Page 14

The next morning, I stand at the entrance to the dining room, and my heart immediately goes into overdrive when I spot Quinn at the breakfast table.

Thoughts of her kept me up all night, the way she moaned when I had my fingers all up in her, the way she arched her back for more, the way her long, creamy legs beckoned to be parted.

Fuck. I’m in over my head as the same ravenous desire I had for her last night resurfaces.

I walk in and take my seat.

She looks up, her green eyes meeting mine briefly before darting away.

The memory of last night floods my senses—her soft skin against mine, the intoxicating scent of her hair.

I clear my throat.

“Morning,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual.

Quinn nods, focusing intently on her coffee mug.

“Morning.” She doesn’t say anything more.

“Can I have the butter?” I ask, and she reaches for it, passing it to me without looking in my direction.

I wonder what she’s thinking about, whether last night felt as good for her as it did for me.

All night, I thought about her and what our little escapade meant for us.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I want her, but based on how she’s acting—cold and distant—maybe she thinks I don’t feel that way.

“Quinn,” I say to clear any doubts she might have about how I feel and make my intentions clear.

“About last night—”

“About last night...” she cuts me off, biting her lower lip.

“It was a mistake. We shouldn't have—it can't happen again.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

Wait. What?

“Didn't seem like a mistake at the time,” I growl in protest.

She flashes her palm at me, stopping me from saying more. “Don't. It was a lapse in judgment. Let's just forget it ever happened, okay?”

I lean back in my chair, watching her intently. The determined set of her jaw, the way her fingers clench the mug. She's trying to persuade herself as much as me. But I can't forget. The taste of her lips, the way she quivered beneath my touch—it's etched into my memory, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to keep my head clear if I’m around her.

If last night was a mistake for her, it wasn’t for me.

“Whatever you say, Quinn.

” I grab my keys and stand up, needing to put some distance between us before I do something foolish, like pull her into my arms and show her just how unforgettable last night was.

“I have business to take care of. Don't wait up.”

I stride out of the house, my mind reeling from our conversation. I should head into work. In the car, I try to go over some things I need to address, but all I can think about is Quinn. She’s driving me crazy, clawing her way into my head the way she is.

***

Days pass, yet her presence haunts me. I catch glimpses of her strawberry-blonde hair and hear her voice echoing in the halls, but I choose to run in the opposite direction. It’s the only way I know to give her what she wants. If I’m near her, I can’t pretend that night was a mistake. Each time I accidentally see her, it's like a jolt to my system, a reminder of what I can't have. I try to bury myself in work and make it a point to hardly be at home, but even when I’m away from her, I can't keep her out of my thoughts.

“Mark, are you with us?

” Abram's voice snaps me back to the present. My brothers are gathered around the table, maps and blueprints spread before us as we plan our next move.

I nod, running a hand through my hair. “Yeah, just thinking through the details.”

Vladimir shoots me a concerned look. “You seem distracted lately. Everything all right?”

“I'm fine,” I snap, irritation flaring. “Let's focus on the job.”

“Okay,” Denis adds cautiously. “The Smirnovs have stolen our shipment, and we believe they’re hiding it in the warehouse on the East. Tomorrow, we attack and bring back what’s ours.”

We proceed to discuss strategy and contingency plans should our attack fail, but my mind wanders once again. To her. To Quinn. No matter how hard I try, I can't shake the hold she has on me. It's like an obsession, consuming my every waking thought.

***

The next night, we move into position. Abram takes point, his movements precise and calculated. Vladimir and Denis flank him, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of trouble. I bring up the men on the rear.

We approach the target location, a nondescript warehouse on the outskirts of town. Our rivals are using it as a storage facility for our stolen goods. Our goal is to send a message, to remind them who really runs this city.

As we breach the perimeter, I think of Quinn, having dinner alone at home. Is she wondering where I am? Why hasn’t she checked in all these days?

“Mark, watch your six!” Denis hisses, snapping me back to reality.

I mutter a curse under my breath, realizing that I've let my guard down. I scan the area, my heart pounding in my chest. We are exposed and vulnerable.

Suddenly, the sound of gunfire rips through the air. Instinctively, I dive for cover, my hand reaching for my weapon. Bullets ricochet off the concrete, sending debris flying in all directions.

“Ambush!” Abram shouts, returning fire.

I join him, my muscles tensing as I aim and squeeze the trigger. But even as I fight, my mind is torn.

How can I be so consumed by her, even in the heat of battle? It's a weakness, a liability that can get us killed.

As the firefight rages on, I force myself to push Quinn from my mind. I can't afford to be distracted, not now. My brothers are counting on me.

“Behind you!” Denis yells out in warning.

I dive behind a crate as bullets ricochet off the metal, my heart pounding in my chest. My brothers are scattered around the warehouse, each fighting their own battle.

Vladimir is a whirlwind of motion. He quickly takes down two attackers, their bodies crumpling to the ground.

Denis is more methodical. He picks off the attackers one by one, his shots finding their mark with unerring accuracy.

And then there's Abram. He's by my side, his gun blazing as he covers my back. We've been through hell together, and I know he'd die for me, just as I would for him.

As this attack escalates, I can't shake the feeling that something is off. The attackers are too well-organized and too well-armed. This isn't just a defense against our attack—it's a coordinated assault.

The Smirnovs aren’t this capable.

My mind races with possibilities, striving to piece together the puzzle. Who would dare to attack us like this while we strike at another? Someone has been watching our movements.

As I ponder the question, a sudden movement captures my attention. One of the attackers is making a break for it, sprinting toward the exit. I'm on my feet in an instant, pursuing them.

