Chapter Nineteen

Something was definitely brewing. It was day two in purgatory. Though her “prison” wasn’t anything to complain about. Being held hostage in a mini-mansion? Quinn could think of a worse fate.

She’d asked questions, but Rogue had shut her down, not answering any of them. The most she got about her situation was, “I said I’d fix it, and I’ll fucking fix it.” He didn’t elaborate any further. It was typical Rogue, as she was learning.

It wasn’t the only thing she’d learned, though. Rogue was a cuddler. And not the standard type. After the last two nights in his bed, she knew better than to expect any breathing room. And I’m okay with that.

She glanced around the yard with her baggie in hand. Over the last two days, she’d earned some trust with the dogs. Not all of them. Queen was still holding out, though she did move closer to Quinn, for a brief second, before she retreated and walked the perimeter. I’m going to win you over, Queen.

“Hey, honey!”

Quinn jerked around and was greeted by an older man flanked by what she guessed was security. Quinn didn’t recognize any of the men, but that didn’t mean much. Rogue had a lot of men working under him. She did recognize one familiar face among the strangers. Aaron followed close behind them, eyeing her.

She gave a short wave. “Hi.”

The man smiled, glancing over the yard and sucking in a deep breath. “It’s like a mini-paradise, right?”

Quinn looked over the yard. It was the perfect description.

He walked over to her, and she cupped her eyes to block out the sun.

“I’m Sal, a friend of Rogue’s, and I’ve had the pleasure of being tasked to bring you to him.”

What?

“Oh.” Quinn scrambled to her feet, holding the bag of treats close to her side.

Rogue hadn’t mentioned anything about being taken to the club. “He didn’t say anything.”

Sal chuckled, waving his hand as he peered across the yard. “That boy’s got so much going on, it probably slipped his mind.” Sal waved to the door. “Shall we?”

“Should I change or…” Quinn glanced down at her clothes. She hadn’t expected to leave the house, so she wore a pair of worn, ripped jeans and a band T-shirt. It wasn’t exactly proper attire for the Bowery.

“No, you’re perfect.”

This was odd, and she noticed the two men with Sal never so much as looked at her. Instead, they were focused on Aaron. The tension was evident, but Quinn couldn’t understand why. It was best at a time like this to do what Rogue said.

“Okay, let me just grab my bag.” She walked past Sal and through the house. She rushed upstairs, grabbed her bag, and checked her reflection in the mirror. It was casual at best.

She rushed down the stairs, meeting Sal, along with the other two men, in the foyer.

“Ready, honey?”

Honey? It was an outdated endearment that was in desperate need of a comeback.

Quinn nodded, following Sal out the front door. There was an SUV waiting with the door open.

“This is us,” Sal said and waved for her to get into the car. She stepped forward and looked back at Aaron. He seemed uneasy, and she offered a smile. His gaze drifted to Sal, then back to Quinn, and he smiled. It was forced.

Quinn should’ve questioned it. Unfortunately for her, she didn’t.

*

Oh heck!

How many times does one person have to be set up before they eventually smarten up and not take the bait? For Quinn, she hadn’t quite figured it out yet. She’d realized halfway to the location that she wasn’t being brought to Rogue. Something was definitely off. Her instincts had finally kicked in. A little too late, unfortunately.

Why me?

This was bad. A complete setup, and she’d fallen for it. Quinn had put too much faith in her safety with Rogue. There was a chance he didn’t know. However, she didn’t think much happened in the Underground without his knowledge. Was this her payback? He’d given no indication it was coming. Or maybe I just hadn’t seen it. Quinn may have had blinders when it came to Rogue. And this is where it got her.

Quinn was led through a parking lot to the back door of the club. The X-Lounge. She’d seen it before but had never been to it. Just as the security opened the door, a rumbling of engines sounded, and she glanced over to the left. Several motorcycles were pulling in with a distinct emblem on the back of their leather vests.

Killcreek Drifters MC.

Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she felt the blood slowly drain from her face. Quinn was a bit lightheaded and swayed side to side. She felt a hand grip her elbow, steadying her.

“Come on, honey. Inside.”

A wolf in sheep’s clothing. That’s who Sal was. Quinn jerked forward and away from his touch.

Sal held up his hands, smiling. “Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Oh, the irony . She was led to the elevator and said nothing as they went up. In the tight corners, it was impossible not to feel claustrophobic, especially suspecting what was on the other side of those doors. My demise. She drew in a breath that didn’t fully reach her lungs. Her heart raced, and she stared down at the floor. It was probably the nicest elevator she’d ever been in. Possibly her last memory.

When the doors opened, she was ushered to the balcony. It resembled the Bowery’s, though the setup was a bit different. Quinn stopped at the entrance, taking it all in.

