I watch him for a while, calculating the risk of pushing the conversation further than he’s willing to go. He’s pissed about not being the biggest gun in town anymore. I know that. I’ve seen his drinking, the way he’s tried to neutralise his own need for power, but this is what he asked for. What the hell does he want from me?
He moves back to the side table; a glug of whiskey being poured and downed. “They’re coming, Nate.” What? “Yakuza scum. They’re all over the damn place, syphoning money, taking what should be mine.” He looks over his shoulder at me, apathy entrenched. “Ours.”
“Quinn, we’re wealthier now than—”
“I’m not talking about the fucking money,” he snarls out, his body spinning to me. “Fuck the money. I’m talking about Cane. We’re losing focus.”
“This is the focus. You wanted this, wanted us safe and—”
“Jesus fucking Christ. Grow a damn backbone, Nate. You’re as bad as Emily with all your whining about safety.”
I stand at that, indignant and about ready to knock some sense into his damn head.
“Fuck you. You asked me to do this for you. You wanted safe and secure so you could play happy damn families with your little bitch.” The air that rushes at me has me dodging the reach of his fist before it connects with my head. A scowl crosses my brow before I can stop the emotion. “Did you just try to punch me?”
“You call her that again and I’ll fucking kill you.”
The malice in his face tells me I’ve just crossed a line I’ve been trying not to cross ever since it happened, but damned if I’m not as tense as he is all of a sudden. All this riling and provoking, constant digging, for no reason other than to get a rise out of me. I’ve spent my whole damn life bowing down to his wishes, doing what I’m told, listening and nodding rather than making him see sense.
I glare in response to his threat, pissed at his abrupt turn of hand to me. All the things I’ve done for him, for us, and he swings for me because of Emily?
“She killed my brother, Quinn. Give me a fucking break,” I snap out, trying to calm myself and failing.
“To protect me.” He glowers some more, the step in my direction only pulling a temper from me I’ve managed to contain all this time. “It would’ve happened someday anyway. You don’t get to say shit about her.” I narrow my eyes, waiting for whatever else is about to come. “You weren’t there, didn’t see what he did to her.” The explanation should calm me down, make me see the reasons why, but it doesn’t—still. Josh is dead, by her hand. “You wanted us damn well safe? Well, she pulled the first fucking trigger to make that happen.”
“I never asked for safe. You asked for safe.”
“You always asked for safe. Snivelling. Whining at me to see a straighter route through. Avoid the killing. You’re as weak now as you always were. You think the Yakuza give a fuck for our safety?” I back away before my fist does something it’s wanted to do for too fucking long. He raises a brow at me, a snide smirk settling on his face. “What? You want some of this?”
Screw him, and screw all this shit too.
I spin on my heel, grabbing for my laptop, ready to leave the whole damn thing alone. Fight him? About her? Or his ever-growing agitation about new organisations pushing in? No way. She’s not worth my time any more than the five-hundred grand that shit Devlin owes us, and Yakuza aren’t relevant to us anymore either. We’re out of it all. Legitimate. Because that’s what he damn well wanted.
“You need to calm down, Quinn.” I stride away from him, barely containing my need to give him some home truths about who the hell he thinks he is and turn out of the office. “You’re not pushing me into a fight. You never could.”
I’m near the back entrance before I hear him coming for me, feet pounding as if he owns me and I should bow down to his every whim. Not this time. Not anymore. I’m at my damn tether’s end with this crap. Day after day, week after week. Asshole. He doesn’t even need to do business anymore. I run it, have been doing for God knows how long while he’s been living the dream. He only comes to cause more tension between us. Christ knows what for.
My hand pushes the door open, and a sudden downpour of rain comes crashing into my face. It winds me up more than he has done. I hate it. I want some damn sun for a change, a chance to breathe rather than stay on top of everything while he plays happy families and spends his time fucking the woman who killed my brother.
“Still running away, Nate?” I shake my head and carry on towards the car. I’ve never run from a damn thing. I just think before I act. Weigh up the problem, which is currently Quinn’s ever-changing mood. “You always have done. Too fucking scared to stand and fight me. At least Josh had some damn bite to him.” The fuck?
I stop and swing back to look at him, head tilted.
“What?”
“You fucking heard.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
“You are. And she is. And all this.” He waves his hand at the area around us. “Fucking safety. We couldn’t be more damn vulnerable if we tried.” I stare some more, still unsure what he’s talking about. “Where’s the fear Nate, huh? Where?” He moves towards me again, hands in his pockets. “No one gives a fuck about us. You know that, right?” He sneers. “We’re dwindling to nothing but small fry in the middle of the sharks we used to be.” Which he wanted. I keep staring, trying to find out where the hell he’s going. “I took away the damn stains and now we’re paying for it.”
“Paying for what?” He walks past me, rounding my back just like he does when he’s trying to intimidate.
“At least the old cunt’s not here to see us fail,” he mutters, arriving back in my eye-line. “Took that damned stain away, too.” My brow twitches at the remark, eyes narrowing further. “Safety and all that.” The deep breath I’m trying for gets lost in the sight of his widening smile. He did, didn’t he? He fucking killed him. Every instinct in me that tells me to calm evaporates. First my brother, and then my father? It’s too much for me to contend with. Too damned much. “How’s that for painful, Nate, huh?”
Something snaps inside me, launching me at him before another word comes from his arrogant mouth. Fuck knows what it is, but twenty years of frustration pours out of me straight into his torso, knocking both of us to the ground. We both land heavily, suits rolling about in the gutter like a pair of degenerates. He grunts at my efforts, a slight chuckle coming from him as he heaves me onto my back and braces himself above me, fist ready.
I cough out, a twinge coming from my ribs as he digs a knee in. “Fuck you, Quinn.” He snorts at me, disdain coming with the sound. “Get off me.” I squirm beneath him, trying to find a way out. I’m damn well done with this, whatever the hell it is. “Let me the hell up. I’m done.”
“You’ve never been anything but fucking done.”
My arm arcs up to his face, knuckles connecting with his jaw before I’ve given the move thought. It knocks him sideways, his weight nudging off me enough for me to roll away from him and get to my feet.
“Your bitch kills my brother, and you kill our father, and I’m the one who’s useless? Look at the fucking state of you.” I glare down at him, watching him crick his jaw around, and frown. “I’m not fucking useless. It’s me who’s run everything here for years.” He curves his body upwards and twists his face to me, rage filling his features. “Without me, this whole fucking thing would have imploded, and you damn well know it.” He sneers at that, more ire shaking his frame as he steps towards me and readies himself for a revenge swing. Screw that. This is over. I’m fucking tired of it. I’ve done everything for this family, for him. “If you weren’t drunk half the damn time, you might think clearer.” Another step, one that has me clenching my teeth and tightening my fist. “You try it again, Quinn, and I’m done. You get me? You can do whatever the fuck you want without me by your side.”
The last thing I see is his fist coming at me.
