Chapter Four

Thank God for the hoodie.

Quinn hugged the soft material close to her body and stood in the darkness of the bus stop rest area. Jacki had given her enough cash to take a car service, but that would’ve drained her money. She needed to preserve it. Quinn opted for the bus, which was cheaper. It wouldn’t drop her off directly in front of Dillon’s house, but the stop was only about a half mile out in Grove Mill.

She huddled closely to the glass in the enclosure, staring down the vacant street. Without any distractions, the same thought that’d plagued her mind for the last few hours popped up again.

She’d been considering reaching out to Rogue. It was a crazy idea. And risky. She’d heard the stories about him and the others in the Underground. Rogue was notoriously violent, unforgiving, and unpredictable. And he’d lived up to that reputation a few days ago.

It was best to stick with the plan and go to Dillon’s. Quinn didn’t trust him entirely, but her only other choice was to venture out on her own. Neither option was good. She’d have to throw caution to the wind and hope for the best. What other choice do I have?

Quinn drew in a breath, contemplating once again. How would she even go about getting in touch with Rogue? He wouldn’t be in the phone directory. It was a stupid thought, and she had to just stick with the plan to see Dillon. But still, the idea of talking directly to Rogue weighed on her mind. Maybe if she just explained everything? He obviously didn’t fully believe that she’d taken the money, or he would have shot her instead of Clay. Right? If she was willing, and she was, to pay the bounty along with the stolen money, why wouldn’t he accept it? It was a fair and plausible idea.

Decision made.

Quinn dug into her bag, pulled out her phone, and searched for the only place she could possibly think of to reach him. The Bowery was a club in downtown Lawry owned by Rogue. She’d heard of it but never been. Quinn had never really been anywhere. Clay’s idea of going out was leaving her in the apartment and meeting the guys at the bar or local strip club. Their relationship resembled more of roommates over the last couple of years.

How did she not see that? You did.

Quinn shook her head and snorted. “I did. And I put up with it.”

There was no one to blame but herself. Someday she’d analyze her relationships with Clay and all the men in her life. She’d work on finding the reason she’d been conditioned to rely so dependently on anyone. Especially those who weren’t very kind or respectful to her. She was a therapist’s dream patient. Years and years of abusive behavior at the hands of cruel and violent men. Quinn was the poster child for women on how not to live their lives. Her life should’ve come with a warning label.

“Stop,” she muttered and wiped her nose with her sleeve.

She opened the tab of the location, tapped the number for the phone, and held it up to her ear. Her nerves had her reeling, but she forced herself to take a deep breath, reminding herself that she could end the call at any time. Great! First, I ran, and now I’m thinking about hanging up on him? This was a bad idea.

“The Bowery.” The music in the background was so loud she had to press the phone against her ear.

“Um, hi, can I um…” She tapped her foot. “Can I speak with Rogue, please?”

The long stretch of silence was deafening.

“Who?”

“Rogue, the owner?”

Again, she was met with silence. He probably had a formal name that his employees knew him as, or maybe the club was just a ruse for him.

“Hold on.” The line went silent, and she waited.

Again, this is a bad idea.

“Hi, this is Sloane. How can I help you?”

Quinn froze for a brief second, reevaluating her decision to make the call. The idea of having him on the other end sent a shiver down her back. But? She’d already come this far. It was pointless to bail on this possible opportunity. It wasn’t as if he’d be standing in front of her. A formal face-to-face meeting with Rogue was the last thing she wanted. Once was enough.

“Hi, Sloane. My name is Quinn. I, uhhh…”

“That’s a pretty name.”

Quinn blinked and cocked her head. Sloane could’ve been feeding her bullshit, but what was the point? This woman had nothing to gain. Or did she? Quinn’s skewed view of the world had her second-guessing any nice gesture. She wasn’t accustomed to many compliments. “Uh, thank you.”

“How can I help you, Quinn?”

Quinn cleared her throat. “I wanted to speak with Rogue, if he’s available.”

She pressed the phone to her ear and waited for a response. For a brief second, she thought Sloane had hung up. That would be just her luck.

“He’s not in it at the moment, but I can take a message for you.”

