Chapter One

Houston, we have a problem.

Quinn O’Malley wasn’t exactly sure what the problem was just yet, but it was clear this transport deal was not going according to plan. She’d only been on a few since she’d started working for her current boss, Dillon, five years ago. Quinn’s talents were usually spent on other venues. But much like today, she was sometimes used for backup.

Backup? It was almost comical. Quinn could cover transporting the money, but if the deal went awry, she wouldn’t be of much help. Quinn had nothing to contribute if an altercation broke out and turned physical.

The runt. Her father had coined her his family’s very own when she was a child, disregarding that she was born eight weeks premature. In his eyes, it didn’t matter. Quinn was the weak one, useless where it counted. The doctors assured her father she’d catch up to the others her age, but it would take Quinn a little longer. I didn’t. Quinn peaked at twelve, and fourteen years later, she was still only five foot one, weighing in at one hundred and five pounds after a large meal. Scrappy, at best.

Quinn sighed, glancing around the warehouse, sneakily taking a peek at the men lined up near the bay doors. In a sense, she was sizing them up. Not for any type of battle, but instead, the likelihood she could outrun any of them. It would be her only line of defense. All four members of security were deadly giants compared to her.

She tapped her foot on the smooth concrete floor of the industrial warehouse. It was the only thing she could do to keep her leg from shaking. The last thing she wanted was for her cohorts or the others to see her nervousness. Quinn had always had a hard time hiding her emotions. Her expressive face was paired evenly with her need to find calm resolution in most aspects of life. Confrontation was her least favorite role. Mainly because she wasn’t good at it. She lacked the confidence and assertiveness to win an argument. Even when I’m right. It was easier and safer to let things go. Quinn had learned that lesson a long time ago, living with her domineering and sometimes cruel father and older brothers. It should’ve made her stronger. It didn’t. If anything, it made her crawl deeper into a submissive hole, becoming a shell of the girl she could’ve been had life turned out differently.

Weak. Just like your mother. Her father had said it so often it had become the truth as Quinn saw it. How could it not? She didn’t have anyone telling her anything different. Self-pity was the worst. Reality and truth were a close second.

“What the fuck is taking so long?” Clay muttered.

Quinn looked up at her boyfriend. His eyes were pinned straight forward, but she knew he was speaking to Glenn, the third member of the transport team. It was a risk saying anything, even whispering. Sound carried more than usual in the barren warehouse. If security heard, they gave no indication. They resembled soldiers. But they were dressed in dark suits tailored to fit them perfectly.

When Glenn didn’t answer, she shifted closer to Clay and turned toward him. “Maybe they’re counting the money again. Banks do that. You know, count it a few times.”

Simultaneously, Clay and Glenn slowly turned their heads to her, scowling and sending her a harsh warning. They weren’t related, yet at this moment, they could’ve passed as twins with their matching flared nostrils, squared jaws, and menacing glares.

Clay parted his lips and mouthed, “Shut up, you fucking idiot.”

Heat rose quickly from her chest, shooting up to her face. Clay wouldn’t have won any boyfriend of the year award, but he usually saved his degrading remarks for when they were alone. In public, it caused a more profound embarrassment. Quinn stepped back next to Clay and stared down at the ground. Humiliation and degradation were nothing new for Quinn. She’d been bred and taught to take it. Somewhere along the line, it’d just become part of her life, something to expect from men. After twenty-six years, one would think she’d built up enough tolerance to be immune. But Clay was her partner. She’d hoped for a little more from him. Given the current situation, she’d have to let it slide. That’s what she told herself. Quinn would be the bigger person, consider Clay’s stress, and shake it off. If I think it enough times, maybe I’ll start to believe it.

“Sorry,” she muttered, grazing her teeth over her lip, once again glancing around the building. She made a special note of the exits. It came from habit after often being in unsavory positions. Unfortunately, it was par for the course in her life. From her viewpoint, there was one main entrance. If the building was up to code, that required a back exit and possibly another two. Locating them would be tricky. Nothing screamed fear like spinning around in search of an escape route.

Quinn’s dread was quickly settling in as the minutes passed. Even without much experience in transports, she knew enough to be concerned. There was one main thought running through her mind. I’m not supposed to be here. In fact, she hadn’t even been scheduled to work. But Quinn hadn’t hesitated when assigned the job. The key part of life she’d learned early on was if you don’t serve a purpose, you aren’t worth anything. It was better to be used than deemed useless.

