Chapter Twenty
Antwerp
“What do you mean, Antwerp?” Quinn questions, his voice muffled over the phone line. “What the hell is in Antwerp?” He’s got a point, and I’m not convinced either given I know nothing of this city, but it’s what she wanted, and if it gets us away from Marco or whoever this other party is for a while, I’m good with that for the time being.
“It’s safer if we’re here.” For him and my mother, too.
“Is it fuck. Safe is here, Nate. How the hell are you protecting her there?” I watch her fiddling with some flowers on a market stall, a true smile on her face. “Or yourself?” That’s another point I’m trying to ignore. She looks back at me, holding up a lemon coloured tulip and then tucking it over her ear like I did in that casino. “I’ll deal with Marco, change the situation so it can be managed.”
“It’s not just Marco, Quinn. Someone else is involved. I told you that in the email. I couldn’t give a fuck for the brother, but I do need to work out who the hell this other threat is before we approach Marco to get him to back off.”
There’s grumbling on the line, barely coherent at that. I know why, but him not having all the information is useful for now. He’ll only go off on his own if I tell him too much about my concerns, and there’s no safety in that shit at all.
“Get yourself back here. Now. You understand? It’s fucking stupidity for you to be out there on your own and—”
“I’ve got to go. I’ll call you later.”
“Nate, get your ass home. Don’t do anything—”
I’ve cut him off before he finishes, more interested in my dick’s response to the woman I’m looking at than arguing with the family I’m trying to protect. It’s madness. He’s right. I shouldn’t be here with her. It’s why I sent him an email rather than talk to him direct, knowing he’d talk me out of it if I did. She should be locked up in the damn cellar at home until I can find a way out of this shitstorm, but that attitude of hers was about to get her into trouble. Not on my watch. We were on our way by the next morning, stupid or not.
It’s as idyllic as Bora.
Shame a threat is tailing us this time.
I wander the cobbles back to her, tucking my phone in my pocket and shrugging my coat in tighter to avoid the snow as it comes down.
“How’s the world of Cane?” she asks, brushing some of the white dusting off her fur hat and handing some money over to the guy selling flowers.
“Cold. Harsh. Annoyed. The usual.”
“Yes, he does seem a brute.”
“Hmm. He’s worried. It’s his version of care.”
“Nice to have some.”
She smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness as she leads us off in the direction of the main square, leaning her head onto my shoulder.
“Where are we, anyway?” I ask, reasonably happy to be meandering. It feels like it did in Bora, memories coming back at me with each passing minute as she guides me around.
“Grote Markt,” she says, her hand pointing at the elaborate building off to the left of us. “That’s the city hall. It’s sixteenth century. I miss the ages of buildings when I’m in the States.” I stare at the finials and gothic looking art casing the walls, barely interested in its display. “Does Nate Cane travel much?”
“What?”
“Holidays? Places to see? I’m forever travelling, but nothing is like Europe for age and authenticity.” I smirk at her, wondering what the hell authenticity has to do with anything. We’re nothing but two thieves in the middle of a market square, one of us slightly more legitimate than the other. “Now I know who you are, it might be nice to know the real you?”
“You’ve always known the real me.” She stops and looks at me, a frown glancing over that perfect face. “More than you’d know.” And there’s that smile again. Real, joyful. It makes me want to forget all this shit, hole up in a damn cave if we have to. But that’s not happening, is it? Not now. I shrug my shoulders and move us on again, pushing dreams to the side. “I travel when I have to. Nothing more than work.”
“Bora wasn’t work.”
“No.” I try to think back to any holiday I’ve been on that hasn’t involved work. There isn’t one I can remember, which infuriates me for several reasons given the amount of money I have.
I shiver and pull my coat tighter again, unsure how she looks so comfortable in this temperature.
“I’m hungry,” I say, trying to steer us towards a restaurant. I’m not. I’m damn cold, and the way she looks as if she could stay in this all day is making me feel like a fool.
“Oh, poor bebe. Do you need my hat?”
