Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

QUINN

The apartment is unusually silent as I step into the hall. I crack Fiona's door to find her still sound asleep. The door to Declan's room is open, and I glance inside to find his bed doesn't appear to have been slept in. There isn't a sign of him as I walk around the apartment either, except for a scribbled note, laptop, and a black card left on the otherwise barren kitchen island.

You're right. This is the best I can do for now . I left a few websites up on my computer. Get whatever she wants and pay whatever they ask to have it delivered today. I won't be home in time to put Fiona to bed tonight. Please tell her how much I love her. – Dec

I run my finger over the mouse pad of the laptop to find a website for children's outdoor play furniture. Flipping through the different websites and looking at the different swing sets, I turn over the credit card in my hand and mutter to myself, "It's a start."

It took Fiona nearly an hour to settle on the play castle she liked the best. Ordering it took only minutes, and after paying a ridiculously astronomical fee, they agreed to deliver and install itby lunch. I don't know what exhausted me more today, occupying a very giddy little girl as she waited for the delivery guys to put it together or spending the entire afternoon outside.

Having finally tucked Fiona in and gotten her to sleep, I pour myself a glass of wine and get comfortable on the couch before sending Declan a few photos of Fiona from this afternoon—all of them full of huge smiles and sparkling blue eyes.

Thank you.

DECLAN

Thank you.

Maybe next time you don't need to be so ornery about it.

If he listened—even a little—I wouldn't have to be so damn stubborn.

Doubtful.

Maybe next time you'll listen.

Doubtful.

I chuckle as I read his text and can't help the smile that tugs at my lips.

It's going to be really late by the time I get home, but we really need to talk.

He says nothing more, but I immediately assume it has more to do with things left unsaid than Fiona. I open a book on my phone to pass the time while I wait for him, but Iquickly find my eyelids growing heavy as I lose my ability to comprehend the words before me.

The bell dings as the bar door pushes open, reminding me that I forgot to lock it. "Sorry, guys. We're closed."

"We know." A tall guy with a thick Russian accent smirks as he continues to walk toward me.

"That means no drinks, fellas. And you've got to go."

"No." A guy with slicked-back hair shakes his head before turning and locking the door. "I think we're going to stay awhile."

Buzz-cut stalks toward me with an evil hunger in his eyes that causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. I walk backward, trying to keep the distance between us as his eyes rake over my body. "It's a shame. You sure are pretty."

His words cause my blood to run cold, even as my heart begins to thump harder against my ribcage. I'm so focused on retreating from him that I completely lose track of the third guy until I back into his chest. His burned-tobacco breath wafts over me when he whispers, "Are you going to scream for us? Because I sure fucking prefer when you bitches fight me."

Shoving away from him, I race behind the bar to grab the phone, but I don't make it before Buzz-cut snakes his arms around me. With my hands and legs scrabbling, I scream as I kick at his shins and try to fight him. His friends laugh as he drags me along the bar, my flailing limbs knocking bottles to the floor. He licks up my neck and snarls as he throws me to the booze-and-glass-covered floor, "Oh, she's a fighter."

He's on me before I can push myself from the wet, sticky floor. His hands pull roughly at my jeans, and I scream until my lungs are empty. It's futile; no one is coming to save me. I claw at the floor, tearing up my palms with broken glass until I manage to wrap my hand around the neck of a broken bottle. Holding it tight, I kick at him as I crawl across the hardwood floor to get away from him. He clings to my pants, pulling them down my legs as I work my way from him.

With my clothes torn from my body, he pounces on me and struggles to spread the thighs I'm clenching tightly together. His fingers dig into my skin with such force that his nails break the skin. Gripping the bottle firmly, I swing hard and jam it into his neck.

He gasps as his warm blood coats my hand and spills down my arm. He falls forward, and it sprays over me, the metallic tang coating my tongue as I continue to scream for help.

The guy with slicked-back hair yells something incoherent in Russian as he pulls the dead guy from my half-naked body. I don't need a translator to know what he said. It's very clear from the look on his face and the anger in his eyes as he leans close and fists the front of my shirt. Using his tight hold on me, he lifts me from the floor and throws me toward the bar. I land on the counter with such force thatit knocks the wind from me, and my near-limp body rolls from the edge. The barstool shattering beneath me only intensifies the pain of my fall.

I feel more hands on me, and I try to fight them off, but my vision is hazy and slowly blackening around the edges. My lids begin to fall shut, but they snap open when the sting of a palm fires across my cheek. A rough hand grips my burning skin as a deep Russian voice snarls, "You're going to stay awake. If I have to cut the fucking eyelids from your pretty face, you're going to watch every single fucking thing we do to you."