Page 4 of Savage Promises (Quinlan Empire #2)
Shane Quinlan
T he sharp echo of gunfire rattles through the underground range I set up for our weapons testing and guard training. The scent of gunpowder clings to the air, stinging my nose as I lower the ghost gun I designed.
“Perfect spread. Dead center,” I remark proudly, the barrel still warm in my grip.
“ You perfected it,” my brother Connor drawls from behind me in a brogue so deep it can melt steel. “Da would be proud.”
Mentioning our father, who passed away nine months ago, tightens my throat.
“But he’d ask why you’re always in a damn suit.” Connor knocks my arm. “Leather jackets not your style anymore, baby brother?”
I ignore the grating baby comment even though he’s technically accurate. Out of all six Quinlan kids, at thirty-two, I am the youngest.
“I didn’t have time to change from an earlier meeting with the mayor.” My suits aren’t just mere clothing anymore, they’re worn to command respect before I open my mouth.
The fine fabric and a well-tailored fit are my quiet power. And the way people straighten up when I walk into the room? I fucking love that.
“You still need more target practice.” Arms crossed, Connor leans against the brick wall. “Took you three shots with that round.”
I arch a brow, the ejection port still open as I glance at him. “Three shots. Three kills.”
Connor smirks. “Sure. But I would’ve done it in two.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. It’s the closest thing to a smile I’ve managed in a really long time. “You’re reckless and you usually have our assassins at your back if you miss.”
In addition to surveillance, which I’ve mostly automated, I’m the fixer in the crime family headed by my older brother Griffin. Connor and our cousins Trace and Rhys work the streets terrorizing anyone with a pulse.
“And fine lasses on their backs,” Connor reports about his love life.
“Anyone special?” Anyone I need to investigate? Forewarned is forearmed.
“Nah. No one. I have no time for a relationship.”
Famous last words. They might as well be voodoo pins stuck into a doll. Or a casting spell. The minute you say you have no time, the perfect woman waltzes into your life.
I’m truly immune, though. And the perfect woman for me is the one woman I can’t have.
My stomach knots unexpectedly. Maybe I have no right to a woman of my own after the way I cast Lennox Donnelly aside six years ago.
I do my best not to think about her or that night. And a relationship is dead last on my priority list, too.
We’ve revamped the Keller crime family into Quinlan Empire and our lethal power grows more every day. I’m not sure who I could trust right now anyway.
“I second that sentiment,” I murmur. “Distractions get people killed.”
Connor reloads his Glock but pauses to answer his ringing cell phone. “Alo. What? ” He pinches the bridge of his nose listening to one of his trackers. Blade or Jett. I get them mixed up. “Un-fucking-believable. Stay where you are. I’ll call you back.”
“What happened?” I ask.
“Garrett Donnelly is trying to move some of our weapons.” Connor’s voice is tight and controlled. “That shipment he told us got seized by the Feds? Turns out he has them.”
My pulse slows, ice settling into my chest hearing the name Donnelly. Griffin took Richard and his son Garrett into a squad as reinforcements on the streets. The age-old feud had simmered, and we needed people we could trust. The Donnellys fell more into the category of ‘the devil you know.’
“And?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“The dumb prick had the nerve to offer our heat to the Albanians.”
“The Albanians ? Jesus.” I should have suspected Garrett in the first place. “Where is he?”
“Blade’s tracking him to their turf.”
“The fucking armory of theirs we’ve been trying to locate?”
“Nah, some dumpy warehouse on 12th. We have to get down there.”
“You call your tracker back and tell him to keep Donnelly breathing. He’s not to be killed .” The last thing I need is the blood of a Donnelly staining the street and reigniting the feud.
Not on my watch.
I start locking everything up, old wounds about Garrett Donnelly and his father’s past betrayal triggering me. I holster my go-to weapon. A 45mm Sig Sauer. “Let’s go.”
My family has always been stronger. Smarter. The Donnellys? They’re nothing but a mess in constant need of cleaning up.
That family will be the fucking death of me.