Chapter 6 #2
She meets my eyes and doesn’t look away. “A man who rules on chaos,” she says. “A man who lets his people rot as long as the money keeps moving.”
I lean back. “And you found what?”
“A man who keeps everything tight,” she says, then she glances toward the door where Roarke stands. “But also a man who kills without remorse.” Roarke’s eyes narrow, and I raise my hand again, and he stills.
Quinn holds my gaze. She doesn’t soften the point.
“You killed someone today,” she says, voice flat.
I don’t pretend she’s wrong.
“You saw my knuckles,” I answer.
She nods. I take another sip of my whiskey and set the glass down, then I clasp my hands together, fingers interlaced, and I keep my posture relaxed. “He hit one of mine,” I say.
“So you took a knee,” she answers, and her tone doesn’t shift.
I study her for a beat, then I nod. “I did,” I admit.
She doesn’t flinch, and that steadiness pulls at something in me that I don’t like naming. “Does that scare you?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “It tells me what you do when you’re angry.”
I let a quiet breath out through my nose and keep my eyes on her. “Why are you really here?” I ask, because this is the whole point of the evening—to see if the strongest alcohol in the land gets her to slip up and give me her truth.
Her eyes hold mine. “To work.”
“That’s what you tell people,” I answer, and at this point, I’m honestly impressed.
“It’s what you pay me for,” she says, then she tilts her head. “You don’t pay me for honesty.”
Roarke shifts again, and I speak without turning. “Go check the perimeter,” I tell him.
He hesitates, then nods once and leaves, closing the door behind him. I take my glass and roll it slowly between my fingers.
“This place used to be louder,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “How?”
“People,” I answer. “Music. Parties. Eva liked noise.”
Her face shifts, just a fraction. “Eva.”
“My ex-fiancée,” I say.
Quinn doesn’t speak or offer pity. She just waits, and the waiting is steady and clean. I study her face, the curve of her mouth, the hollow at the base of her throat. “That’s rare.”
“What’s rare?” she asks.
“Someone letting a name sit without trying to fix it.”
She holds my gaze. “You didn’t invite me here to fix you.”
I smile, faint and sharp. “No.”
Then I look down at my glass and decide I’m done keeping every piece locked away. “I don’t talk about her,” I say.
Quinn’s voice stays quiet. “You just did.”
“Only the name,” I answer, then I set the glass down. “She died five years ago.”
Quinn nods once and says nothing else. “It was a car bombing,” I say. “It was meant for me. She got in first.”
Quinn’s fingers tighten slightly on the rim of her glass, then they relax again. “You watched it happen?”
I nod once. “I saw the flash,” I say. “I heard her scream once, then nothing. I smelled burning rubber and metal, and I ran, and I couldn’t get the door open.”
Quinn’s eyes hold mine, and there’s something in them. “Who did it?” she asks.
I laugh once, low and humorless. “Half the city wanted it.”
“That’s not an answer,” she says.
“It’s the only honest one,” I reply, then I tip my head slightly. “I never proved it.”
Quinn’s voice stays steady. “You still chose to build anyway.”
I nod, and I feel the old anger rise, then settle. “I chose control at a time when the world expected me to break.”
“So you don’t lose another person that way,” she observes.
I hold her gaze. “So I don’t feel helpless again.”
Her eyes flick down, then back up. “And love?”
I don’t answer right away. Love is a word people use when they want something from you, or when they want to soften the blade. “I prefer results to softness.”
She doesn’t reply, and I watch her for a beat, then I decide to push where it matters. “Do you think I’m a monster?” I ask.
She holds my gaze. “I think all of us can be when we’re protecting what’s closest to us.”
The silence that follows settles into something that feels like the start of a bond I didn’t plan. Quinn reaches for the third whiskey again and takes a slow sip, then she looks at me. “You didn’t ask me about my family,” she says.
“I don’t care who raised you,” I answer. “I care what you do.”
Her mouth tightens slightly, then she nods. “That’s safer,” she says.
“Safer for whom?” I ask.
“For both,” she answers, then she pauses. “You don’t let people close.”
I let a short laugh out. “I let people close enough to work.”
“That’s not close,” she says.
I hold her gaze. “You want close.”
Her cheeks don’t flush, and she doesn’t look away, but her eyes sharpen like she felt the line land.
“I want clarity,” she says.
“You won’t get it,” I reply.
She leans back slightly. “Then why pull me here?”
I stand, and I walk around the table. Quinn tracks me with her eyes, and she doesn’t shift her chair, but I see the readiness in her posture.
I stop behind her chair, close enough that my presence changes her breathing, then I set my hand on the back of the chair, not touching her yet. “You want clarity?”
She nods once.
I lean down slightly, and my mouth is near her ear, and my voice stays low. “Here’s clarity,” I tell her. “If you’re a liar, I’ll kill you. If you’re loyal, I’ll protect what’s yours.”
She turns her head slightly, and her cheek is close to my hand, and her eyes meet mine.
“And if I’m neither?” she asks.
I let my fingers slide along the chair back, still not touching her skin. “Then you’re playing a dangerous game,” I answer.
She holds my gaze, then she whispers the words like she wants to see if they cut. “Isn’t that the fun of it?”
I straighten, then I move to stand beside her chair and look down at her. “I don’t like losing, Quinn,” I say. “People or contests.”
Her mouth opens slightly, then closes, then she sets her glass down with care.
The quiet between us tightens. I reach for her hand and take it, stroking my thumb over her delicate fingers. They stay still under my mine. I watch her face as I lift her hand toward my mouth and kiss her knuckles. Then, I release it and lean down until my mouth is a breath away from hers.
Her eyes flick to my lips, then back to my eyes. I’m going to do it.
Then my phone vibrates hard in my pocket, and it doesn’t stop.
I don’t move at first.
Quinn doesn’t move either, but her gaze shifts for the first time, and it’s a quick flash of annoyance that makes my mouth twitch.
The phone vibrates again, then again, and it’s the kind of insistence that only comes with blood on the line.
I pull back and take the phone out, and I glance at the screen.
Roarke.
I answer without looking away from Quinn.
“Talk,” I say.
Roarke’s voice comes through tight and fast. “We’ve got movement on the Vigo clerk, and it’s not clean. He just tried to burn his records, and someone’s pulling him out of his flat right now.”
Quinn’s eyes stay on my face, and she doesn’t ask questions, but I can see her attention lock.
Roarke keeps going. “Two men, unknown plates, and they’re headed toward the quay. It’s a grab, Boss.”
I step back and straighten my shirt cuff like nothing happened. “Hold them,” I say.
“We can’t without a mess,” Roarke answers.
“Make the mess,” I reply, voice cold. “I want him alive.”
I end the call. The room is quiet again, but the moment is gone, replaced by something sharper and more urgent. “Get your coat.”
Her brow lifts. “You’re taking me?”
“I’m not leaving you,” I answer, and my tone doesn’t allow argument. “You wanted clarity, you’re getting it.”
She stands and reaches for her bag without fuss. I move toward the door, then I stop and look back at her.
Her face is calm, but her eyes are lit, and I can see it plain that she’s pulled in. That pleases me. I open the door and gesture once. “Stay close,” I say.
She steps toward me, and her voice is quiet when she answers. “I will.”