28. Quinn
28
QUINN
“ Y ou’ll call me as soon as the job’s done,” Tatiana insists as we all stand in the entryway like a grand send-off.
After a week of what seemed like nonstop planning, it’s time. Tonight’s the night Natasha puts an end to this bloody conflict and rids New York of Don Lucian once and for all.
“I’ll call you as soon as it’s done,” Natasha echoes, pulling her sister into a hug.
The two girls couldn’t look more different. Tatiana is tall and all breathtaking curves and seductive beauty with dark auburn hair and worried blue eyes. Meanwhile, Natasha has a lean, petite frame that I know from our sparring session is impressively muscular beneath the skintight catsuit she’s wearing tonight. Her burgundy hair is pulled back in that simple French braid that will keep it out of her face, and her silver eyes look like hardened steel in her determination.
But as the girls embrace, I can see that same love and affection mirrored between them. And it makes my heart ache for Tatiana. She hasn’t breathed a word to suggest it, but I know she must be worried for her sister.
As soon as they step apart, Killian moves forward to say his goodbyes. And he sweeps Natasha up in a fiercely passionate kiss. The temperature of the room steadily climbs, and yet I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the sweet and almost desperate display of love. When their lips finally separate, he cups Natasha’s face in his palms, and the tender look on his face as he gazes down at her breaks my heart.
“Do what you have to do, love,” he murmurs. “But stay safe . And hurry home. I’ll wait up for you.”
“I know,” she murmurs, her fingers curling around his, and she presses an affectionate kiss to his palm. “I’ll be home before you even know I’m gone,” she promises.
Sighing heavily, Killian wraps his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest as he tucks her head beneath his chin. And I can tell he’s shielding her from the momentary look of agony that flickers across his face.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes to see his pain. I know from personal experience how hard it is to let someone you love walk out that door without knowing for certain that they’ll come back. You can always hope. You can trust in their strength and determination. But you can never actually know . Not in our world.
My stomach knots every time I think of the possibility that Natasha might not come home. And that familiar anxiety rises in my chest when I consider what that would mean. Because I’ve been a prisoner of the Agostis. And I don’t want Natasha to suffer that same fate. I imagine Natasha would be far stronger and more resilient than I was in that situation. But I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy—least of all my sister-in-law, who I’ve come to love and respect immensely.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force a smile onto my lips as Natasha and Killian part. And I note the way she keeps one hand in his as she turns to face me and Lance.
“Good luck,” Lance says gruffly. “Make him pay.”
Natasha gives him a determined nod—a silent reassurance that she can do this job, though she knows he wanted it to be him. And I feel a flicker of guilt rise as I realize I’m grateful to her for taking Lance’s place.
Unable to help myself, I step forward and pull her into a hug. “Good luck,” I whisper, giving her a fierce squeeze before I release her.
And the smile Natasha unleashes on me fills me with warmth—and sadness.
“Thanks, Quinn,” she says. Then she gives Killian’s hand one last squeeze, and she slips silently out the front door into the night.
Painful stillness settles over the entry as we all stand motionless, staring at the doorway. And as the tension grows excruciating, Tatiana breaks the silence.
“I’ll head home. Call me if…Well, call me with any updates. I’ll do the same.” She doesn’t wait for a reply as she and her small contingent of guards sweep from the house.
But as she goes, I catch the glimmer of tears brimming in her eyes.
“ Fuck, ” Killian groans as soon as the door closes, and his fingers comb through his blond curls as he looks toward the sky.
“She’ll be okay,” I assure him, and I press my lips together to hide the way my chin trembles.
“She better be,” he rasps. Then a growl rushes past his lips. “I need a drink.”
Stalking from the entry, he heads down the hall to the kitchen.
I cast a tentative glance in Lance’s direction, meeting his troubled gaze. Then I quickly follow my brother. I won’t make him wait up alone for his wife. I doubt I’ll be sleeping tonight either way, and as the saying goes, misery loves company.
Lance follows several steps behind me, keeping his distance, and I’m grateful. We both agreed after the decision was made to let Natasha slip into the Italians’ compound that it wouldn’t be a good time to talk to Killian about our relationship.
Killian has been incredibly stressed about his wife’s safety on this upcoming mission, so even though we’ve had plenty of opportunities to discuss it, we decided to wait until Natasha comes home.
The prolonged silence has made this week that much harder. For me, but mostly for Lance. I can see it weighing him down. But right now Killian needs us as his sister and his best friend. Not as a newly formed partnership that he’s probably going to have a cow about. So we can wait. For Killian, we have to. Because this has been one of the hardest weeks of his life, and I’m proud of my brother for having the courage to support his wife, even when he desperately wants to keep her out of harm’s way.
The sound of liquid pouring freely into a lowball glass greets me as I enter the kitchen, and Killian’s head tips back as he tosses the shot down his throat without tasting it. Then he pours himself a second.
“Care for one?” he offers, holding up the bottle as he turns to watch me and Lance enter the kitchen.
His hair is disheveled, his appearance bordering on mad now that he no longer has to hold it together for Natasha’s sake, and I think he’s closer to the brink of losing it than I’d realized before.
Stomach knotting, I attempt a bit of levity to keep the conversation light. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stick with chardonnay. One shot of whiskey, and I’ll be on the floor.”
“Suit yourself,” he says, taking the bottle and his lowball glass to the high-top bar counter and settling into a chair. Then he glares into his amber drink with an animosity that makes me wonder if he has a personal vendetta against Redbreast.