Damn. Her shoulders sagged, and she stared down at the concrete. A message. How was she supposed to plead for her life in a relayed message? She obviously couldn’t give too many details that not only implicated him but her too. It was impossible. Quinn dragged her hand over her face. She should’ve hung up. She didn’t. Quinn recognized this could be the only chance she’d get.

“It’s a little confusing and a long story.”

That’s putting it mildly.

“I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Um, okay.” How the hell was she supposed to word this without giving too much away and still be able to get her message across to him? She swallowed the knot in her throat. “So, I was in a little accident and—”

“Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Quinn smiled. How long had it been since anyone asked her that? Focus, Quinn.

“But, um, my accident was with Rogue. It wasn’t completely my fault, but it wasn’t his either. And I’d like to make sure that I pay for all the, um…” Quinn paused, racking her brain, “Damages. I have some cash that I could give him immediately. It’s in my kitchen drawer, and it’s about two thousand dollars.”

For as much as she and Clay worked, they could never seem to keep hold of their cash. They had bills like everyone else. Being a numbers girl, she’d never understood why the finances didn’t add up. However, she didn’t have all the figures. Clay rarely shared about the jobs she worked. She should’ve asked more questions, demanded to be paid separately from Clay, and negotiated her own pay. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

“Have you called your insurance company?”

Quinn was caught off guard by the inquiry. And confused. Insurance company? Quinn scrunched her nose, scanning the street. What was Sloane talking about? Oh, of course…

“I don’t have insurance, but I’ll pay him.”

“Okay.”

“And can you just add that I’m going to pay the ten and twenty-five? He’ll understand, I think.”

“Okay, anything else?”

Last chance, Quinn. The idea Rogue would even consider making a deal with her after everything that had gone down was far-fetched. He’d not only had his money stolen, but he’d been lied to, and for her part, she’d run. It only made her look more guilty.

“Can you say that I’m sorry this all happened, and I just want to make it right?”

And save my life. It was far from perfect. No one woke up thinking they’d want to live her life. But it’s the only one I’ve got.

“Sure, but don’t be so hard on yourself. Accidents happen.”

Sometimes, I feel like my whole existence is just one big accident.

Quinn drew in a breath and nodded. She wasn’t sure Rogue would see it that way.

“So, I’ve got your name. I just need a number for him to call you back.”

Jacki’s warning replayed over in her mind.

“My phone only makes outgoing calls.”

It was a lie, and she suspected Sloane wouldn’t believe her. But she said it anyway. It was self-preservation. Speaking with Rogue had to be on her terms. Quinn wasn’t the best speaker, especially when she was nervous and negotiating for her life.

“Hmmm, okay, let me try and get in touch with him…”

“Can you do it now?” Quinn blurted. “I’m sorry, it’s just kind of urgent.”

My life is at stake.

“Yeah, call me back in ten minutes, okay?”

“Thanks, Sloane.”

“No problem. Let me track him down, and I’ll talk to you in ten minutes. Bye, Quinn.”

“Bye.” Quinn tapped the screen and took note of the time to call back. She shoved her phone in her pocket and felt a small weight lift.

Quinn had no idea how much money she’d be able to make. It was a discussion she planned on having with Dillon tonight. She closed her eyes and rested against the glass of the bus stop enclosure. She needed to sleep. My body isn’t meant to function without some type of rest. She doubted Dillon would offer her a place to stay, but if she could formulate a plan with him to earn the money, then she’d indulge and get a motel for the night.

Quinn’s eyes blinked open when she heard the thunderous roar of an engine. She angled her head and squinted at the bright lights approaching. They were too low to the ground to be a bus. She kept herself huddled in the corner of the enclosure, but the lights shined on her, and she turned her head, waiting for the car to pass. It was about twenty feet away when the brake lights beamed. The car stopped. The reverse lights came on, and the car backed up without urgency. It stopped directly in front of her, and the window rolled down.

“Q?”

Quinn cautiously straightened, eyeing the passenger. It was dark inside the car, but she did recognize his voice. Gavin. She’d met him a time or two with Clay. He didn’t work for Dillon, but she’d seen him at his house making a purchase. He’d never so much as said one word to her. Nobody really did.

“It’s Gavin.”

Quinn forced a smile and raised her hand to wave. “Hi.”

He opened the door and dropped his feet to the ground but didn’t get out of the car. “What’re you doing?”

