36. Isabel
Isabel
The fucking nerve of these arseholes. Not even a chance to explain before they shut it down.
Fine.
Conversation over. No point arguing with jerks who’ve already decided they’re right.
Why waste my breath?
Instead, I pull out my phone and text Gabby, tuning them out.
ME:
Men are stupid.
GABBY:
Can’t argue with you there.
Where are you?
Where do you need me to be?
We’re almost back in London. Heading for the penthouse. I need to do this on my own.
Well, isn’t it convenient that I also happen to be in London? We headed that way as soon as they realized Drake was missing. The first place I planned to visit was the penthouse. How about I meet you there and we do this together?
Is Anna with you?
Yes.
Any other badass women you can round up on short notice?
Amanda and Hillary. Larkin would be more than willing to share her guards with us. They always have more than enough when the family travels together.
A small sense of relief settles in. Finally, something’s going my way.
Perfect. Put in the call. I need a break from all this testosterone while I figure shit out. Need to be surrounded by women who think with something other than their fucking short dicks.
I’m gonna need the full rundown on what lover boy did to cause my sweet little sister to be so hostile.
He breathed.
Well then.
Edward pulls the car up next to my grandparents’ building. It barely comes to a stop before I’m reaching for the handle. I have no interest in waiting around for another argument.
Fresh air hits me as I jump out before anyone can stop me.
Behind me, Edward lets out a quiet chuckle, like he expected me to do just that, even if the four imbeciles in the back didn’t.
“Wait!” Aiden’s deep voice calls after me. “Isabel, stop! Are you fucking listening to me?”
I spin on my heels, facing him head-on, and the look I throw his way stops him in his tracks. “Fuck off, twat!”
“You can’t go in there alone.” He points to the building behind me. “It’s not safe.”
“Well, you can’t come with me. I forbid it. None of you pompous pricks are coming with me.” Turning away, I start for the door again. “Go.”
His hand catches on my shoulder, firm enough to stop me, and I hate the way my body reacts to it. “I said it’s not safe. We don’t know where Drake is, and until we do, you can’t go anywhere alone. Which means, where you go, I go.”
“Fuck that.” I knock his hand off me and put space between us. “Go away, Aiden! I don’t need you protecting me.”
“Too fucking bad! I don’t trust anyone else. So that means you’ll just have to deal with it.” His hands land on my waist, spinning me around and hauling me off the ground. A second later, I’m slung over his shoulder. “Back to the car you go, princess.”
He takes three steps before that sweet voice I was expecting cuts him off. “Put the princess down carefully and back away.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Aiden grumbles but ignores her order.
I twist just enough to look past him, a smile already forming. “Meet Amanda and Hillary, my guards. Larkin’s lending them to me until this is resolved.”
“No, she is not.” Antonio disagrees as he leans out of the car.
“I don’t believe that’s your call. Either of yours.” Gabby steps up beside Aiden, slapping him on the back like she’s greeting an old friend. “Now put her down before someone gets hurt. And by someone, I mean you, big guy.”
Aiden reluctantly sets my feet back on the ground. “For the record, you don’t scare me.”
Gabby wraps an arm around my shoulder and steers me toward the door, leaving Aiden standing there, frustrated and unsure how to handle being shut out. “I don’t scare him. Ha.”
Leaning into her, my focus elsewhere, I barely notice the bellhop as he opens the door. His head stays down, his face beneath the brim of his cap. Nothing about it raises alarms—at first.
Then something pulls my attention back as we step into the lobby. I glance over my shoulder and he’s staring straight at me.
Quentin.
“Gabs,” I whisper, tension snapping tight in my chest. “It’s him.”
There’s no time to react. One second she’s beside me, the next she’s yanked back, an arm locking around her torso as a gun presses to her temple. Quentin slams the door shut at the same time, locking it before Amanda or Hillary can reach us.
Gunfire erupts outside, bullets pelting against the glass. It holds. Doesn’t shatter. The glass is thick. Reinforced. Built for moments exactly like this.
My brother made sure of that when my grandparents moved in. Being a princess comes with threats, and this place was built to withstand them.
“Well, well, well.” Drake clicks his tongue, tightening his hold on Gabby. “Two for the price of one.”