“Killcreek is here,” one of the security team said, and walked past her along with the others.

Quinn peered down at the empty club and shivered. It had a vibe that made her uncomfortable. There were no witnesses. It was the perfect stage for her fateful disappearance. Who would bother looking for her?

Sal brushed his hand over her back, and she skittered forward, turning around to face him and another man.

“I did it again, didn’t I? I’m sorry.” Sal chuckled, holding up his hand, and then pointed at the man next to him. “This is Nash.”

She eyed the man standing beside Sal. He was younger, about mid-thirties. Handsome with dirty blond hair and dark brown eyes. Had she seen him on the street walking past her, she’d take a double look. But at the current moment, she couldn’t look away fast enough.

“Come have a seat, Quinn,” Nash said, leading her to a table in the center of the room. She followed him because did she really have another choice?

She eyed the long table. She hesitated on where to sit until Nash pointed to the chair next to the head of the table. It was closer than all the others. When she sat and moved to shift it, a hand clamped down on the back of the chair, and she glanced up.

“Don’t move it.” Nash said.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He gave a sharp nod, and she glanced around, noticing more security filing in just as Sal walked down the hallway. She leaned forward, staring at his back until another man came into her frame of sight. A chill ran down her spine as she watched him.

Quinn didn’t recognize him, but he was obviously the man in charge. It was all in the way he carried himself. It was also in the way everyone around him reacted to his presence. There was a strong aura of respect, and she wondered if she was supposed to stand as he approached the table.

He was older, definitely in his late forties, with thick salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard to match. He was tall, well over six feet, and stocky as if his muscles stretched against his expensive tailor-made suit. Handsome but unapproachable. The type of man people stared at from afar.

Her eyes widened as he got closer, clearly about to sit in the seat right beside her. She grabbed the chair and was tempted to scoot over until she made eye contact with Nash, who slowly shook his head. It was a direct order. She gripped the edge of the seat, driving her nails into the cushion, but made no attempt to adjust the position.

Her heart raced, and her breathing shallowed as she watched the man take the seat. It was strange for him to not look at her. It was, however, a brief godsend because when he sat and adjusted himself, he slowly turned, pinning her in his stare.

Oh shit.

“You’re not going to say a word until I tell you to,” he said.

It wasn’t a question. It was an order and one she’d follow. She slowly nodded, which seemed to appease him. He settled back in his chair, lit a cigar, and gestured to Nash.

“Bring in Killcreek,” he said.

Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she closed her eyes. So this is how it ends. It was the ultimate setup.

A few minutes later, the members of the MC walked in. It was a rough estimate, but it looked like about fifteen men. They didn’t outnumber security, but seemed equally matched, especially in stature. She carefully watched the two men leading the pack. It was easy to read the president and vice-president patches on their vests. Even if they hadn’t worn identifying markings, Quinn knew who they were. She’d made a point of doing her research on all the members of the club after the incident. From their names and position in the club down to their faces, she’d memorized it all. Know your enemy.

The president and VP pulled out their chairs and sat.

“Oz.”

What? Quinn stilled, keeping her eyes in front of her. I’m sitting next to Oz?

“Ace.”

Noticeably absent from the introductions was her own, though no one asked. A few members of Killcreek stared at her, but once the meeting started, everyone focused on Oz.

“We’ve gotten some new information on the Millshack crew.”

Cross, the VP, snorted and shared a look with Ace. “Ain’t nothing new unless those assholes have risen from the dead.”

Oz glanced over at her, and she immediately dropped her chin to her chest, staring down at the glass on the table. She focused on his drink. It resembled Rogue’s, and she assumed it was a whiskey or bourbon. The ice was melting, and the precipitation droplets slid down and saturated the table in a small puddle. She watched as if it was the most fascinating sight and wondered if it would be her last.

“You didn’t get them all,” Oz said, and her heart sank, knowing where this was going. Quinn peered up, gauging his reaction.

Ace furrowed his brows. His confusion was obvious, but he didn’t question Oz. Instead, he merely watched and listened, much like Quinn herself.

“It never drew up suspicions how that crew would have knowledge of a warehouse on Killcreek property where you stored product?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve been watched, Oz.” Ace smirked. “If I had to guess, you’d know that firsthand.”

Oz slowly nodded. “I do, and with my connections, it makes sense. However, Millshack’s crew wasn’t anything more than second level with no real ties to anyone in the higher ranks. That we knew of .” Just the way he said it sent a chill down her spine as if he’d pointed a finger directly at her. “I think if you reevaluate the situation, it’s evident this was a calculated attack. Millshack was incapable of that on their own. Don’t you think?”