“Just waiting for the bus. I’m going to Dillon’s.” She flattened her lips, silently cursing her name. She shouldn’t be giving any extra information out to anyone.

“No shit, so are we.” Gavin got out of the car and opened the back door. “Get in. We’ll give you a ride.”

Quinn eyed Gavin and the inside of the car. The interior light came on, but from her angle, she couldn’t make out the driver. It was probably best just to wait for the bus.

“The bus should be here any minute.”

Gavin laughed and glanced down the road. “Probably gonna be waiting out here for another fifteen minutes. They always run late, especially at night. Come on, get in.” He lifted his chin toward the door. “We can be at Dillon’s in ten.”

The offer was enticing. The quicker she got off the streets and to Dillon’s, the safer she’d feel. Quinn smiled and nodded, adjusted her backpack, and walked to the car.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem. Crazy, right? We weren’t even looking for you, but here you are.” His soft chuckle sent a shiver down her spine.

Why would they be looking for her?

Oh shit.

There could only be one reason these men would be looking for her. The bounty. As she was quickly learning, there was little honor in this life. She had little faith that if she pleaded with them, it would get her anywhere. They didn’t owe Quinn anything, and when they looked at her, they only saw twenty-five thousand dollars. Quinn had two choices. Fight or flight. It had been her mantra for most of her life.

Run!

Quinn jerked around, but Gavin must have sensed her next move. He reached out, grabbing her backpack. She had everything she owned and needed to survive in that bag. Giving it up would leave her with nothing —except my life . Quinn lowered her arms and wiggled out from the clutches of the backpack. She took off in the opposite direction of the car. Her feet pounded the pavement as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. The oversized shoes may have slowed her down, but her adrenaline was making up for it. She rounded the corner, almost losing her footing on the turn. She grabbed the street sign pole for balance and ran across the road.

Quinn was familiar with the area, but her panicked mind was working against her. She was losing her bearings on where to cut through. The last thing she needed was to get cornered in a fenced-in yard. Or one with a very protective and territorial dog.

Her breath was heavy, and without the streetlights to guide her way, she was having a hard time focusing. She was just at the end of the block when a dark figure stepped in her path. Quinn braced for impact, but it was too late. She slammed against him, knocking them both down to the ground.

“Fucking bitch,” he snapped, digging his fingers into her waist and flipping her over with so much force her head slammed against the sidewalk. A shooting pain shot through her neck and down to her shoulders. Quinn gasped but continued to struggle. She clawed at his face and got him across the cheek.

His howled cry was enough to give her time to get up and turn, but he grabbed the back of her hoodie and spun her around. She did the same move she had with the backpack. Quinn reached for the zipper, yanked it down, and let him pull it off her. She tripped and almost fell again but scrambled to her feet.

She only got four feet away.

His arms wrapped around her stomach, taking her to the ground. Quinn turned her head and felt her cheek slam against the rough concrete. She called out, and her mind went hazy. Between cracking her skull and now her face, she became disoriented. Her vision blurred. He had her arms bound by her sides, and she tried to scream, but the roaring engine coming from down the road drowned out her voice.

His weight lifted off her, and she sucked in a breath. Maybe she could…

Nope.

His hand wrapped around her ankle, and he started dragging her a few feet just as the car stopped beside them. Her cheek, chest, and hands scraped against the coarse sidewalk, and she clenched her teeth, fighting against the burning sensation. One second, she was on the ground, and the next his hand tightened on the back of her neck, squeezing. She lifted her shoulders to counteract the pain. She was so focused on finding any relief she didn’t even see his fist coming straight for her temple.

Quinn had been in fights before. All one-sided. She’d taken a fist, a kick, and a backhand. But never this severe and painful. Her ears started to ring, and she barely heard the voices in the background.

“Bro, don’t fucking kill her. Probably won’t be able to collect on a dead body.”

There it was. What she’d suspected from the beginning. She was vaguely aware of her surroundings when she was shoved into the backseat. She fell forward and felt him push her closer to the opposite door.

“Give me the zip ties!” Gavin shouted, then aggressively pulled her hair, forcing her to sit up. She was still in a heavy daze but conscious enough to feel the sharp-edged plastic binding her wrists together. He tightened it to the point of aching discomfort and immobility.

“We got her. Now what? How do we get in touch with them?” the driver asked.

