Page 33 of Run, Little Rabbit (Blood & Bonds #1)

Chapter Thirty

Echo

W e were getting nowhere. Veon and I were standing at the back of the room like spectators.

I wasn’t even worthy of a fucking seat at the table today.

What the fuck was I even doing here? Standing here in a room steeped in sweat and testosterone, listening to men make decisions about what to do because the Volkovs had blown up an abandoned warehouse.

It was abandoned, for fuck’s sake. It’s clearly an attempt to warn my father to back off.

I don’t even know why my dad is trying to muscle into the Volkov territory anyway.

We don’t need it. We’ve got strong partnerships established, money-making enterprises and good product runs.

And now what? He’s after the Volkov’s drug business?

We don’t need it. My dad’s desire to take it stems from arrogance and greed.

Fucking pathetic. I don’t even work for my father, and even I can smell the dissension in the ranks.

I hadn’t seen it until now, but it’s there.

Clear as day. The sideways glances the men were throwing towards the twins.

The twitch under Dad’s left eye as he realises that he’s losing his grip.

Jace narrows his eyes as he scans the room for threats.

Jesus, this is going to turn into a fucking bloodbath if someone doesn’t step in.

“We should steal more from them,” Seamus yells, banging his fist on the table. He runs the casino in the city and has worked for the Quinns for a long time. “One crate of guns wasn’t enough. If we want the drug business, we should steal that. Create a supply problem.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Conor scoffs.

Seamus whips his head around to look at him. “What?”

Cillian sighs, and that’s never a good sign. A bored sociopath is one step away from creating his own fun, and the last time Cillian decided to have fun, one guy lost his fingers by way of a cleaver.

I’m almost tempted to egg Seamus on just to see what Cillian will do. We could do with some chaos to liven up the place.

Cillian strokes a finger across his bottom lip. “We’ve already established partnerships with several cartels in South America. Why would we risk jeopardising that over some inferior product?”

“We need to retaliate. We can’t just let them get away with burning down one of our warehouses,” Seamus barks, spittle flying from his lips in his outrage.

There are a number of affirming murmurs to his statement, and dear lord, you’d think he was making a speech in the House of bloody Commons instead of my father’s meeting room.

“There was nothing of value in there. The Volkovs clearly want us to retaliate. The smarter thing to do would be nothing,” Conor says, his voice deceptively calm.

I lean towards Veon to whisper in his ear. “I think this is finally about to get interesting.”

He hums in response but doesn’t say anything. Probably wise. With the tension in here, he’d probably get shot, and as much as I still haven’t gotten over that conversation we had when I returned from the Volkovs, I don’t want to see the guy dead.

It still rankles though, and I catch myself wondering if I should be ashamed of what I did.

Was it wrong to be with three men at once?

It was no doubt unconventional, but it didn’t feel wrong.

When I was with them, I’d felt freer than I ever had before.

I didn’t have to hide behind the masks that I used for everybody else.

I could just be Echo Quinn without all those added layers.

I know there had been a spark between Veon and me, but I was coming to terms with the possibility that that was all it was ever likely to be.

He didn’t seem the sharing type, judging by his reaction to what happened at the Volkov Mansion, and maybe I was a little bit sad that we’d lost that connection.

We needed to find a new level to our friendship, but I knew that was going to take time, and I had to prepare myself for the fact that it might never happen.

We both had to want it, and I wasn’t sure Veon did.

Hell, I wasn’t sure I did at the moment. It all still felt a bit raw.

The sound of a gunshot sliced through the air, pulling my attention sharply back into the room.

“Cillian! For feck’s sake,” Dad shouted, his Irish twang filtering through with his rage.

Seamus’ body slumped forward on the table, blood pooling onto the dark wood beneath him.

Huh, I guess Cillian got bored of the guy’s ramblings.

“The man was an idiot,” Cillian said with a shrug as he holstered his gun.

The room descended into silence as Cillian sat back down, everyone very much aware that the twins were as mad as a box of frogs.

I, however, had no such fear, and I was fucking bored myself. I had a blackmail plan to execute and a deal to make with a devil. “Well, this has been fun and all, but if you don’t mind, I’ll be off.”

Twenty—well, nineteen now, sorry Seamus—pairs of eyes turned towards me. A flicker of confusion swam through my dad’s as he remembered I was actually in the room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Dad asks, his face still flushed with rage.