Dillon didn’t initially want her on the job. She had a different role in his crew, which kept her at his place. It was Clay who’d offered her up when the third person had bailed on the cash transport. He was forever pushing for them to make more money. He’d given her his plan over and over, which included taking every job offered and making cash. Contemplation of the pictures he’d painted for their end game was something in which Quinn rarely allowed herself to indulge. It was an amazing idea. Moving away to a place where no one knew them, buying a house on a lot of property. Maybe even a farm. Clay hadn’t been fully on board with that, but it was something Quinn thought about. Still, if she only got half of what Clay was suggesting— I’ll take it .

Sudden movement from across the room caught her attention, and Quinn shifted her gaze to security. They began spreading apart. For a brief moment she felt a wave of relief. She assumed the deal was done, and they were leaving. However, it soon appeared the polar opposite. The men were spreading out in different directions, but instead of making their way to the door, they seemed to form a barrier around her, Clay, and Glenn, with the exception of their backs. Quinn looked at Clay, then Glenn. Both men seemed to be watching the security. Quinn slowly reached out, brushing the back of her hand against Clay’s leg to get his attention. Quinn was looking for some type of reassurance. But Clay was so laser focused on the room, he didn’t spare her a glance.

She jerked her hand back to her side, cursing her mistake. Quinn should’ve known better than to try and get his attention. It was safer for all of them if they remained on guard. Something was clearly amiss with this transfer . I just don’t know what. She’d been on a few before tonight, and they’d been the easiest cash she’d ever made. No issues, no problems, and no delays. Something’s not right.

Quinn stared at the main entrance next to the three large bay doors. Jared, who she’d assumed was in charge, had left the warehouse about ten minutes ago after the cash exchange. It should have been an easy drop with only one major concern. The amount of money. It was enough to require small duffle bags light enough to be carried on Clay and Glenn’s backs for the ride on their motorcycles. Anything too large might raise suspicions.

Dillon was notoriously paranoid and demanded certain drop-offs be done by several individuals. His logic actually made sense, though it wasn’t necessarily cost-effective. If any of them sensed they were being followed, or worse, gotten on the police’s radar, they could easily separate.

It usually went off without any hiccups according to Clay, but Quinn had an anxious and unrelenting gut feeling something was wrong. There’d never been this much delay in a simple cash transaction. They weren’t even collecting product. All that had to be done was a count of the money, and they’d be on their way. It shouldn’t be taking this long.

She looked around the empty warehouse once again. She’d seen dozens of them around on the outskirts of her town growing up but had never actually been inside one. She glanced over her shoulder to the rear of the building. There was a staircase leading to what looked like two offices with large bay windows. When it had been operational, she assumed that was where the manager had worked, overseeing the workers below. But it must have been years since it had been open for business.

“What’s taking so long?” Clay asked, lowering his tone to barely a whisper. “I don’t like this, man.”

Clay wasn’t speaking to her, but their point person on the job, Glenn. He wasn’t a favorite of hers. The feeling seemed mutual on his end. While Clay and Glenn had gotten closer over the last year, hanging out more, Glenn always kept his distance from her. Quinn assumed it had to do with his misogynistic attitude. He constantly made degrading and derogatory remarks about women. He was the exact opposite of any man she’d ever want to be left in a room alone with. He always gave off a strange vibe, unpredictable and volatile.

Glenn arched his neck, knitting his brows with his gaze locked on the door.

“I think he’s coming back in.”

Quinn immediately jerked her head and watched the same man from the original meet-up walk in. Jared. But he wasn’t alone. He was followed by two men who hadn’t been there earlier.

“Oh fuck,” Clay muttered under his breath.

Quinn peeked up at him, but he was staring across the room. Even from his profile, unable to look him directly in the eye, she saw the semblance of panic. The fact that he wasn’t acknowledging her was also a red flag, and her heart began to pump harder. She angled her head and looked over.

Quinn had no idea who they were, and from her recollection, she’d never seen them before on previous deliveries. From her limited experience, there was little interaction, no small talk on transport jobs, and Dillon never mentioned who they were delivering to. No names and no affiliation. It was safer that way if, on the off chance, the authorities were watching.