Quinn peeked over at Ace. His demeanor had shifted. Oz was giving him thought for pause, which only put the truth closer to the surface. Her stomach twisted, and her throat tightened.

“You ever wonder how they gained access past your security?”

“Power failure.” Another member of Killcreek stepped forward.

“Impeccable timing for that.” Oz smirked and cocked his head, staring at the man. “It’s possible, but I have word it was an internal job, Cypher.”

Cypher lunged forward. “You got something to say to me, Oz?”

It was a bold move. From what Quinn knew of the Underground, no one ever questioned or gave pushback in Oz’s world. But Killcreek was different, wilder, volatile, and raw. It was a vision she could’ve done without.

“You’re good, Cypher.” Oz raised his brows and glanced over at Quinn. But not as good as me.

The tension thickened, and without looking, she could feel all eyes on her.

“What the fuck is going on, Oz?” Ace straightened in his seat, taking notice of Quinn.

This was not good.

“Millshack hired someone to hack into your security. They breached your systems, found a weak spot, and infiltrated your network. Once they knew it could be done, Millshack set up a day after tracking your schedule. Knew you’d be out of the house, and I assume they didn’t realize Knox had stayed behind.”

It was the perfect description and one she’d wished she’d known about ahead of time.

Oz turned to her. “Quinn.”

Oh my God, he’s going to make me say it? The blood drained from her face, and her throat tightened, making it almost difficult to breathe. She gave a subtle shake, and Oz’s gaze narrowed, forcing her to speak the truth.

Quinn drew in a breath, staring down at the center of the table. She didn’t have the guts to look Killcreek in the eyes.

“I was the one who shut down the security.” Her tone was almost robotic. It lacked all the heart, feeling, and guilt riddled throughout her mind and body.

The thunderous footsteps had her pushing back in her seat a few inches from the table. Four large bikers were coming toward her but never got closer than five feet, with Oz’s men coming from every side, blocking them. All the while, Oz was the epitome of calm. He wasn’t rattled by any of the chaos he’d caused. She watched as he brought his cigar to his lips, pulling strongly and slowly blowing out the smoke.

“Ace,” Oz said. “Control your brothers before my men are forced to do the job for you.”

She peeked up through her lashes and locked eyes with Ace’s harsh, hateful, dark glare. “I don’t know, Oz. This might be worth the fight.”

Quinn couldn’t recall a time she’d ever been on the receiving end of this kind of visceral hate. I deserve it.

“I don’t believe you’re willing to risk that.”

“Fucking try us.”

Oz smirked. “I’m willing to offer a deal.”

The men stepped back when Cross motioned to them. Even with more distance, she didn’t feel safe.

“What did you have in mind?” Ace asked.

“How much are you willing to pay?” Oz paused. “For her.”

Her stomach dropped.

Ace didn’t hesitate. “Fifty thousand.”

She gasped, and her heart pounded in her chest.

“For a fallen brother’s life? Seventy-five,” Oz countered.

There was a look shared between Ace and Cross that extended to the others as the room was drowned in silence.

“Seventy-five,” Ace agreed.

There was a long stretch of silence.

“Seventy-five thousand dollars,” Oz said. “Nash will get you the cash before you leave.”

Wait, what? When Quinn glanced up, the bikers seemed just as confused as her, with the exception of the President and VP.

“You’re going to pay us to let her live?” Ace folded his arms.

“Yes.”

What?

Cross scoffed. “And if we don’t take that deal?”

“Then you walk out with a seventy-five grand loss.” Oz grabbed his glass, eyeing Ace. “And no chance of retribution, considering she’s part of mine now. Under the protection of the Underground.”

“That a threat, Oz?”

“Threats are unnecessary. If you’re feeling lucky, give it a shot.” Oz paused, tapping the end of his cigar in the ashtray. “It would be unfair to not give you a warning. This one” —he pointed to Quinn— “she’s Rogue’s.”

Ace’s jaw squared. “Tell him to name a price.”

Shit.

Oz’s deep chuckle radiated through the room. “You misunderstood. Quinn is Rogue’s. What’s the Neanderthal phrase you love to use?” Oz arched his brow. “Ah, right, old lady .”

Ace’s brows furrowed, and his gaze jerked to Quinn.

“I don’t have to tell you how extremely territorial he is. You’ve seen it firsthand. And how unforgiving and unpredictable he is. As we all are. You come for her? And we’ll come for you. All of you.” Oz paused and glanced at the men with his dark gaze landing on Wraith. “How is Cleo? It would be a shame to see her suffer the same fate as her brother. Poetic, yes.” Oz hardened his gaze. “Tragic just the same.”

“I guess we’re done here,” Ace said and stood.

What? That was it? She shifted her gaze between Oz and Ace.