“Hadn’t gotten that far yet, asshole. Fuck.” His heavy breathing was almost soothing. She was comforted knowing he was in a panic.

“Let me make a call to…” The name was mumbled, and she couldn’t make out who he was saying. Gavin slammed the door behind him, and a few seconds later she heard the car door open again. She pried her eyes open slightly and watched him get in the passenger seat.

“Head toward Grove Mill.”

Quinn closed her eyes, resting her head back. It was time to accept her fate.

I have no fight left in me.

****

“Oh, fuck.” The muttering on the opposite side of the door sounded panicked.

This is the shit I get off on.

Rogue smirked, eyeing the battered and chipped wood door. This place was shit, but he wasn’t surprised, considering the owner. Dillon may have worked his way up the ranks when it came to small dealers, but he hadn’t invested in his business. Or his fucking house. Rogue twisted his lips, sneering at his surroundings. A rundown, inconspicuous, one-level home centered between a big city and a small town. The acreage surrounding the property only added value, along with the possibilities. The potential was there, but Dillon didn’t have the drive. It was the main reason he and Trey limited their business dealings with him. Drug sales and transfers weren’t rocket science, and it was like any other legitimate business. It was what you put into it. Sal had taught him that. There weren’t any free rides in life, and more importantly, in the Underground. It was part of the reward. Every penny made was earned.

But not with Dillon.

Rogue glanced over the decaying porch and its old, weathered furniture with stained cushions and burn marks.

Motherfucking idiot.

Rogue didn’t bother waiting for security to step in. He raised his leg, bent his knee, and kicked against the door. There was barely any resistance, and the door flew open, slamming into a guy and knocking him to the floor. He groaned in pain and covered his face. Seconds later, blood streamed through the spaces between his fingers. Get the fuck up, pussy. Rogue stepped over him without an acknowledgment.

The interior wasn’t much better than the exterior. Rogue knew how much cash Dillon brought in through bigger sales and side customers, who delved into recreational use. He made enough to cover all his expenses with a hefty profit. Hire a fucking cleaning service, you degenerate piece of shit.

Dillon came racing through the doorway from the back of the house. “What the…” He stilled and then stepped back, clearly surprised by their arrival. “What’s going on?”

Rogue raised his brows. “You tell me, motherfucker.”

He really did get off on fear. Pale skin, stuttering vocabulary, and a desperate haze in the eyes. They were tell-tale signs. Some were harder to read than others. Skilled dealers or those who’d been in the life for years, could cleverly mask it. Not from Rogue, though. He saw through them all. Dillon’s fear was easy to read. So simple Rogue could smell it.

Dillon held up his hands. “Rogue, I don’t know…”

He rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck, and balled his fists. It was an intimidating move that Dillon fell for.

“Yeah, you do. You got something that belongs to me, and” —Rogue lifted his cuff, taking in the time— “ she’ll be here in forty minutes.”

Dillon’s face paled, and his throat bobbed. Rogue tightened his lips, concealing his triumphant smile. Yeah, motherfucker.

Rogue walked farther into the living room and spread out his arms. “You gonna offer us a drink or what?”

Dillon shifted his nervous gaze between Rogue and Trey, who sidled up next to him. Rogue didn’t have to look to know his security team guarded his back. They’d brought eight men. It was enough to secure the perimeter of the property and protect him and Trey.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you want.” Dillon hooked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing behind him. “I got some beers out back.”

Beer? What the fuck? Rogue twisted his lips and sneered, showing Dillon his disgust. What fucking grown man over the age of twenty-five drank beer? Whiskey, scotch, and bourbon. But fucking beer? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk the watered-down piss-poor excuse for alcohol.

“What are you fucking twenty, throwing a keg party?” Rogue scoffed, shaking his head. “Beer.”

“I can send my guy out…”

Fucking idiot!

Rogue lifted his chin, gesturing to the hallway, and followed Dillon into the back room along with Trey, Jared, and another member of security. Dillon’s office was nothing more than a large room with blacked-out windows, a table, chair and wall-to-wall cabinets. Product. It was contained but not secure. Dillon dealt mostly with weed and pills but had been venturing out in powder the last few months.

“Where’s your security?” Trey asked, obviously on the same page as Rogue. They always were.

“I got cameras.”