The tension in the room had clearly shifted with the arrival of these two men. They were of similar height, one slightly taller by maybe an inch. They were built roughly the same, with one a bit bulkier in the shoulders and chest. That could have been attributed to the suits, which was where the similarities took a turn. Clearly, they were both expensive. Even Quinn, who wasn’t much into fashion, could see the obvious distinction between the clothes of the security personnel and these two men. The guy on the right’s suit was black, clean, and crisp. The other’s was a dark gray, no tie, and the top two buttons of his light gray shirt were undone. Although the warehouse was dimly lit, Quinn could make out a small patch of chest hair peeking through the collar.

It was the last detail she should’ve been focused on, but there she was, comparing this stranger’s chest to Clay’s. Her boyfriend had an aversion to any body hair, going as far as shaving his legs. Quinn didn’t think she had a preference either way. Until now. There was something extremely masculine and mature about chest hair.

While the three men continued to chat, Quinn found herself making a deeper and lingering perusal of the dark-haired man. By all outward appearances, it was obvious he was in charge. It was all in the way he carried himself and how those around him focused on him when he spoke. She was too far away to hear the conversation, but none of the men looked at ease.

The man slowly turned to her small group, eyes running over her, Clay, and Glenn. She expected him to go back to the other two men, but his gaze jerked to her again, and she found herself locked in a stare with the darkest set of eyes she’d ever seen on any human. Quinn’s arms broke out in goosebumps. Common sense and self-preservation should’ve forced her to look away, but it was as if she was entranced.

The angles of his face were sharp. His cheeks were slightly hollowed, accentuating his jawline, and his brow line was pronounced. His hooded gaze sent a rippling heat through her veins. Her heartrate spiked, and Quinn shifted on her feet with nervous energy building in her belly. It could have been fear. It should be fear. Quinn could’ve romanticized the attraction, and she was attracted. How could she not be? Her draw toward strong, dominant, and dangerous men had been instilled in her since birth. It was all she’d ever known. But during her childhood and all the years following, Quinn learned quickly those traits didn’t always equate to honorable men.

His gaze sharpened, and his jaw squared, angling his head slightly as if to challenge her to look away. Gosh, you’re handsome. Before she could catch herself, the corner of her mouth curled into a small smile. He straightened to full height, adding another inch or two, and hardened his glare. Quinn realized she’d inadvertently accepted his challenge. She quickly bowed her head, staring down at the concrete floor. What the hell is wrong with me? Her skin felt enflamed as her grave error sunk in. She had no idea who he was, but his power was evident, and now she’d planted herself on his radar. Maybe Clay was right. I am a fucking idiot.

The room was drowned in silence, with only the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears. It was almost painful, and as her muscles constricted, her breath labored. Then dizziness set in. This was the worst time to have a panic attack, but she sensed the onset of all the usual symptoms. Talking usually helped keep her grounded, giving a reprieve through distraction. Quinn knew she shouldn’t do it. She did it anyway.

“Who are they?” she whispered, careful not to let her lips move.

The seconds seemed to lengthen as she waited, until finally Clay answered, “Rogue and Trey.”

Oh shit, no.

Quinn stood frozen, slowly shifting her gaze upward to the two men centered in the group. She had never seen either of them, but she’d heard about them. Who hasn’t? When she’d started with Dillon’s crew, it was a lesson shared often, a repetitive warning stated in quiet but forbidding tones that left no doubt as to their veracity—“if you’re lucky, you’ll never cross paths with Rogue, Trey, or Oz.” It was impossible to be in this line of work and not know who they were, even if, like Quinn, you’d never seen their faces. Their names were enough to inspire bone-chilling fear in the most fierce men she’d ever met, which in turn ran icy tendrils through her whole body. Rogue and Trey didn’t just run the operations of the entire Underground.

They were the Underground.

If the rumors were half true, these two men were responsible for hundreds of murdered or missing people. Crossing the Underground was equivalent to signing one’s own death certificate. It was a thought that had haunted her for the last three months.

She sucked in a breath, emitting an audible gasp, which sounded piercing in her own ears. Her brain went into a fogged state and constricted her heart in a strangling hold. Quinn had never had an out-of-body experience. Until now.

Calm down, calm down. Her hands started to shake, and she wrapped them tightly together, twisting her fingers. She needed some type of distraction to settle her nerves before they became obvious to everyone in the room. Quinn closed her eyes and drew in a breath, reciting in her mind, they don’t know me or what I’ve done . Or did they? Had this been an elaborate setup to get to her? That thought only added to her fear, escalating her racing heart.