I look my father dead in the eyes. “Out. I don’t even know why I’m here. You don’t want or value my opinion, and I’m sick of listening to you men swing your dicks about.”

I casually glance around the room and notice the various looks from around the table.

The twins are smirking; Kai looks torn between concerned and impressed, and the rest of the men display various expressions from anger all the way up to sheer disbelief.

But my father… well, his face takes the fucking cake, and I preen a little because I put that expression of rage there, and I am past giving two shits.

So, with my head held high, I turn to leave the meeting room, knowing it’ll be the last time I’m ever in there with my dad in charge.

There’s something quite cathartic about that particular thought.

Like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders as the mask of the dutiful daughter falls from my face and I crush it beneath my pretty stiletto shoes.

“Echo,” he yells. “Don’t you walk away from me. Echo!”

But do you want to know the best part?

I pass a guy walking towards the meeting room with a manila folder in his hand, and I can take a lucky guess as to what’s inside it.

A few moments later, my dad’s roar of outrage echoes through the entrance hall as I leave the family home behind me.

I down another shot of tequila and wince as it burns the back of my throat. My hands are still shaking from the adrenaline of walking out in front of my father. I feel good, alive, fucking electric. I want to dance, scream, and jump for fucking joy at the release I feel from what I just did.

“I’m never going back.”

Just saying the words out loud has a gurgle of laughter escaping my throat.

Thank fuck I have the trust fund my mother left me.

Plus, I occasionally earned a little on the jobs Sphinx sent my way from the dark web.

I didn’t always find my own targets, but Sphinx had found this page on the dark web that was literally like a job ads page.

It was called St Olga’s Lost Causes and it was a page dedicated to revenge.

A person could list a hit under the guise of a job, and someone would put in an offer for it and hopefully get paid at the end.

I only went for the ones where people should have been caught by the police for something despicable but got away with it.

I might have a shady moral compass, but I at least tried to have rules.

Huh, I wonder if I could find Larke on there.

I grab my phone and text Sphinx.

ME:

Need your help with something.

SPHINX:

My car won’t fit a dead body.

ME:

Not that kind of help, dick. I need you to list a job ad.

The three little dots appear and disappear a couple of times before his name pops up on the screen with an incoming call. I hit answer, and his smoky voice rumbles down the line.

“If you’re about to ask me to help you find Larke, who I might add is one of the most notorious hitmen in the criminal underworld, then you can fuck off.”

“Well…”

“Nope. Absolutely not.”

“Hear me out,” I start, but he interrupts before I can argue my case.

“No. Echo, it’s madness. He’d kill you before you even saw his face.”

“You don’t know that, Sphinx. Besides, he might not even respond.” Although, I hoped he did. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill the guy. He was hired to kill my mum, and I’m sure it was nothing personal, but—fuck. Who am I kidding? I want to put a bullet right between the fucker’s eyes.

“You’re right. He won’t respond because I’m not listing the ad.”

“Come on,” I beg. “At least give me the chance to look him in the eyes. I want to meet the man who killed her, and I want him to tell me why he did it. I don’t care if he turns around and says she was just another job; I just… I want to know . Can’t you understand that?”

The line goes silent, and I know I’ve got him.

“Fine,” he sighs. “On your head be it. What do you want the listing to say?”

“Put something like ‘ Wanted: A songbird to answer an Echo. Quintessentially knowledgeable and willing to trade. Fee: TBD. ’ Will that work? Is it espionage-y enough?”

Sphinx snorts. “Is that a technical term?”

“Fuck you.”

“No thanks. Let’s see if we can lure him in with that, but Echo?”

“Yeah?”

“Be prepared that he won’t answer. The Lark hasn’t been seen for nearly twenty years.”

Okay, I could deal with that. It’s only a silly idea anyway, and at least I’ve tried, right? That has to count for something. “I know. And thanks, Sphinx.”

“No worries. Catch you later.” The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone.

Have I done the right thing luring out a serial killer?

For all I know, he could be dead. Or maybe he’s retired.

I mean, if he was working twenty years ago and he’d already established a reputation back then, he must be well into his fifties now, maybe even older.

I throw my phone down on my kitchen island and pour another tequila. I’m about to down it when my doorbell rings. The app goes off on my phone, and I look at the image of the twins standing on the other side of the door, holding up my little calling card.

The one I must have sent Dad.

Well, fuck.