The men were halfway across the room when she blurted, “I’m so sorry.”

None of them reacted and kept moving toward the hallway.

“If I had known anyone would get hurt, I wouldn’t have done it. I swear.”

Ace stopped suddenly, glancing over his shoulder with a look that could only be described as controlled hate-fused rage. I deserve it.

“You really think I wanna hear one fucking word you say?” Ace’s snarl was a warning. “You’re sorry? Big fucking deal. It doesn’t change shit.”

It didn’t. Nothing she could say or do would bring Knox back.

Ace turned and walked out with all the members at his back. She slumped in her seat and felt the weight of Oz’s stare. When she looked over, he was impossible to read. No emotion in his eyes. Just stone-cold. Quinn shifted in her chair and swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Thank you.” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “For doing that.”

His gaze hardened, and a ripple of fear shot through her heart.

“I didn’t do it for you ,” Oz stood. He glanced over at Nash, gesturing to her. “Have Ridge take her back to Rogue’s.”

Nash nodded, and she watched Oz walk away.

She wouldn’t be able to fully breathe easy until she was back at Rogue’s. But there was an obvious shift in tension when Oz walked out.

“Quinn.”

She jerked her head to Nash, who waved her to follow him. She jumped up so quickly that she knocked into the table. Quinn rushed forward, following Nash toward the elevators. Unlike Rogue’s security who never paid much attention to her, she could feel Oz’s security staring. She hurried her steps, keeping her head down.

Get me the hell out of here!

****

Long fucking day.

Rogue attributed it to the four-hour drive to meet up for a transport of shipments going out later in the week. He could’ve sent Jared up to confirm the arrangement, but this specific dealer seemed to try and renegotiate the terms every time someone other than Rogue showed up. He didn’t pull that shit with me.

Rogue walked through the door to his house. It was dark and quiet, well after midnight. He hadn’t expected Quinn to still be awake, but her ass better be in his bed. He considered making himself a drink before heading up. But he found himself more eager to see her.

He bypassed the living room and headed upstairs. He stilled halfway, looking up at the second floor. It was open to the stairs, and he noticed his door was closed. He cocked his head, hearing a knocking sound or heavy steps, but they immediately stopped.

What the fuck?

Rogue walked to his bedroom and opened his door. It was pitch black aside from the moonlight shining through the open blinds. His gaze scanned the room. The covers were ruffled at the edge, with half hanging off the side.

Quinn was standing but bent over with her hands braced on the bed and her head hanging low.

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Rogue stalked into the room, and she straightened. Even in the dark, her eyes were wild, and her face flushed. Her hair was matted against her forehead and neck, and she was profusely sweating. As he got closer, he noticed her gasping for breath and pressing her hand against her breasts.

He gripped her arms, and her skin felt clammy.

“Are you sick?”

She shook her head, parted her lips, and croaked. “I-I can’t…” She tried to pull away, but he hooked his arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest.

It had been a long time, decades, since he’d seen the signs of a panic-induced attack—but he remembered. Her arms flayed, slapping into his leg, and she whispered, “I-I can’t breathe.”

Fuck.

Rogue tightened his hold over her waist with one arm and bound her arms with the other. He lifted her shuddering body and walked until his back bumped against the wall. He slid down to the floor while holding onto her. Not too tight but enough to restrain her. With Quinn nestled between his legs and his knees propped up, he was caging her in. He gently grasped her chin, forcing her head into the crook of his neck. Her heart was racing so fast against his arm that a shock of fear ripped through him.

He brushed his lips against her ear. “Breathe.”

She was gasping, unable to calm down. It was a worst-case scenario. She needed to settle. Rogue slid his thumb down her throat, caressing her softly, whispering, “In and out, deep breaths.”

She shook her head, and he pressed his lips against her temple. “Yeah, you can. Nice and slow, in and out, just breathe.”

Rogue wasn’t sure how long he sat with her on the floor. It seemed to take forever for her to settle and eventually take even breaths, then finally succumb to sleep. It was the best remedy for her to drift off. After what she’d just been through, her body and mind were exhausted.

He picked her up and steadily stood, carrying her over to the bed. After he set her down, he rounded the other side, undressed and got into the bed, pulling her back against his chest and yanking up the covers. He brushed the hair off her face. Her skin was still too warm for his liking, but she was in much better condition than what he’d walked in on.

That was probably the worst panic attack he’d ever seen. But not the first. Rogue rarely thought back in time. Not enough memories worth remembering. But some stuck out. It wasn’t often he’d ever get to play the hero in anyone’s life. Still, for a select few, he’d been a layer of protection, even from themselves.

Rogue settled down when he heard her soft snore.

Fucking finally.