Rogue shared a look with Trey. They were equally unimpressed. Dillon walked deeper into the room, giving them a tour of sorts. Two minutes in and Rogue was bored. In fairness, there wasn’t much in life that held his interest longer than thirty minutes.

Rogue glanced back at Trey, who was staring down at his phone, knitting his brows. His phone had rang several times, which Trey had ignored, but whatever he was reading now had clearly piqued his interest.

“Fucking problem?”

Trey glanced up, gestured toward the door, and started out. Rogue followed, glancing over at Jared and lowering his chin. It was a direct order to stay behind and watch Dillon and his men. Rogue didn’t think they had the balls to try anything, but crazier things had happened. If he’d learned anything in his years in the Underground, he knew better than to trust any one.

Trey walked out onto the three-season porch and waited for Rogue to close the door before he tapped the screen of his phone. Trey glanced up with the phone to his ear.

“Sloane called.” Trey raised his brows. “Seven times. Her text said it’s urgent.”

The bane of my fucking existence.

“Oh, for Christ fucking sake,” Rogue snapped, shaking his head as he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Urgent? What? The ice maker break?”

Trey sighed, giving a small shrug. Trey had a lot more patience for Sloane.

“The last thing this night needs is fucking Sloane Baxter. I can’t believe you’re gonna entertain her bullshit, Trey.” Rogue grabbed his hips. They had more going on than Sloane could even comprehend. This woman would go down as the biggest pain in his ass he’d ever come across.

“Sloane?” Trey said. “What’s so urgent?”

Rogue sighed, scowling at Trey. His partner quickly glanced up. “The call came in through the club?”

Rogue couldn’t hear Sloane, but he watched Trey’s features shift from annoyed to concerned. His brows dipped tightly, and his eyes squinted.

“And she was asking for Rogue directly?”

Who was asking for him?

Trey nodded. “And the name?”

Trey drew in a breath. “I’m gonna put Rogue on the line, and you’re going to tell him exactly what you just told me.”

Trey dropped the phone to his side and lowered his voice. “Sloane said a call came into the main line at the Bowery. They connected it to Sloane since they’d never gotten a call on the club’s line asking for you. She offered to take a message and a number, but the woman refused to give a number and asked when you’d be available. And she said it was urgent.” Trey paused. “The caller’s name was Quinn.”

Rogue stilled, staring back at Trey. This was the last thing he’d expected. If anything, he’d assumed Dillon would eventually reach out, but not her directly. She was doing something most people wouldn’t. Quinn was surprising him at every turn. Without further hesitation, Rogue waved his hand, and Trey passed the phone.

“Tell me everything she said.”

“Oh hey, Rogue, how are you?”

Rogue tightened his hand over the phone, clenched his teeth, and sent a harsh glare at Trey. He wasn’t the intended target. If he could jump through the phone and strangle Sloane, he would.

“Still there?” she asked.

“Yeah, Sloane, I’m still fucking here, and it’s lucky for you ’cause if I was there , I’d fire your fucking ass. Now shut the fuck up, don’t ask me stupid questions, and tell me what she said.”

“Oh sure, okay.” Her chipper tone grated on his last nerve. “So, her call was forwarded to me, and she asked for you. I said you were unavailable and offered to take a message. Her name is Quinn, but she didn’t give a last name. She said it was kind of urgent. I didn’t know you got into a car accident.”

“Sloane…” Rogue growled.

“Oh right, uh yeah, she said that the accident wasn’t necessarily her fault, but she understands that there were damages, and she wants to pay you for everything she owes. And then she said something about having two thousand in cash in her kitchen? I told her you both needed to go through insurance. I mean, isn’t that why we all pay so much to have it in the first place?”

Rogue tightened his grip on the receiver. Why can’t this fucking woman do anything without her own damn commentary? Rogue drove his hand through his hair.

“She did say something that was kind of cryptic that I didn’t understand.”

“What?” Rogue gritted his teeth.

“Well, after she explained the accident and the money in her kitchen, she said she knew it wasn’t enough, but she wanted to pay all of it. The ten and the twenty-five? Does that make sense to you?”

The money that was stolen and the bounty on her head. She was bargaining for her life.

“She say anything else?”

“When I asked for her number, she said her phone only made outgoing calls. I told her to call me back in ten minutes and kept trying Trey but couldn’t get ahold of him until now.”