Quinn flinched when the echoed tapping on the floor grew closer. She peeked up, and without thought, took a small step backward. His presence from across the room was powerful. From only five feet away, it was threatening, menacing, and above all, deadly.

“Do you know who the fuck I am?”

Quinn’s mouth fell open, and her eyes widened. He was staring directly at her, but it was Glenn who answered.

“Rogue, I don’t know…”

Rogue jerked his head, pointing to Glenn. “Shut the fuck up!”

Quinn flattened her lips, digging her nails into her palms. She tried to remain as still as possible, hiding in plain sight. Rogue slowly turned to her, his harsh glare sending a shiver down her spine. Quinn immediately looked down at the ground. She’d learned her lesson the first time. She waited in silence but remained on guard.

“Which one of you motherfuckers wants to explain to me why the exchange is missing ten grand?” Rogue asked.

Quinn blinked and cocked her head slightly. What? She glanced up, but Rogue was looking directly at Glenn. Ten grand was missing? More importantly, ten thousand dollars belonging to the Underground was unaccounted for. Oh God.

We’re screwed!

****

Fucking bullshit.

Rogue took a deep drag from his cigarette before tossing it onto the graveled lot of the warehouse. He should have been at his club by now, enjoying a whiskey. Instead, he and Trey had taken a detour to one of the transport locations. Rogue didn’t know the whole story, nor did he care. This was the reason they assigned security to take on these jobs. Can’t they fucking do that right? They were being paid enough and would hear about it once the debacle was squared away. Rogue had little tolerance or patience for incompetence.

He and Trey stalked up the path with Jared in his line of sight. As the head of security, Jared was closest to both he and Trey. Rarely were there issues Jared couldn’t handle on his own. He’d been in the Underground for a long time, specifically with Rogue for years. Smart, methodical, and dangerous, Jared was the perfect protégé. And his loyalty to the Underground surpassed anyone else. Rogue didn’t trust too many people outside of Trey and Oz. Jared was part of the select few.

That didn’t mean Jared wouldn’t catch hell for his mistakes. Rogue expected perfection from everyone who worked under him.

Rogue spread out his arms. “What’s the fucking problem?”

Jared lowered his chin. “They came up short.”

Rogue ground his teeth and rolled his neck. When it came to his money, there was no room for error on anyone’s part.

“How much?”

“Ten thousand,” Jared said. “I made a call to Dillon to double-check the amount. He said he triple counted and divided it evenly into the three bags for the runners.”

“Motherfucker lying?” Rogue asked.

It wouldn’t be the first time a small-time dealer got a wild hair and ventured out to test the waters. It had been a while, though. The Underground had a strict zero-tolerance policy when it came to transports. They’d followed through with all their warnings. No one got away with stealing from them in any capacity. Showing leniency was a weak spot, and Rogue didn’t have one.

Trey shook his head and sighed. “He has no reason to. This is prepayment for a delivery next week. We don’t get paid, it’s Dillon that’s out ten grand in product. He knows that, which is the reason for the triple count. He’s got no reason or gain to lie.”

“So one of his runners lifted it?” Rogue asked.

Jared nodded. “So it seems. Dillon asked that we send them back, and he’ll handle it and personally get the ten to us by the end of the night.”

Rogue looked over at the warehouse. It was on the outskirts of Lawry, a safe house closest to their club. It was meant specifically for cash transport only and nothing over one hundred thousand. There were strict rules in place, devised by Sal Caruso, the original boss in the Underground years ago and updated by Trey years later.

Product or services were never paid for and delivered in the same location or at the same time. In all cases and endeavors, they always left enough room for question, or in court, a reasonable doubt, as an extra precaution.

Rogue dragged his hand over his jaw, contemplating his next move.

“It’s done, Rogue,” Trey said, then gestured to Jared. “Jay will cut them loose, and we’ll wait to hear from Dillon. He gets us the cash, we’ll follow through with the deal, and if not, it’s dead. Either way, this is not our problem.”

Wasn’t it, though? Rogue looked over at the warehouse.

You fucked with my night. I’m gonna fuck with yours.

“No.” Rogue pointed to the building. “These motherfuckers think they can fucking steal from me?”

Trey raised his brows. “Rogue…”

Rogue lunged forward, a foot away from Trey. “The second they walked out of Dillon’s office, that became Underground cash, and one of them took it. I’ll fucking handle this.”

