and that sets Mace off.
My expression remains grim as I cross my arms. I know we need lighter moments at times like this, but they’re laughing at me, not with me. It hurts, and in ways that go beyond my current humiliation. As the half-brother, I’ve often felt othered, and this is one of those times.
“Knock it off, you two,” Ash says. “Things are about to get serious.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Ash nods to Mace, who’s at his desk directly opposite our oldest brother.
“Barrett’s given notice to the local security firm,” Mace says. “The guards have been complaining online that foreign security staff are taking over their jobs next week. We can safely assume the new guards are going to be speaking Russian.”
“It’s a shame Quinn isn’t feeding us this information,” Hunter points out.
Mace scoffs. “Maybe she’s not as eager to take sides as Reid’s been led to believe.”
I glare at the screen. “What does that mean?”
“It means the jury’s still out on whether she actually hates Ilya as much as she claims. It could just be an act. I still don’t trust her.”
“Well, I do,” I say. “She’s only interested in finding her sister.”
Mace cocks an eyebrow. “Did she tell you that before or after you sucked her face?”
“Fuck off, Mace. I’m not in the mood.”
“OK, moving on,” says Hunter before Ash loses patience again. “Do we know where Ilya is?”
Mace turns to the array of computer screens around his desk. “Last sighted in Atlanta. No updates.”
“He won’t show up in Poulton Springs until all the arrangements are in place,” says Ash. “He might even hold off until they have a consignment to process.”
“Young women,” I remind him. “We shouldn’t be describing innocent lives as a consignment, even if that’s all they are to Ilya.”
“You’re right,” Ash concedes. “And with any luck, we can give some of those women their freedom back.” And because he knows where my thoughts are leading, he adds, “I hope for Quinn’s sake, one of them is her sister.”
“If there is a sister.”
It’s another snide comment from Mace, and I know his concern is born from a need to protect me, but I believe Quinn even if he doesn’t.
He didn’t feel the emotion vibrating through Quinn’s body when she spoke about her sister.
And he hasn’t stared into those grey eyes aflame with amber, and felt a burning need to protect her.
“It would help if we had a name,” Hunter says when I refuse to react to Mace’s comment. “Or when and where the sister went missing. We could help track her down. Does Quinn have any idea of the resources and skill sets at our disposal?”
“She has her own resources,” Mace says. “The guy Reid heard her talking to is tech-savvy enough to give her a watertight identity. He also knew to protect his location when he searched online for us last night. It would be wrong to assume she’s an amateur.”
“Quinn isn’t working for the Russians if that’s what you’re suggesting,” I say through gritted teeth.
“She’s got this close to Ilya’s operations through her own grit and determination, and we should give her some credit for that.
She doesn’t want our help because she doesn’t think she needs it.
She’s hell bent on doing this on her own. ”
“If that’s the case, she’s not just alone, she’s isolated,” Hunter says. “Barrett paid a visit two days ago, and from the chatter Mace picked up today, he’s fired two of the other staff. There’s only Quinn and the gardener at the house now.”
I lean closer to the screen, willing Mace to offer a last sliver of hope when I ask, “Are you sure he’s keeping Quinn on? Maybe he’s let them all go.”
Mace quirks an eyebrow as if it’s a stupid question. He’s determined to see Quinn as an asset the Russians have decided Barrett should retain.
“Not only does he want Quinn,” Ash says in a way that makes my hands curl into fists. “He’s persuaded her to move into the mansion. She’s already given up her room at the guesthouse.”
My jaw tightens. Barrett could be about to make a move on her, but would Quinn reciprocate? I’d suggested as much to her, but it was in the heat of the moment. I don’t seriously think she’d let that creep anywhere near her. But if it was a means to get closer to Ilya’s world and her sister…
I unclench my jaw when I ask, “Where’s Barrett now?”
“Back in New York,” replies Mace.
“He’s left Quinn to face a team of Ilya’s men on her own?”
“It could be why he’s keeping on the gardener too,” Hunter suggests.
“A fucking gardener?” I can feel my pulse throbbing in my temples. “I’m sure he’ll do a great job wielding a damn pitch fork against guys with automatic assault rifles. Quinn shouldn’t be there without any form of protection. I need to get back into the estate. Now.”
“I don’t think so,” Mace scoffs.
Fuck him. “I’m not sitting back and waiting for something bad to happen. I’ll take a team with me if it makes you all feel better, but I have to talk to Quinn again. I have to make her see sense.”
“Then wait for her to return to town,” Hunter suggests. “She’s not under house arrest.”
“And what if I miss her? Or she doesn’t leave the estate until after Ilya’s men show up?” I glance out of the window. The sun’s setting. “I could slip in there tonight.”
“No, Reid,” Ash says in a tone that won’t be brokered. He rubs a hand over his beard then huffs out a sigh. “If you’re going in, we’ll need time to prepare a plan. And whatever that plan entails, you’re going to have Jake with you.”
“And me,” says Mace. “I’m flying out there.”
“I don’t need a damn babysitter, Mace. I’m only going to talk to Quinn.”
“As I might have mentioned, I don’t trust her,” he replies. He taps his forehead. The prick is pointing to the spot where the can of paint struck me. “It could be a bullet next time.”