“She call back?” Rogue asked.

“No, but there’s one other thing she said.”

Rogue sighed heavily and snapped. “What?”

“She said to tell you she was sorry that the accident happened, and she just wants to make it right.”

Make it right.

Rogue sighed. “Is that everything?”

“Yes. Do you want me to—”

Rogue hung up without letting Sloane finish. He circled the porch, looking out the window. It was complete darkness.

“She told Sloane she wants to pay the ten and the twenty-five. Mentioned two grand in her kitchen drawer.”

“Really?” Trey arched his brow. “I think that confirms there’s a good chance she doesn’t know about the sixty-four thousand. She’s running scared, Rogue. Thinking she’d give that up if she knew about it.”

It was his thought exactly.

Rogue took a drag of his cigarette. “How the hell could she not know about that cash?”

Trey drew in a breath and turned to Rogue. “Probably the same reason she had no idea she was being set up at the warehouse. Same reason she seemed completely caught off guard when Clay said to shoot her in the face.”

Betrayal had a distinct look, and Quinn had worn it the other night. It was all in the eyes. The gateway to the soul. Sal used that phrase from the first day they met him. “Watch their actions. Listen to what they say and how they say it. But most importantly, look them in the eye, you’ll find out everything you need to know.”

“So, what are we going to do? She’s bargaining for her life,” Trey said. “Are you going to let her?”

Fuck!

“Sir?”

Rogue turned to Jared, who was standing in the doorway.

“What?”

“Dillon just received a call. It’s about Quinn.”

Rogue tossed his cigarette on the floor and charged past Trey and Jared, storming into the office where Dillon was standing in the corner with his phone in his hand.

“Just got a call from an associate of mine. They usually buy small amounts and sell recreationally. He runs with Moore’s crew. The guy, Gavin, was asking how to get in touch with the Underground. I thought he was bullshitting me, but he said he heard about Q and figured I would know. He and a buddy picked her up at a bus stop in Lawry.”

Trey stepped up. “Did you tell him we’re here?”

Dillon shook his head, eyeing both men. “No, just said to bring her over, and I’ll make the call.”

Rogue pulled out a cigarette, and before he could light it, Dillon’s sidekick cleared his throat, gaining his attention.

“We don’t smoke in here. Contaminates the product.”

Rogue straightened to full height, glaring at the man. Dillon rushed to his side and snapped, “Shut the fuck up, Brian.” Dillon glanced over at Rogue. “You can smoke wherever you want.”

Rogue scoffed and looked back at Trey, who was openly glaring at both men. Rogue turned back around and laughed while lighting the cigarette. “Asshole, I don’t need your permission for anything.” Rogue stalked toward them, and they visibly shuddered. “I can burn this fucking house down, and neither one of you assholes will say a word, will you?”

They shook their heads in unison.

That’s fucking right.

Dillon pushed the other man to the side and rounded his desk, taking a seat.

“Uh, good news. Recovered the missing ten grand.” Dillon opened a drawer and pulled out a stack of hundreds, laying them on the desk.

“Well, that’s fucking convenient.” Rogue took a drag from his cigarette, eyeing the money. “Where?”

“A gas station bathroom about fifteen miles up the road. Had a few of my crew searching them and convenience store bathrooms. It’s not an original idea. Seen it done a few times, so they knew where to look. They hid it in the toilet paper dispenser. They must’ve stopped off during the run.”

“Did she know?” Rogue asked, already knowing the answer.

“Probably not.” Dillon sighed, clasping his hands. “They all left at the same time, but they drove separately. Bikes are faster than Quinn’s beater, and carrying cash like that, you can bet she wouldn’t break any speed limits. It’s enough time for Clay or Glenn to swing in, make the drop, and roll in the same time as Q. Then Clay takes the cash from her bag and replaces it in the short bag.”

Trey circled around the desk. “Why? This is his woman. Why would he set her up?”

Dillon shrugged. “You’d have to ask her.”

Rogue stalked toward Dillon. “We’re asking you, motherfucker.”

Dillon jumped in his seat and held up his hands. “Clay was an asshole. He wasn’t good to her. Everyone could see that. Q put up with a lot more shit than most women would, but I don’t know why he’d set her up. Guess she’d served her purpose, and he was done with her.”

That was an interesting statement.