Trey folded his arms and shrugged slightly. He may not want to pursue the retribution, but Rogue wouldn’t allow it. It sent the wrong message allowing anyone to get away with taking from the Underground. It showed weakness. Rogue lifted his chin to Jared, who fell in line, leading them up the stairs and into the warehouse. The security detail lined the perimeter, and twenty feet away were the runners standing side by side. They were young, which wasn’t surprising. It was the gateway into the Underground. Anyone who meant anything in their organization had started the same, including Rogue, Trey, and Oz. Though their start came at a much younger age.

Trey was barely twelve, and Rogue wasn’t much older at fifteen when they were inducted into The Underground. It had started small with deliveries and pickups of small products. They’d moved up to bigger jobs and cash transport when they’d earned Sal’s trust. By the time both boys were in their mid-teens, they’d been fully immersed and involved in everything from extortion of local businesses for protection, stolen goods and guns, to flexing their muscles whenever they got pushback. It was where Rogue thrived. Fighting. He had so much built-up anger and aggression it was a welcome release whenever he was tested.

Eyeing the three before him, he didn’t see anything of threat, nor were they familiar. That didn’t mean much. Rogue rarely associated with anyone in the lower ranks. Runners were the lowest level.

Rogue turned to Jared. “Who the fuck are they?”

“Small-time transport. The one at the end is Glenn, and the one next to him is Clay. They do a lot of runs for Dillon but nothing more than fifty grand. Both have been on the circuit for a while with no advancement.”

Trey glanced over at them lined up. “Says a lot about Dillon’s trust in his people if he’s putting limitations on these three.”

“Glenn’s the point person. The other two haven’t said a word. Well—” Jared’s lips twitched. “—except the girl when we first arrived. She smiled and said hi.”

Rogue furrowed his brows. Hi? Where the fuck did she think she was…a social fucking gathering?

Jared lifted his chin, gesturing across the room. “I don’t think this is Quinn’s usual position in Dillon’s crew. Thinking he was hard up for the last bag of cash. The guys came on their bikes. She arrived in a beat-up Honda.”

Quinn.

Rogue slowly turned, eyeing the group one by one. It was rare anyone caught his attention, but unlike the other two, who were averting their eyes from him, she was looking directly at him. Bright green almond-shaped eyes, a little too close together, with white-blonde hair shaping her face and falling just past her shoulders. If she was wearing makeup, it was minimal. She didn’t look like any of the handful of women who ran with crews or worked for the Underground. This girl looked like she was going out to the ice cream shop before hitting the library, not running drugs and cash for local dealers. Interesting. She was definitely out of her element and didn’t know the rules. If she did, she wouldn’t be staring. Rogue kept his gaze locked on her, waiting for her to see the grave error she was making. She didn’t. Instead, the corner of her mouth curled slightly. It softened her face in a way that made the whole scene less tense. Who the fuck do you think you are, Princess? Either she was stupid or strategic. The latter thought had him grinding his teeth and tightening his jaw.

Was she challenging him? Her lips pressed in a tight line, then the corners of her mouth slowly curled. What the fuck? It was as if she was taunting him. Rogue straightened his back, balled his fists, and deepened his scowl. Stand the fuck down, Princess . Her eyes widened as if realization settled in, and she dropped her chin to her chest, bowing her head. She clasped her hands in front of her and began twisting her fingers. Good girl . Rogue took too much pleasure in her response.

He’d bet money she wouldn’t make that mistake again, but he continued to watch her for another minute. This was one of his guilty pleasures, watching a woman submit to him without ever saying a word. As suspected, she kept her head down and rocked on the heels of her dirty sneakers. This woman is a fucking mess . Yet he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

“Rogue.” Trey’s voice was low enough for only him to hear. He turned to his partner, who raised his brows. Rogue knew he was spending too much time staring at the girl. It was rare any woman piqued his interest beyond sex, and by all accounts, there wasn’t anything special about this one. She was pretty. Big fucking deal; so are a million other women in this world.

Rogue lifted his chin and directed his question to Jared. “She with one of them?”

Jared straightened, sharing a look with Trey before turning to Rogue. “I believe Clay is her boyfriend.”

Rogue scoffed. “Yeah, the fucking operative word being boy.”

