CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
– FIERO –
So many damn emotions are running through me. The most surprising one? Fear. Motherfucker. Seeing a gun pressed to Quinn’s head made the world a completely distorted version. Not having her in my life would be incomprehensible. There is no in between, you fight or give up, you fight or you die.
Quinn fought. I watched her put her own life on the line, the life of our unborn child, and fought to get free from her brother.
He let her go, because he could have easily held on or pulled the trigger.
Micah didn’t and instead he turned the gun on the man next to him; the one who would have shot Quinn if Micah didn’t kill him.
Almost losing the family business was a bad day. Today? Today was the worst day of my life, while nothing was lost. It’s why I made sure Quinn was safe before I took a moment for myself to get my head straight.
Normally I’d check my rolodex and order people to handle shit. Now I wanted to think less and just do. A killing spree would be nice. Except, I wouldn’t even know where to start because Cillian is nowhere to be found, and it’s pissing me off.
I glare at Floris who is leaning against the wall right next to Quinn’s room while I’m pacing. One of my men is currently following the guy who got away. Micah? The not-related asshole who had a gun to my wife’s head is currently locked up in my basement.
My phone rings and I pull it out. “What?”
“Fucker bled out all over the steering wheel. I’m on my way back, cleanup is handling it.”
“Thanks,” I tell my guy and disconnect.
“Floriiiiiisssss,” Quinn screams from inside.
“Why the hell is my wife calling out for you?” I snarl.
Floris is shaking his head wide-eyed.
Bursting through the door, I ask the question to Quinn, “Why the hell are you calling out for my brother instead of me?”
My gaze hits her leg and I notice the way her ankle is resting on a pillow. “What happened to your ankle?”
“You left,” she accuses. “You were mad, you yelled at me, and you left. I don’t like you very much right now and I’m in a bit of a pickle.”
I frown and try to remember the moment, but I’m pretty sure, “I didn’t yell.”
“You whispered harshly. Harshly. You might as well have yelled because I was freaking out and you...”
I sigh and cut her off. “Didn’t yell. I was angry at myself, at what just happened, not at you.”
She narrows her eyes. “Agree to disagree, now go away. I need to talk to Floris because I’m still mad at you.”
Emotions and getting attached is something I’ve never done when it comes to women. It’s why I’m starting to doubt my own sanity, because this woman is affecting me in many ways.
Taking a calming breath, I sit down next to her and try a different approach. “What pickle were you referring to?”
Her shoulders slump and she holds out her hand. I now notice the phone in her hand and don’t recognize it.
“This was in my pocket. It isn’t mine and it wasn’t there before my brother hugged me,” she tells me with tears in her eyes.
“I’d really like to have my brother back.
A little piece of what’s left of my so-called family.
He’s been the one who was always there for me.
He could have killed me today and he didn’t.
I told him I was pregnant and married to you.
Still, I don’t trust him because with everything that just happened, I don’t trust anyone anymore.
And I’d really like to have my friend here.
Bri’s the only one who I consider my freaking friend and I miss her. ”
There’s no way I’m going to point out the fact that she is trusting someone; me. I take the phone from her and with my other hand I reach for her to gently cup the side of her face.
Gliding my thumb over her cheek, I whisper, “I yelled because you scared the fuck out of me. You had a gun to your head and could have died, it fucked with my head.”
She closes her eyes and her lashes stick together due to the tears. “See? You did yell. I don’t like any of it, and I really need my ankle to stop throbbing.”
She leans into my touch and her eyes flutter open. My throat clogs up at the sight of this woman and her open emotions as she stares up at me.
Without giving it another thought, I lean in and brush a kiss against her forehead while I murmur, “Thank you for your trust. I’m going to call the doctor to check on your ankle and I’m going to call Tate to bring your friend over.”
A sob mingled with a, “Thank you,” rips from her.
I caress her cheek one more time and drop my hand, knowing she’ll pull back anyway with what I’m about to say. “Don’t thank me yet. Trust goes hand in hand with honesty, and I haven’t told you about Micah, who is currently tied and locked up in our basement.”
Her eyes widen in surprise. “Then who the hell is texting me? It said they came from Micah.”
“Good point.” I grin. “I’m going to find out.”
She bites her bottom lip. “First, you’re going to call Tate, right? Then, maybe when I’m a little less pissed I can see Micah?”
I reach for her face again and relish the fact that showing affection comes easy now when it comes to my wife. “We’re going to handle a few things first, then I’ll take you to see Micah.”
Surprise hits me when she leans forward and kisses my cheek. “Thank you.”
“You never have to thank me, darlin’. I’m your husband, it’s my privilege to see to your needs...whatever they may be.”
A smile tugs her lips. “You’re becoming less assholish.”
“It’s you, you have this effect on me.” I rise to my feet and add, “I’m going to deal with this. You rest and let the doctor check your ankle.”
I get another nod and then I’m walking out of the room.
Closing the door behind me, I shoot a text to Tate, and the doctor, and tell Floris, “Stay here until Tate gets here to take over. The doctor will come by as well.”
“You got it, boss,” Floris tells me and I spin around to head for my office.
Once there, I glance through the messages. Two were already there and one is coming in now. It basically tells her to trust her roommate and go to her because her brother will help.
Help how? Now that right there is the question and an actual piece of the puzzle I need. Quinn is right, the messages do seem to come from her brother. Not possible because I’ve put him in the basement myself, making sure he didn’t have anything on him.
Unless he had a phone shoved up his ass. Fuck. I might need to check. Shoving the phone into my pocket, I jog in the direction of the basement. Micah is tied to the chair, exactly the way I left him, bleeding from a cut in his eyebrow, a broken nose, and a split lip.
The asshole should be glad I only got three punches in before I had to check on Quinn. One look at the man shows me he isn’t the one texting due to his hands being taped to the armrests of the chair.
Holding up the phone I snap, “Quinn told you she’s married and carrying my baby. So, mind telling me why you’re leading her into a trap by giving her this phone and having someone pretend to be you send her messages?”
His upper lip curls up in disgust, but the man doesn’t say a word.
The scar on his neck, along with the shit his father told me, make me ask, “Did you lose the ability to speak?”
Micah gives me a tight nod.
Interesting. I wonder if he will give me a straight answer about the piece of a puzzle that popped into my head due to the latest message. “Is Archibald Baylor working with Jovan Cillian?”
His gaze stays locked on me when he crosses his index finger over his middle finger.
“Working together,” I assume.
He gives me a tight nod and I slowly bounce my head. I should have seen this coming. Why didn’t I see this fucking coming?
I head for the door and stop before closing it to tell Micah, “Quinn hurt her ankle and is resting. I will bring her down to see you as soon as she feels better.”
Micah closes his eyes and gives me another nod. I lock the door and head back to my office. Time to get things in motion because knowing Quinn’s best friend’s brother is involved gives me the advantage I need to finally get the upper hand in this shit.