“Fuck you!” Gabby snarls and moves to strike, but he’s faster.
He jabs a needle into her shoulder, depressing it without hesitation.
My sister stares at it for a second. “Shit.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t kill you.” Drake’s voice drips with amusement as he drags the gun down her cheek. “Takes the fun out of it. You’ll just lose a bit of that fight. Makes it easier to get you to the boats. Killing you won’t get me the money I need to disappear.”
“Isabel.” Gabby moves her head from side to side. Her legs are giving way as she blinks slowly.
Tears prick the back of my eyes as panic sets in. I can’t help but wonder how the hell we’ll get out of this.
“Yes, Gabs.”
Her right hand lifts, fingers trembling as she counts down. Each second stretches, heavy and slow as her head bobs and her eyelids fall.
When she only has one finger up, her eyes pop open and she yells. “Now!”
Training takes over. My body drops before the word fully lands, arms coming up to shield my head as my face hits the cold marble.
A deafening—
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Two solid thuds hit the marble, followed by a much softer one that lands with an almost silent grace.
“You okay?” A woman’s voice sounds from behind me. “Did I hit them?”
Lifting my head, I glance over the scene, answering because I assume Gabby is out cold. “How the fuck did you do that if you can’t see?”
“Lots of fucking practice,” Anna replies, walking toward us. “I’m not completely blind—just mostly. I see shadows. It’s knowing which ones to aim at and which ones not to.”
A groan breaks through the tension as Gabby stirs from her spot on the floor. “That’s why you hit the deck. Big guy behind me was obvious… but that skinny, short motherfucker—not so much.”
Quentin lets out a weak moan from where he’s down.
“Isabel, take the gun from Anna and shoot him again if he makes any sudden moves.” Gabby orders, pushing herself up, her body unsteady but fighting through it. Now on her knees, she turns to check the man behind her. “Damn, Anna… dead fucking center.”
I take the gun from Anna and level it at the man I once trusted. The hatred in his eyes is unmistakable, sharp enough to make me question how I never noticed it before.
“You fucking whore.” He coughs, blood spilling down his chin. “All you had to do was come with me that night. If you’d have just done that, all of this would’ve been avoided.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Quentin?” My aim is steady; if he so much as flinches wrong, I’ll shoot him and won’t lose any sleep over it.
“My uncle. He had a plan. Solid.” Another cough racks through him.
“Not so solid unless he planned on dying,” Gabby murmurs, too low for Quentin to hear.
“Kidnap you. Use that wannabe Rurik fucker as a cover.” His hand touches his side where blood is pooling fast. “Fuck.”
“What do you mean, use Rurik?” I ask.
“Why should I tell you?” His eyes burn into me. “You going to let me bleed out? Or did you forget the oath we took when we entered medical school?”
No.
“Anna, get over here.” When she steps up next to me, I press the gun into her hands. “Aim at his head. If he so much as twitches, blow his brains out.”
Gabby pushes to her feet, swaying for half a second before finding her balance and heading our way. “Hang on. I’ve got a better idea.”
She takes the gun from Anna and swaps it for a blade. “Put that against his throat. Harder for him to move, and you won’t shoot my sister by accident.”
“Good thinking,” Anna kneels behind Quentin, gripping his head firmly as she sets the blade against his throat.
“Oh, and be careful. That blade is razor-sharp. It’ll slice through his skin like butter.” She joins me as we kneel on the floor next to him, her voice calm despite everything. “I wouldn’t breathe too hard if I were you. Wouldn’t want her to kill you by mistake.”
“Fuck you.” Quentin growls. “All of you.”
“Do you want my help?” I ask lifting his shirt.
The blood is darker, not a bright red. Which tells me it’s venous, not arterial.
When I raise the fabric higher, he winces but doesn’t move.
The wound sits just below his rib cage, off-center.
When I reach around, I discover there’s no exit wound.
Meaning the bullet is likely lodged in his kidney.
He’ll live—if he cooperates and doesn’t piss off the woman holding the knife to his throat.
“How bad?” He grunts when I press my fingers into the wound.
“You’ll live as long as you tell us what we want to know.”
