Chapter 1 #3
As he types, I find myself studying his profile. Shane's always been reliably straightforward. But seeing him conducting business with shadowy informants reminds me that everyone in our world has layers, secrets, connections that run deeper than what appears on the surface.
Shane guides me to the SUV. The wedding venue's fairy lights disappear behind us as we head toward the hotel.
"Thank you for this," I tell Shane. "You didn't have to leave early."
"No problem, Ms. Quinn." Shane's eyes flick to the rearview mirror, checking our surroundings with the automatic vigilance of a man who's made protection his profession. "Sometimes you need to escape before the night gets too long."
He probably saw me dancing with Anton, disappearing into the garden, returning alone with ruined makeup.
Thankfully, the drive takes less than ten minutes. When we arrive, the hotel's valet takes Shane's keys. The lobby glows with warm lighting. I quickly scan the seating areas, relief washing over me when I don't see any familiar Quinn faces.
"Let me walk you up," Shane says, falling into step beside me as we approach the elevators.
I don't argue. Since the kidnapping, I've had double the guards and half the freedom. I hate it, but Quinn women don't walk hotel corridors alone—not when people see us as leverage. Anton had to kill the men who made that mistake.
The elevator ascends silently to the top floor, where our family maintains a permanent block of suites. When the doors open, I immediately notice the increased security presence in the hallway. Two Quinn guards I recognize stand at strategic positions, but there are others I don't know.
They nod respectfully as we pass, but their pale eyes track our movement with professional assessment.
"Basovs," Shane explains quietly, noticing my attention. "Extra security for the families during the wedding events."
"Thank you again," I say when we reach my door. I fish my keycard from my clutch, grateful my hands aren't shaking anymore.
"Anytime, Ms. Quinn." Shane waits while I unlock the door, then steps back respectfully. "Get some rest."
I close the door behind me and lean against it, finally alone with my thoughts. The suite is elegant and sterile, all cream colors and expensive furniture that belongs to no one and everyone. Through the windows, the city sparkles below like scattered diamonds.
Tonight feels like a perfect summary of my existence. Surrounded by family who keep secrets. Protected by guards who work for multiple organizations with competing interests.
Attracted to a man who treats me like I'm made of glass one moment and runs away the next.
I didn't sleep last night. My brain wouldn't stop spinning the reel of what happened with Anton.
"Is there a specific occasion you're shopping for today?"
I blink at the boutique associate. Her name tag says Emma, and I manage what passes for a smile.
"Just treating myself." I run my fingers over a silky black dress. "I hoped I'd be going out on a date tonight, but turns out I might be taking myself out instead."
Emma's expression immediately softens with understanding. She's probably around my age, with kind eyes that don't judge. "Oh no. I got stood up last week, but ended up having the best solo dinner at this little place in SoHo. Sometimes we're our own best company."
Her warmth catches me off guard. "Exactly what I need to hear right now."
"That black dress would look incredible on you." Emma gestures to the dressing rooms. "Want to try it on? I have a feeling it's going to be perfect."
"Yes, absolutely." I pluck the dress from the rack, following her past displays of silk scarves and delicate jewelry.
Emma moves with ease through the narrow space, chatting over her shoulder. "There's this amazing new cocktail bar that opened in Tribeca, Alchemy. They make these molecular drinks that literally smoke when they serve them. Total power move for a solo night out."
The dressing room is near the front of the store. Emma pulls a tiny key from her pocket as we approach the closed fitting room.
"Alchemy sounds perfect for tonight." I glance toward the entrance where Cillian stands by the door, doing his best to look casual. There's nothing casual about a six-foot-four guy with tattoos snaking up his forearms browsing silk scarves and jewelry.
Emma catches my glance and her eyebrows raise slightly, but she doesn't comment. Instead, she pushes open the dressing room door with a flourish.
"Thanks." I step inside the spacious room, hung with mirrors on three sides.
"First time shopping with us?" Emma asks, lingering just outside the door in case I need anything.
"Yeah, actually." I hang the dress carefully on the hook. "I was waiting in the car while my...well, my dad's assistant was picking up some tailored suits across the street. Spotted your window display and couldn't resist sneaking in while he finished up."
Emma leans against the doorframe, her posture relaxing into genuine conversation. "Well, we're thrilled you did! We opened barely two weeks ago. We might not be the biggest boutique in the city, but the owner hand-selects everything. She has incredible taste."
"I can definitely tell." I run my fingers over another dress hanging in the room. "The quality's amazing. And honestly, I'm loving the girl chat too. I usually shop with my cousin, but she just got married yesterday."
Emma's face lights up. "Oh, how romantic, a spring wedding!"
"Yeah, it was beautiful." My chest tightens thinking about Sage, off on her honeymoon with the love of her life. Meanwhile, I had hopes to at least go on a date, but I'm left picking up the pieces of whatever Anton did to my head.
I'm about to close the dressing room door when I see Cillian rushing toward me. He has his phone pressed to his ear. Something's wrong.
Cillian's voice drops to a murmur as he reaches me. "We have a situation. We need to leave right now."
His hand hovers near his jacket, where I know he keeps his gun.
"I'm sorry," I tell Emma. "I have to bail on that fitting."
Her eyes are wide, taking in Cillian's obvious anxiety and my sudden change in demeanor. "Of course."
I give the dress back to Emma as Cillian ends his call, his knuckles white against the black phone case. His eyes dart around the boutique like a cornered animal looking for escape.
"Where's your back exit?" he asks Emma.
Emma points to the back. "Through the stockroom, past the employee bathroom—"
Glass explodes inward, shards flying past my face.
No time to process what's happening. Cillian's already moving, shoving me past Emma as he draws his weapon. Broken glass crunches under our feet.
"Move!"
Emma runs with us through the door marked "Employees Only," her face pale with terror. She ducks behind stacked boxes as we head for the exit.
I see her fumbling for her phone. "Call 911!" I shout as Cillian pulls me toward the heavy metal door.
We slam through into blinding daylight and our possible slaughter.