“And what purpose would that be?” Rogue asked.

Dillon clamped his lips and darted his gaze between him and Trey. He’d slipped, and he knew it. Dillon definitely knew more than he was letting on. Rogue was prepared to push for more information, but Trey shifted the conversation.

“How long have you known Quinn?” Trey asked.

Dillon shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. “About five years, I guess. She came in around the same time Clay started working for me.”

“Do you know her background?” Trey asked.

“Never asked. She’s just….”

This was where Trey shined. In full control, able to get all the answers and conduct a mindfuck flawlessly.

“Just what?” Trey asked.

Rogue shifted his gaze to Dillon.

“Quiet. Never said much. Only came around with Clay.”

“She’s smart as fuck.” Brian laughed and looked over at Dillon.

Rogue watched the exchange. There was something off. Dillon tensed and scowled at the other man, forcing him to look away.

“So fucking smart, she hooks up with an asshole who sells her out for ten grand and offers her up as a sacrificial lamb.” Rogue looked between both men. “Does that sound fucking smart to you?”

Brian shook his head. “I just meant with like comp—”

Dillon jumped up from his chair, rushed forward, and pointed to the door. “Would you do your fucking job and go wait for them to bring her inside, asshole?”

Brian walked out, and Rogue shared a look with Trey. They were definitely missing something, and Dillon wasn’t leaving until they found out. He watched as Dillon rounded the makeshift desk and sat down. The man gripped the arm rails so tightly his knuckles whitened.

“Tell us what you know about her,” Trey said.

“Not much.”

Not fucking good enough. Rogue slowly rounded Dillon’s desk. Rogue grabbed him by the back of his neck, squeezed, then slammed his cheek against the wood. The cracking echo rang through the room, as did the Dillon’s groan. Rogue yanked him back in his chair and bent down to eye level. A stream of blood was across Dillon’s face, dripping from his nose.

“Motherfucker, you’re gonna have to do better than not much .”

“She came in with Clay about five years ago. That’s all I know, I swear.”

Bullshit! “What does she do for you?”

“Runner.”

“What else?” Rogue growled, and when Dillon hesitated, Rogue slammed his head down against the wood desk again and yanked him back. His nose was bleeding, and his eyes were slightly dazed. “If I got to ask again, you’re not getting up next time.”

Dillon immediately put his hands up. “And some number crunching. Some computer stuff.”

Now, they were getting somewhere. It seemed Nash’s intel had been on point.

“You pay her for that?” Trey narrowed his gaze. “Or did you pay Clay?”

Dillon shifted his gaze between him and Trey. “They came in together. Clay said he’d handle all the money. Never heard any objections from Q.”

Did you fucking ask her, asshole?

“She make more than him?” Trey asked.

“Sometimes.”

Fucking liar. All the time. Rogue was slowly piecing together Quinn’s relationship with Clay. And I don’t fucking like it. From the sound of it, Clay had been using her for a long time for his own gain. Rogue released Dillon, stepped back and cupped his mouth, sharing a look with Trey. Dillon wasn’t giving them everything, and his reasoning behind helping Quinn wasn’t clear. Rogue was prepared to put more pressure on him, he never got the chance.

The loud, rushed footsteps coming from down the hall got his attention, and Rogue glanced at the doorway. Dillon’s guy Brian grabbed the molding, seemingly out of breath with his face paled.

“Uh, Dillon, man, they’re here, but, uh” —he paused— “fuck, man, Q don’t look so good.”

Rogue didn’t bother waiting for Trey or Jared. He stalked out of the room in the direction of the front of the house. He breached the door and noticed three members of his security forming a semi-circle blocking two men. He almost missed what they were seemingly protecting.

Quinn stood silently in the corner with her head bowed. Her hands were clasped, and her arms shielded the obvious gape in her shirt. He noticed her arms scraped up, her clothes were filthy, and she shook slightly. The temperature had dropped significantly since the sun went down, and she wasn’t dressed for the elements.

“Fuck, Gavin,” Dillon muttered with a sigh, running his hands through his hair. “What the fuck did you do to her?”

“She ran. Did what we had to do.” Gavin paused and smiled over at Quinn. “Don’t let her size fool you. She’s a fighter. Clawed my face.”