Jared flattened his lips and simply stared back at Rogue, waiting on further instructions. Rogue glanced back at the trio lined up and started to walk in their direction. The men looked back at him, but Quinn remained looking down at the floor. That’s not gonna work for me, Princess.

Rogue ground his teeth, glaring at her. She refused to look up.

“Do you know who the fuck I am?”

Her head jerked up, and her lips formed a perfect O. Shock and fear were a perfect combination of her features. He was waiting for her response, but it wasn’t the one he got.

Glenn stepped forward an inch. “Rogue, I don’t know…”

Rogue turned swiftly, pointing to Glenn. “Shut the fuck up!”

Glenn did as he was told, and Rogue eyed all three in line.

“Which one of you motherfuckers wants to explain to me why the exchange is missing ten grand?”

Rogue had his gaze trained on the men when he heard her gasp and jerk her head. Wide eyes and sheer panic flashed over her face as she looked up to the man next to her. He didn’t acknowledge her. But I will.

“You got something you wanna fucking share?”

Quinn whipped her head, staring back as if fear had immobilized her. Rogue had seen it before, but there was far more desperation, as if she knew their fates. He crooked his finger.

She hesitated, looking over at Clay. Rogue steeled his features, refusing to give in to his amusement. You really think that pussy is gonna help you? No one would help because there wasn’t a man in the room who would go against Rogue. It was a power like no other, and he thrived off it. She slowly looked over at him. Rogue was done waiting. He growled and snapped, “Get your ass over here. Now!”

She rushed forward, stopping a foot away with her hands clasped in front of her as she squeezed her palms together. This woman was pitiful at concealing her fear and emotions. Through her thin shirt, Rogue saw her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. How the fuck have you survived in this life?

“You lift the cash?”

She slowly shook her head. She had no idea she’d just triggered one of his biggest pet peeves. Rogue could’ve shown leniency. But he didn’t allow anyone to get away with it. Not even the sweet-faced, scared shitless mouse standing before him.

He narrowed his gaze in a hard scowl. “Fucking speak!”

“No, sir.” Her voice cracked, and she cowered slightly.

Rogue arched his brow and gestured behind her. “Did they?”

Quinn immediately looked over her shoulder, and for some reason, it pissed him off. He reached out, grabbed her forearm, and pulled her closer. She stumbled forward, and her hand landed on his chest. Soft, gentle fingers, and for a brief second, something stirred inside him. She gasped and yanked her hand away, dropping it to her side. That’s right. You don’t touch me without my fucking permission.

He gripped her jaw, forcing her to look at him. Rogue had no issue manhandling anyone. If they thought to steal from him, all bets were off. Just because she was a woman, it didn’t give her a pass in trying to double-cross him. If they were ballsy enough to try and play him, they’d suffer the same consequences.

He felt her trembling under his hold. Rogue squared his jaw, but surprising even himself, he loosened his grip slightly.

“Did they fucking take my money?” He leaned closer and snarled.

“N-no.”

“Then where the fuck is it?” Rogue’s voice echoed off the walls, and she flinched, blinking incessantly.

“I don’t know.”

Rogue scoffed, released her jaw, and watched as she slowly looked back at the men.

“Is that your man?”

Rogue already knew the answer, but he was testing her. Quinn didn’t answer. She was waiting for Clay to step in and help her. Rogue lifted his gaze, aimed directly at Clay. Her man made no move to intervene.

“You got a problem with how I’m handling her?” Rogue smirked, challenging Clay. “Do something, motherfucker.”

It was complete silence. Rogue watched as Clay shifted his gaze between him and Quinn but made no move to say a word or come to her rescue. Rogue looked down at Quinn. Her lips parted, and she widened her eyes. He could almost hear her silent beg. Say something. Clay dropped his gaze to the floor and shoved his hands in his pockets. Fucking pussy. Rogue could have struck her, pistol-whipped her, or any other deviant act, and her man would’ve stood by and watched it all go down.

Rogue turned to Quinn, who had her gaze aimed forward directly at his chest. He tugged her closer and angled his head.

“I can do anything I fucking want to you, and no one in this room would step in. Not even your man. What the fuck does that say about you?”

Rogue was taunting her and testing her in a sense. It was mean and cruel, but Rogue didn’t hesitate. Truthfully, it said more about Clay as a man than Quinn as a woman. But why she’d accept it had Rogue intrigued. She slowly glanced up, her eyes soft and expressing something unfamiliar he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Nothing,” she whispered.

