Chapter Two
The doors burst open in front of me, and a man is shoved through them before I’ve set a foot on the ground. I look across at the guy and lock the car, watching for blood as he crawls his way towards me. Who the hell it is, I don’t know, but the footsteps echoing in the background are as familiar as they always are.
At least this fuck isn’t dead. It’s progress.
I slip out a smoke and wait for Quinn, mildly interested. He wanders out, not a damn care in the world for the damage he’s caused to this guy. I raise a brow at him and nod, smoke blowing out of my mouth into Chicago’s crisp November air.
“You’re late,” he says, his hands reaching for the guy, so he can drag him further into the parking lot. The move’s as brutal as it always is when he’s riled about something, not one iota of compassion for any bone in his body. How the hell his little bitch puts up with those hands is indecipherable. “Should’ve been here twenty minutes ago.”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t acknowledge my answer. He’s not even interested in it. He’s trying to contain his rage in the only way he knows how lately—talking. It’s never been a trait he’s put much effort into before. Act first, talk later.
At least he’s trying.
“One week, Devlin,” he snarls out, turning the lax body over and hauling him to a black Merc. “One week and I want what’s owed back in our accounts.”
Ah, so this is Antony Devlin’s youngest son.
“Go tell your father that before I use the gun to actually cause fucking harm to his family.”
I snort and turn towards the office rather than watch the rest of the show. Five hundred grand isn’t worth my time. Quinn will deal with the last of our debtors in the only way they understand. Old school needs dealing with in an old school fashion sometimes, and this idiot’s family hasn’t paid one of the last few debts we’re owed.
The corridors feel bare as I walk through them, bypassing the entrance to the club. It’s all as grey and monotonous as the weather. This all used to have constancy to it, dodgy runners hanging around discussing their next moves, all under the protection of Cane, but now it’s nothing but a safe haven for anyone on our side. Suited business lunches seem to have taken over from the old ways. And much as that might make me smile in some ways, feel safer even, which is what we all wanted, it adds to the lacking vibrancy of my life lately. Dull.
The office is equally fucking empty when I get to it. Cold. Not that it ever felt welcoming, but something about Rody protecting the doorway all those years gave it an air of home, some link to my father and family connections. He’s gone now. Retired. And with my father dead, those links seem to have fragmented to old shadows and nothing more. I expected to enjoy it in some ways. We’ve tightened up. No threats, no problems, no concerns. I should be happy with that. Content. Every loose thread is tied off, so no one can come for us. We’re safe. Secure. I’m not surprised he’s restless.
Even I’m bored.
He eventually joins me and sits at his desk, a waft of whiskey coming with him and no conversation to break my current mood. We both open our laptops quietly. There’s nothing in either of them to discuss. I don’t even know why he wanted me here today, but it was apparently imperative, so I wait for whatever he’s got to say and start coding some data I didn’t get around to yesterday.
After an hour, I eventually look up to find him staring at me, elbows on his chair and hands clasped beneath his chin. It’s a look strong enough to make me wonder what the hell he’s thinking about, one that only happens when a frustrated Quinn is about to say or do something reckless.
“Whatever it is you’re thinking about, stop,” I mutter, pushing the laptop to the side and closing the lid quietly before reaching into my pocket. I flick out a smoke and light it, still watching him. “This is our life now. You wanted it. Asked for it. Boring or not.” I inhale and blow the smoke into the room, waiting for the real reason he brought me here. “If you’ve got something else to say, you better get on and say it, Quinn.” He drops his hands and reaches for his dice, obviously feeling the need to grind something. “What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t one.” The hell there isn’t.
He spins the dice quietly, the sound of them clunking together putting my teeth on edge like they always do. I run them over my bottom lip, trying to gauge his mood before I open my mouth again, but the very fact that he’s picked those damn dice up has me thinking all kinds of shit.
“How’s Emily?” He looks up at me sharply, a scowl developing.
“The fuck do you care?”
I baulk at that, my own frown coming into play. After what she did he’s lucky I even tolerate her. “Fuck you.”
He smirks a little and watches me frowning at him. “Still all Cane,” he snarks. The smile widens then, enough to make me drop the frown and shake my head at him. “Look at you still hiding in that suit, brother.”
I sigh and take another pull on my smoke, trying to defuse whatever game he’s intent on playing with me. I’ve spent too long dealing with his games for this to work. He knows that. There isn’t a thing he could damn well do, or say, to get a rise out of me.
“What are you trying not to tell me?” I ask, leaning back in my chair.
“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re hiding something, Quinn. Have been for a while. What?” He looks away from me and spins his dice again. I know my brother. I know his moods, his movements, his blow-outs. I’ve been dodging the arrogance for years, trying to work out his next move long before he knows it. “You’ve been different lately. Off. Like you’re keeping secrets. It’s not just the boredom.”
He doesn’t answer. No sound at all. I know that answer well. It’s the one he uses when he’s up to something that should be nowhere near Cane anymore. “I can’t protect us if I don’t know, Quinn.”
“You protect us?” He frowns at me and looks towards the window, a sneer crossing his lips to counter the smile that was there a few moments ago. “I protect us, and we’re losing power, Nate. What would you have me do?” Protect us from what? “You wouldn’t fucking know, would you? Head buried in the damn numbers, no fucking clue what’s happening in the real world around you. We’re weak, Nate.” He stands and crosses to the window, tipping the blinds down to peer out onto the street. “I’m weak.”