Rogue slowly glanced over at Quinn. His view was skewed by her hair shielding most of her face, but there was no missing the beading of blood on her cheek. Rogue started across the room and stopped in front of her. She never looked up but had to be aware of his presence. He usually took great joy in watching people physically frozen in fear from his presence. This time, it didn’t hit the same way.

He grabbed her jaw, forcing her to look up. His fingers dug into her skin, and she winced. He immediately loosened his hold, scanning her face. Fuck, they worked her over. She had a gash on her forehead and chin, swelling on her left cheekbone, and most notably, a large section of her cheek had been scraped with small beads of blood forming. Her gaze was cast down, but her eyes were puffy as if she’d been crying. Considering her condition, he didn’t doubt it.

It was a far cry from the girl he’d seen at the warehouse a few days ago. A bubbling heat raced through his veins. Some might have viewed it as possession. In a sense, it was. Rogue owned Quinn. They damaged his property, and someone was going to pay.

Rogue released her but stayed in front of her, eyeing her clothes. Cheap, used, and currently dirty and bloodied. He ignored the pungent scent, most likely from her injuries and sweat. A fucking wreck. Rogue looked over at the two guys, hardening his glare.

“This your fucking handy work?”

Gavin stepped forward. “Did what we had to do.”

Even if Quinn had made a run for it and put up a fight, they’d used excessive force. Both men outweighed her by at least one hundred pounds. They weren’t evenly matched. This showed all the signs of a power grab. It was a move Rogue could usually respect. Not this fucking time. Not with her.

Rogue narrowed his gaze, pointed to Quinn, and pinned his stare on both men. “This is my property. And you damaged my fucking property.”

Gavin furrowed his brows and looked at Quinn. “I mean, she ran.”

Rogue was quickly losing his patience. “Why does her face look like that?”

“Like what?” Gavin asked.

Rogue jerked his head, scowling. “Like you took a fucking cheese grater to it, asshole.”

“Uh.” Gavin looked over at his friend. “That’s probably road rash from dragging her to the car.”

Rogue started to turn, and for the first time, noticed the tight binding around her wrists. He furrowed his brows, grabbed her forearm, and turned her slightly.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Zip ties.”

Rogue ground his teeth, scowling. “You have zip ties readily available to bind a girl? Yeah, that doesn’t scream psycho at all.” He glanced over at Jared and gestured to Quinn. “Cut her loose.”

Rogue drew in a breath, folded his arms, and stared at the two men. They’d delivered a beating to Quinn that was fit for a man. Rogue had no aversion to violence. But he did have boundaries. And they’d crossed his with Quinn. Now, they’d suffer the consequences of their actions.

“Why are her clothes torn?” Trey’s calm voice masked his fury, but Rogue could hear it.

The guy snorted and held up his hands. “We didn’t fuck her, man.”

Rogue clenched his jaw and rolled his neck. That better be fucking true.

Trey took off his jacket and circled around Quinn. When he was a few inches behind her, she scooted forward.

“I don’t want to get blood on your jacket,” she whispered.

Trey glanced up at Rogue and arched his brow. Rogue knew the look. It was a silent scolding, reminding Rogue that this could’ve been avoided had he not put a bounty on her. Someone like Quinn would’ve been caught eventually. It was a reckless move. He rarely felt an ounce of guilt over any of his actions. They were all warranted, but seeing her now didn’t sit right with him. Rogue dragged his hand down his mouth, eyeing her. He didn’t remember her being this small or fragile.

Fuck!

Trey put his jacket over her shoulders and stilled, knitting his brows.

“Doc?” Trey asked, and a member of security weaved between the others, making his way over. Trey pointed to the back of her head, and Doc leaned closer, brushing her hair apart.

“That's a pretty deep gash. She’s probably gonna need staples to close that up.”

Rogue was at his boiling point. While violence was nothing new for him, and he could appreciate the tactical move, it was unnecessary against a woman. Especially this one. It was time for a little retribution. Underground style.

Rogue glanced over his shoulder to Dillon. “Do you have a basement?”

“Yeah.”

“Finished or unfinished?”

Dillon widened his eyes. “Uh, unfinished. Cinder block and cement floor.”

Rogue smiled, eyeing the two men who seemed oblivious to his line of questioning. They were just waiting on their payout.

“Fucking perfect.”

It would be the easiest to clean.