My legs pump as I sprint after him, dodging bullets and leaping over crumpled bodies. I hear my brothers shouting behind me, but I block them out. All that matters is catching this bastard and making him talk.

I'm catching up to him, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Just a few more steps and he'll be mine. But suddenly, he spins around, his gun aimed at my chest.

Time seems to slow as I stare down the barrel of his gun. I know I should be scared, but all I can think about is Quinn. Her face flashes in my mind. If something happened to me, Letvin would come for her. She would be in danger.

With a roar of defiance, I lunge forward, my hand closing around the attacker's wrist and cracking it upward. A bullet goes off, and I feel a searing pain on the side of my waist. We struggle for control of the gun, our bodies slamming against the wall.

I hear a sickening crack as his head collides with the concrete. The gun clatters to the floor as he goes limp in my grasp. I stagger back, my chest heaving.

As I step back, a sharp pain lances through my side. I grit my teeth, trying to ignore it, but the pain only intensifies with each breath. I press my hand against the wound on my waist, feeling the warmth of blood seeping through my fingers. I lift my shirt and see that the bullet grazed my skin. It didn’t lodge, thank God.

“Mark, you're hurt,” Abram says, his voice laced with concern.

I brush off his words with a forced smile.

“I'm fine. It's just a scratch.”

But as I take a step forward, the world tilts dangerously.

I stumble, my vision blurring at the edges.

Vladimir's strong hands grip my shoulders, steadying me.

“You need to get that looked at,” he insists, his brow furrowed.

I shake my head, pushing past them. “I said I'm fine. We have more important things to worry about.”

“Leave,” he growls, and instructs one of his men to guide me to the car. “We’ve got this.”

“Listen,” I say, aware that arguing with my brother is pointless. “This attack isn’t a defense.”

“We figured,” he nods. “The Smirnovs are hiding inside the warehouse. The attackers are another party. We’ll find out who it is.”

I don’t say I have my hunches. Evidence is all that truly counts, and it’s better if my brothers find a concrete answer.

***

Finally, the driver pulls into my house's driveway, which brings a small measure of relief. I sit in the car for a moment, gathering my strength.

I need to get inside without Quinn seeing me. I can't let her know just how badly I'm hurt. She's already worried enough as it is.

I take a deep breath, wincing at the pain in my side. Then, with a grunt of effort, I heave myself out of the car, refusing my driver’s help and making my way toward the house.

Each step is agony, but I force myself to keep going. I pray Quinn is already in bed.

I slip through the front door, my heart pounding in my ears. The house is quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the hallway.

I take a step forward, and suddenly the world tilts sideways. I stumble, my hand reaching out to steady myself against the wall.

That's when I hear her voice, soft and concerned. “Mark? Is that you?”

I close my eyes, cursing under my breath. So much for sneaking past her unnoticed.

I straighten up, trying to mask my pain as Quinn rounds the corner. Her green eyes widen when she sees me, her gaze drawn to the bloodstain on my shirt.

“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.

Quinn finishes the dressing with careful precision and a gentle touch. She leans back slightly, studying her handiwork before meeting my gaze.

“Did he… was anyone hurt?”

“A few of our men died,” I say, with sadness.

She turns pale, and her voice trembles as she speaks. “I never thought he could be capable of such violence. To needlessly kill!”

“Charlie Letvin is a monster,” I say through gritted teeth, locking eyes with her. “Quinn, you have no idea what he’s done. I didn’t want to scare you, but there was always a reason I didn’t like him being around you. He’s dangerous.”

She listens to me in silence, the gravity of the situation sinking in as she processes what I say. Finally, she says, “I trust you, Mark,” her voice unwavering.

“You do?” I ask, surprised.

She nods, offering me a small, gentle smile. “You may have kidnapped me, but during my time here, you’ve done more for me than you realize. You’ve helped me with my business, created an office space, and done absolutely nothing to make me uncomfortable. I can’t believe I never said this, but… thank you for looking out for me.”

My chest tightens at her words, and her admission catches me off guard. I search her face, seeing the sincerity in her eyes and the vulnerability she rarely shows.

“You don't need to thank me, Quinn,” I reply, my voice soft. “Protecting you is...it's just something I do.”

She reaches out, her hand resting on mine, the contact sending a jolt of warmth through me. “I know,” she says, her gaze unwavering. “And I appreciate it more than you can imagine.”

For a moment, we sit in silence. I'm keenly aware of her hand on mine, each brush of her skin against me. It's both comforting and torturous, and I find myself craving more even though I know I shouldn't.

Our eyes meet, and I see her lips part, her breaths coming in short, raspy bursts. From where I sit, I can see a slight flush creeping up her cheeks. The last time she looked like that, I had my fingers inside her.

In this moment, I know without a doubt that she’s deceiving herself. She wants me just as much as I want her. Being near me ignites a fire within her. If I weren’t feeling so exhausted, I would have made a move. But this isn’t the right time. I won’t be able to give her what she truly deserves.

I break eye contact. Finally, she withdraws her hand and stands up to clear the space, her work finished. She comes back with some water and a pill. “A painkiller until we can get you to a doctor.”

I nod and down the pill. “Thank you.”

Quinn watches me with worry. “You're welcome. Just...don't scare me like that again, okay?”

I meet her gaze. There's something there, lurking beneath the surface. Something that makes my heart skip a beat.

“I'll try,” I murmur, tilting my head at her.

She smiles, but it's fleeting, gone as quickly as it appeared. She gives me her hand, helping me to my feet.

“You should rest,” she says, her voice soft but firm. “I'll help you to your room.”

I nod, suddenly too tired to argue.