Page 36

“Mark, what happened?” she gasps, rushing towards me.
I hold up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. “It's nothing. Just a scratch.”
Quinn's eyes narrow, her voice taking on a determined edge. “That's not a scratch, Mark. You're bleeding.”
She reaches for my shirt, but I flinch away, my pride rearing its head. “I said it's nothing. I can handle it.”
Quinn's hands settle on her hips, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Stop being so stubborn. You need help, and I'm not taking no for an answer.”
I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my tongue as a fresh wave of pain washes over me. I sway on my feet, and Quinn's there in an instant, her arm slipping around my waist to steady me.
“Come on,” she murmurs, her voice softening. “Let's get you to the bathroom.”
I nod, too tired to fight her. She helps me down the hallway, her touch gentle but firm. I lean on her more than I'd like to admit, my pride crumbling with each step.
In the bathroom, Quinn eases me down onto the edge of the tub. She kneels in front of me, her hands deftly undoing the buttons on my shirt. When her fingers graze my skin, I feel a searing desire wash over me. God, having her just inches away stings in an entirely different way.
I watch her through half-lidded eyes, my breath catching in my throat as her fingers brush against my skin. She's so close, her scent enveloping me, and for a moment, I forget about the pain.
But then she's peeling my shirt away from the wound, and I hiss through my teeth, my body tensing.
“Sorry,” she whispers, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examines the gash in my side.
I let my head fall back against the wall, my eyes drifting shut. “It's okay. I've had worse.”
Quinn doesn't respond, but I can feel her gaze on me, laden with concern. She retrieves the first aid kit, carefully applying saline-soaked water to my wounds. She’s trying so damn hard not to hurt me.
Her touch is the most soothing thing I’ve felt in a while.
“What happened?” she asks after working in silence for a minute. She begins to apply the antiseptic carefully. It stings, but I don’t wince.
“We were raiding a warehouse that held goods stolen from us. A third party attacked.”
Her eyes widen. “Someone was keeping tabs on your operations?”
I nod, wincing as she presses a bandage against my side. “It seems that way.
Quinn's expression darkens, her jaw set in determination. “We need to find out who's behind this. You can't keep fighting like this, Mark. It's too dangerous.”
I meet her gaze and see the worry and fire in her eyes. She cares more than she admits, which both frustrates and comforts me. Why does she have to hide how much she cares? That I mean something to her?
“It’s all part of the business,” I respond, attempting to sound nonchalant so I don’t cause her any worry.
“Who could it have been?” she asks.
“I think it was Charlie Letvin,” I say, without skipping a beat.
“Charlie?” she squeaks, the fear in her voice barreling through.
“It was extremely well-coordinated. The weapons were state of the art. He’s the only rival I can think of who has such resources.”
“You…you’re certain?”
“I can’t know for sure. I have no proof.”
“We can't let him get away with this,” she declares, her voice firm. “We need to be one step ahead of him.”
I watch Quinn, admiring her fierce spirit as she tends to my wounds. Despite the pain throbbing through my body, a warmth spreads in my chest at the sight of her standing by my side during this dark hour.