I glance at Lance again, silently passing the baton in the hopes that he might have a better way to console my brother. And I silently pad to the fridge to dig out a bottle of chilled white wine.
“The plan’s a good one,” Lance says, settling into the chair beside my brother and mirroring his pose. “She’s sneaky. And a good fighter.”
Killian nods, a hint of the tension leaving his shoulders, and I could cry with gratitude for Lance in this moment.
“You should stay sober. In case she calls.”
Again, Killian nods at the gentle redirection. “I’ll be sober again by the time she reaches the compound.”
Still, my brother gives the bottle of Irish whiskey one last violent glare before sliding it across the counter away from him. It clinks gently against the kitchen wall, coming to a stop without toppling. And I’m mildly impressed by my brother’s skill.
Sipping on my glass of wine, I pad toward them, choosing a spot on the kitchen counter and hoisting myself onto it. Then I cross my legs so I can form the third leg of our triangle. “So, as long as we have the time to spare…I say you give us the dirty details on exactly how Natasha tried to kill you.”
Relief floods my veins as one corner of my brother’s mouth quirks into a crooked smile. And when he looks up at me, I see the flicker of humor chasing away his haunted look. “You sure you want all the dirty details, Quinn? I may or may not have blackmailed her into having sex with me that first night.”
I gasp, exaggerating the horror on my face to encourage a laugh from my brother. Though I am slightly appalled and most definitely mortified to think Killian would do such a thing. But considering how crazy in love with Natasha I know my brother is—not to mention the fact that they got married—my curiosity outweighs my sense of responsibility as a feminist who ought to have her fellow sister’s back.
“Okay, maybe skip those dirty details, but now I have to know the story.”
As I scoot forward to demonstrate my brother has a riveted audience, I’m just glad I’ve found a topic that might take my brother’s mind off his agonizing worry for a moment.
The drama of my brother’s romantic pursuit of Natasha could probably fill a book. And I’m shocked to find that when the last details of his story come to a close, I’ve been listening for over three hours—as has Lance.
Lance has proven a far more stoic listener. But I start to worry when Killian’s tale draws toward its inevitable end. Because I can sense the ugly finish before it comes. And with Killian’s recounting of the charity ball—the night Natasha’s father died, and Killian nearly did also—I can see that same tortured look return to his eyes.
“I never realized you and Natasha went through so many…ups and downs,” I say gently as he falls silent. “She always seemed crazy about you, from the moment I met her.”
Killian’s lips twist into a bitter smile, and he gives a soft chuckle. “It just took a knife to the gut and nearly bleeding out for her to realize it.”
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t been such an ass at the start…” I point out, quirking an eyebrow.
“Maybe…” he agrees. Then his eyes flick toward the clock above the kitchen sink.
It’s nearly 5 a.m. And my stomach sinks as I realize Natasha’s been gone too long. A dark sense of foreboding settles around me as silence fills the kitchen. And I know Killian’s thinking it too.
Something went wrong.
My brother glares down at his empty lowball glass as if it personally offended him. Then he rises from his stool to pace the kitchen.
I nearly jump out of my skin when his phone vibrates across the kitchen counter a moment later. And I don’t get a chance to look at who’s calling before he snatches it up.
“Yes?” he demands—definitely not the way he would answer if it were Natasha. Then he heaves a breath, his free hand rising to knead his brow. “No, I haven’t either. She’s not back yet.”
It must be Tatiana calling to check in. And from the sounds of it, she hasn’t heard from Natasha. Biting my lip, I fight back the tears that threaten and glance toward Lance for reassurance.
His deep-blue eyes are dark with concern, his brow pressed together in a fierce scowl. And he shakes his head. He’s got nothing—no clue how to make this situation better.
“Maybe I should go—” Killian starts, but he stops abruptly, and I can hear the vague tenor of Tatiana’s voice as she cuts him off. “Well, then, what do you suggest? If she’s in trouble, we can’t just sit here and do nothing!”
I tense, my heart breaking into a sprint at the word trouble. Does Tatiana know something?
“Fine. I’ll wait until sunrise. But after that, I’m going after her. You can help or not.”
Killian hangs up, and from the way he white-knuckles the phone I can tell he desperately wants to throw it. Instead, he slams it down on the counter with unnecessary force. And I cringe as I hope it can take the abuse.
Sighing heavily, he slumps back into his chair and scrubs his face with his hands.
“Tatiana hasn’t heard from her either, then?” I venture, gently trying to prod information from him.
“No, and she’s confident Natasha would call by now if she were able. Which means something definitely went wrong. But we have no way of knowing what.” He lets his hands fall from his face, and his eyes are suddenly bloodshot with pent-up emotion. “I should have insisted you go with her,” he says, looking at Lance.
“Maybe,” Lance agrees curtly, his expression carefully guarded.
And my heart twists because I know how much he wanted to go—how willingly he would put himself in harm’s way to help.
“But Tatiana doesn’t think you should go after her now?” I prod again, trying to redirect my brother into a more productive line of thought.
“No. She thinks if Natasha is trapped inside and hiding, we don’t want to expose her by jumping the gun.”
I nod. It makes sense.
“She’s right. Of course. The worst thing I could do is accidentally reveal her presence. But I just can’t stop thinking what if he found her? What if he overpowered her like I could? I’ve underestimated Lucian before, and I’ll never forgive myself if I do it again.” Killian’s fingers comb into his hair once more, and he tugs it like a tormented soul looking for relief through punishment.
“It’s not your fault, Killian,” I whisper.
“What does it matter whose fault it is if I lose her?” he demands.
And the tortured look he gives me now sends a shiver through my bones.