Fuck that.
“Good. Then we have a chance to talk rationally,” he says calmly into the air. Jesus Christ, how does he do that? I twist in his hold, body trying to curl away from his pressure. I can feel venom and bile and hatred coursing through me like nothing before. It’s vengeance, pure and simple. Every inch of patience I’ve used is at its damn tether’s end.
“Rationally. Yes, that’s a good word for discussions. The family will be pleased,” she says, walking somewhere again. He shoves me away across the room, a finger held up to stop me going back to the table.
“I need proof she’s alive,” he grates out, still boring his eyes into mine from six feet away. I shake myself down, tilting my neck about to try to contain the temper that’s flaring.
“A picture of our insurance, yes? So, you understand our position clearly?” Fucking insurance. I’ll kill the bitch. I’ll wring her fucking neck out and feed her to the–
“Yes,” Quinn says coolly, cutting off my internal rage and reaching for his drink.
“Very well. I’ll send one,” she replies. My eyes drag to the phone immediately, waiting for an alert to sound. That’s all I care about. Seeing her. Seeing that she’s not harmed. I’m no damn fool, though. I know what’s coming whether I want to see it or not. “I suggest you bring your intelligent head with you, Mr Cane. Scuffles will not be tolerated.”
Scuffles? I just about hold in the growl that wants to erupt. Quinn chuckles. Asshole. “I’m extremely serious, Mr Cane.”
“As am I,” he says, downing his drink. “Ten tonight. I’ll be there.”
He ends the call before I have a chance to move, not giving me any time to interject or ask more about the situation.
“The hell did you do that for?” I spit, annoyance ringing in my tone.
“There was nothing else to say.” He walks back to the liquor cabinet, hoisting out two more bottles and throwing one at me. “Have a fucking drink and calm down. Get your game head back on. This shit,” he sneers at my body, clearly irritated with my aggressive stance, “is no fucking use to anyone.” Asshole. “Where’s the thinker gone, Nate? Think.”
Jesus.
My fingers screw the lid off the damn bottle, and I glug the contents down in one. He’s right. Think. Calm down. I glare at the phone on the table waiting for the image to come in so I can see she’s okay. Quinn backs off to a chair in the corner, a half smile covering his sigh.
“You’re not gonna like it, Nate. You know that, right?” he mutters.
He’s goddamn right I’m not, but it’s proof that some element of her is still alive. And right now, no matter what state I see her in, that will be enough for me. I’ve got five hours before I can see the real woman, do something about it all. So that picture is all I’ve got until then. That and another fucking wait.
