“That’s my job, Nate,” he says, still looking at the gun. “Always has been.”
The rift that continues to haunt the pair of us dissipates slightly as I listen to those words and look at his hand slowly polishing the metal. He’s right, and he’s always proved it. I don’t even know some of the shit he’s probably done to keep us safe through the years, but I know the top layer of what he’s allowed me in on. That’s bad enough.
My eyes glance at his light frown, taking in the weathered lines of a killer as he waits with me for the call to come. He’s not fazed like me, not fidgety or fretful. He’s calm, like stone and ice.
Guess that’s what comes of living his life.
“Would you be like this if it were Emily?” One brow twitches upwards, hand stilling for a second before carrying on.
“No, I’d be down there already.”
“And you think I’m stupid for not being?” He smiles and loads the clip back in, taking his time to prolong whatever big brother thinks of my plan.
“Do you?” he eventually asks.
“What?”
“Think you’re being a fucking idiot for not being there already?”
“No.”
“Then why you asking?” He puts the gun down between us on the table and stares out into the night, one leg crossing the other as he picks up his coffee. I don’t know why I’m asking. Approval maybe. Fuck knows. The air thickens as he slowly turns to look at me, the stain of years of death beginning to show on his features. “Your woman. Your game, Nate. You play it how you want.”
My shoulders square off at the slight smirk that crosses his lips, gaze directed back out to the skyline again. Screw him and his games. He’d have gotten his fucking dice out and gambled her life away on the roll of them. Not this time. She’s worth more than that to me.
“You’re still an asshole, Quinn.”
He nods and drinks some coffee, refreshing his phone to see if anything new has come in. Nothing has, so he puts it down next to the gun between us and closes his eyes.
And we wait some more.
* * *
Four hours we’ve waited. Four hours of me holding my breath and brooding over what events might unfold, and four hours of Quinn having even his patience tested. He’s snapped from his cool demeanour now, started pacing the room like a caged dog and pushing me to make the call myself, find a route in without waiting any longer. I haven’t budged, refused to. This is the way we get in with the least threat to Gabby’s life and those of our men. I’m not being moved on my plan.
“You’re acting like a goddamn pussy,” he spits, hand thrown into the air as if I’m a child who needs a reprimand. Screw him.
I stare back at him from my seat on the balcony and then look back out into the night, refusing to engage with him. He can use that anger when I give him the power to, not before.
“Save your energy for someone who deserves it, Quinn,” I mutter, barely acknowledging the mild tantrum that’s beginning to erupt. “Patience is a virtue.”
He mumbles about something and then disappears into the bathroom, the door slamming in his wake. So, I stare some more and keep waiting, unsure how long it will take and beginning to question my plan. My restlessness is starting to turn into fear—fear for her wellbeing, fear for her life. I can imagine what they’re doing to her. All I have to do is think back to how we once were, and it’s all there for me to visualise. Pain. Suffering. Torture and rape. I tried to tell myself it never was rape, that it was just debts, but the sickness I felt then still haunts me now.
“At ten tonight,” Quinn says. I frown and look back at him, feet already walking back into the room. He puts a finger to his mouth and presses the phone onto speaker, placing it onto the centre table as he pulls his dice out of his pocket.
“Yes. An empty warehouse near the marina off Virginia Key,” a woman’s voice replies. It’s educated, American. “You should have time to get here by then.” I check my watch—five hours. Plenty of time to fly from Chicago to Miami. Not that we’ll be doing that, but at least she thinks we will be. “You’ll be met at the east entrance and guided in.” My brow raises, fingers tapping the details into my own phone to send out to our guys. “Mr Cane, this is an invitation to talk, nothing more. You understand?” Quinn sneers. I understand the look well. Is it hell. Terms would be discussed on the phone.
This is an invite to war.
“You’ve taken something that belongs to us. Hardly a negotiation,” he says, dice rolling in his palm. “More like a threat.”
She laughs lightly, heels tapping the floor as she walks around. “Mr Cane, unfortunately your reputation precedes you and we thought a little insurance would make terms easier to discuss.” He looks more interested in that thought than he should, almost smiling. “For all concerned. She is useful for our negotiations.” There’s silence for a few seconds, and my blood continues boiling at the thought of her being useful. “I’m sure this will be as amicable as you’d like to make it. Acquisitions should be discussed with a sense of decorum.”
I mouth Gabby’s name at him, desperate for further information about her, and not giving one fuck for anything we own. He nods and goes for the liquor cabinet, snatching out a small bottle of scotch.
“Is the woman harmed?”
“She is…” There’s a pause, long enough to have my damn heart lurching. “Breathing well enough.” All sorts of images flood my mind. Blood. Tears. Scratches on that pristine skin of hers. “She’s a handful, hmm?” I move to grab the phone, fury bellowing up through me about ready to explode all over whoever the hell this woman is. Quinn knocks my hand away before I get to it, his grip hoisting my arm up behind my back and his other finger tapping my skull.Think.He’s right. Calm down and think.