Rogue scoffed. She’d given in so easily. Rogue couldn’t help himself and doubled down. He inched closer. “Yeah, you ain’t nothing to him.”

Her throat bobbed, and she slowly nodded. This was usually where Rogue shined. Tormenting, ridiculing, and degrading others for his own benefit and showcasing their weakness. It was a gift not many could pull off, but Rogue’s innate lack of sympathy made it so he excelled in this form of confrontation. With her, it didn’t hit the same. She was openly agreeing with him, which, for reasons unknown to him, sent a fire through his veins.

“Did they take my fucking money?”

“I really don’t think so,” she whispered.

Rogue eyed the two men and then looked down at Quinn. Her head was slightly bowed, staring down at the floor as if she was trying to stay as still as possible. It’s what most prey did. They tried to hide to survive. Is that what you’re doing, Princess?

Weak fucking woman still willing to cover for him. If Rogue had to guess, Clay would let her be a sacrificial lamb to serve his own safety. Let’s test that fucking theory.

Rogue slowly circled her. She barely moved, but her head angled slightly when he was behind her. When he stopped in front of her and stepped forward, Quinn immediately took a step back. The corner of his mouth curled. Fucking predictable. He moved closer, and she inched away until they were across the room. She only stopped when her back butted against the wall. Even then, she pressed her palms to the wall and seemed as though she was trying to melt into it.

At six foot three, Rogue was accustomed to towering over most people. But she seemed to shrink even more, avoiding his stare and focusing on his chest. He took in her scent, generic. Clean but no scented soaps or perfumes. Everything about her was minimalist, down to her lack of makeup and her plain clothes. Jeans and a T-shirt. Clearly, she didn’t put much effort into her appearance, yet somehow, he could admit he’d been off with his initial assessment of her. She was prettier than most. Some might consider her beautiful in an unconventional way. The light caught her green eyes, making them pop, soften her features, and highlight her skin. Smooth and soft, probably to the touch. A few strands of hair were covering her eyes, but she made no move to swipe them away.

“Look at me,” he snapped, and her gaze shot up, widening.

“I didn’t take the money, I swear,” she blurted and swallowed, choking slightly.

“You lying to me?”

She shook her head almost uncontrollably. “No, sir. I don’t know how this could’ve happened. I watched Dillon count it three times and put it in the bag. He personally gave it to me, and it never left my side. I came straight here. No stops.” She cleared her throat and gasped for a breath. “Dillon doesn’t allow stops.”

“You do everything Dillon tells you?”

“Yes, of course,” she whispered. “He’s my boss.”

Interesting.

Rogue straightened and folded his arms, scowling down at her. He’d give her credit. She never looked away. Either she was a good actress, or she was telling the truth. Rogue was putting his money on the latter. It didn’t change the fact that someone had stolen from him, and she wouldn’t breathe easy until he found out who took it.

Rogue grabbed her wrist, dragging her back to the center of the room, though she came willingly. Her arm brushed against his, and Rogue clenched his jaw. He glanced over toward security and then caught Trey’s stare on Rogue’s hand wrapped over her wrist. It served as a reminder to get back on track. Rogue gave her a small shove and released her arm. Quinn stumbled backward, clearly caught off guard. She tripped slightly, falling to the side, but caught herself before hitting the floor. All the while, her man did nothing. Quinn lined back up, but Rogue noticed she no longer stood beside Clay. There were about two feet separating them. Good girl.

Rogue turned and walked toward Trey, shaking his head. “None of these motherfuckers are leaving unless we get that cash.”

Trey eyed the runners, raising his brows. “That include the girl?”

What the fuck, Trey? As if he could read Rogue’s mind, Trey looked over his shoulder at Quinn and then at Rogue. “You seemed to have taken an interest in her.”

Rogue smirked, knowing the game Trey was playing. “ My interest is my fucking money! And if I don’t get it? She’ll be the first one I personally take out.”

Rogue turned back to the runners, zoning in on Quinn, who remained still and silent. Most crews were made up of men, but there were a few women thrown into the mix. None like Quinn, as far as he knew. She was too quiet and innocent, making her stand out, and not in a good way. It’ll be your fucking downfall, Princess. How she’d survived this long in a crew was beyond him. And I don’t fucking care. For Rogue, all crews were the same, nameless, faceless runners, and if they screwed up, they were all taken out. Quinn was no exception. That’s what he told himself.