“That’s my girl.” Gabby chuckles next to me. “You were saying something about your uncle using Rurik as his pawn.”
Needing to stop the bleeding, I do what needs to be done.
Fortunately, I wore layers today. A tank beneath the cotton button-up shirt I put on this morning. Once I have it unbuttoned and off, I rip it into strips.
Quentin is staring at me with lust in his eyes.
Bastard.
My finger digs into the sensitive tissue before I pack his wound, pushing deep enough to make him feel it.
“Fuck! Okay, stop.” His legs jerk, the movement forcing the blade at his throat to bite deeper into his skin. His eyes go wide as he tries to still himself, but that’s not easy when death is breathing down your neck. “Don’t be a bitch. I’ll tell you if you stop that shit.”
“Start talking,” I say, not easing up as I pack the wound.
It’s not clean. Not even close. But it’ll keep him alive long enough to get what we need. If he ends up with an infection, that’s not my problem. It’s his for being a dumbass.
Through gritted teeth, he caves. “He didn’t tell me everything. All I know is that Trent pissed him off when he promoted someone who hadn’t earned it.”
Aiden. He has to be talking about him.
“I guess he’d been skimming off the top for years, and this fucker somehow found out.
Except my uncle was smart enough to cover his tracks.
And when they confronted the guy they thought was the traitor, he shot him in the head and played it off as an overreaction.
” He grimaces when I put pressure against the packing, holding it in place. “Jesus, that hurts.”
I glance over at my sister. “Pull off his belt. We need something that will hold it tighter than I can.”
While she does, he keeps talking.
“So he had to alter his plan. When he heard about the Russian being back, he saw an opportunity. Used him to do the dirty work and reap the benefits when it was over.”
Slipping the belt around his torso, I pull it tight, securing pressure to the wound. “We need to make a hole here.”
Gabby pulls out another knife and flashes it at Quentin. “Don’t move, or I might slip and stab you instead.”
Once she’s made one, I lock the belt in place and sit back on my heels. Fingers pressed to his wrist, I check his pulse. It’s rapid but steady. We’ve got minutes before he passes out on us, ending this conversation.
“How did you get involved? Why?”
Pain flickers across his face, tightening the edges of his eyes. “Lawrence dragged me along to one of his shady games. Got me hooked. I lost a lot of money. When my uncle found out, he offered me a deal I couldn’t refuse.”
His voice starts to fade, eyes getting droopy, so I slap him. “Not yet. Why? Why would you agree to that?”
Taking a slow breath, his eyes meet mine.
That evil glint is back—dark, possessive—and it chills me to my core.
“If I helped, he promised me the one thing I’ve been after since the moment I first saw you.
He’s the only person I could talk to about stuff my family never understood. We’ve always been close.”
“What was that? Say it!”
“You.” He licks his lips, and it has nothing to do with dryness. “He promised me I’d get to keep you once this was over.”
“Keep me!” The words come out sharp. “I’m not a fucking microwave, Quinten. I’m a person who would’ve told you to fuck off.”
He smirks, and says exactly what I expected. “That’s where you’re wrong. Slaves do as they are told, or they get punished for disobeying their master.”
I snap. Whatever line was left is gone.
Right or wrong doesn’t matter anymore. He’s a sick bastard who doesn’t deserve to live.
I grab the gun and aim—but I’m too late. Anna’s already sliced his throat wide open, taking that choice away from me.
“Give me that.” Gabby rips the gun out of my hands. “Men like him don’t get to live.”
The weight of all this shit crashes into me like a brick wall. The fear. The anger. The violation of it all. My fists slam into his chest as a scream rips out of me.
I don’t care if I look like a madwoman. Maybe I’ve gone a little mad. Anyone who’s faced the shitstorm I have would go mad, right? It’s only logical.
The only thing that calms my outburst is when I’m picked up and drawn into a firm, inviting chest. It takes time to realize who has me, but as soon as I hear his voice; something familiar washes over me.
He smells like home. I turn and climb him like a spider monkey, wrapping my arms and legs around him tightly.
I stop talking. He does too. We don’t need words. He understands me. Already knows what I need.
Him.
I need him to make me forget. To feel something other than this.