Page 10

I tried desperately to push myself further away from him, wishing I could melt into the wall of liquor behind me, and disappear.

Shifting my face to the side, I asked, “Why me? You know where he is, go get him yourself.” The blood drained from my fingers as I gripped the trim of wood against my back, numbness setting in, holding me hostage.

A deep, ominous chuckle purged through his lips. “Cadence, Sweetheart, you see...” His arm reached for a bottle of vodka, grabbing it down from the shelf. Pouring it into a glass, he brought it to his lips. “He knows your face, he doesn't know mine. So you will go, and you will bring him to me.” The drink went down, chasing his last word.

The sound his lips made smacking together as he indulged himself with the harsh liquid made me sick to my stomach.

No, I won't do this. I can't do this.

It felt wrong; I knew my father and what he stood for. Quinn had helped me, I couldn't throw him into the belly of the beast.

Yes, he had fought Nico; ruined him even, but this had the feeling of leading someone to their grave.

There were no guarantees, no assurance he would even agree to do what was about to be laid out for him.

But my father—he would force him; and I couldn't stomach that.

“No, I can't do that. I'm sorry, I don't want to be a part of this one,” I finally said, the proponent tone of my failure to obey his request pushed fury into his body.

The evil smile he held faded, and his face turned to stone. “Youwilldo this for me, you're the reason I'm in thisshitto begin with. You don't have a choice.” His massive hand fell down, slapping the bar with demand. “Do I need to remind you of why you will do as I say?”

I knew he was right; I had no option.

He was family, he was my father. The need to keep my allegiance to him weighed higher than any crush I may have felt for my knight in shining armor.

Quinn had helped me, but my dad held the strings that bound me here, that kept me alive.

I have to do as he asks. If I don't... Who knows what will happen to me.

There were expectations set on him that he needed to stand by. Without his top fighter, my father could lose his high bidders. That would mean a loss of money for him; and even worse for me.

“Alright,” I said, exhaling a large heap of air. “ What am I supposed to do then? Walk into the station and ask nicely if I can see him?” A softness fell over my voice, while my heart ached over what I was about to bring Quinn into.

“Good girl.” His smile reappeared, sending chills down my back. “You're going to go wait outside for them to release him. Tell him I want to thank him for protecting my daughter.” He brought his leathery hand to my shoulder, speaking soft and low. “And don't come back without him.”

My father's hands fell into the depths of his pockets, spinning on one heel he turned, and vanished through the back door behind the bar.

I heard the crackle of the speakers above, tumbling out the sound of old classical music.

Mozart... he's in thinking mode.

Shit.

My father listened to certain music based on his mood or the happenings of the day. Beethoven was for times he made a lot of money, Bach was on days he was pissed.

This choice had been to figure out his plan.

Glancing at the clock, I realized it was three in the morning.

I need to go, who knows how long they'll hold Quinn for. Hopefully they didn't let him go already.

Reaching under the bar, I grabbed my small orange purse and headed for the door. Pulling my keys out to lock it, I stepped into the still bustling street. The sidewalk was full of people, the road still stacked with yellow taxis and buses, a multitude of sounds rained down from every direction.

The city that never sleeps, always true to its name.

The police station was on Fifth street, twelve blocks from the bar. Swiftly, my feet pounded against the pavement towards the subway.

I can't believe I'm doing this, tracking down Quinn for my father, for the 'Macro.'