Chapter Eight

Quinn sat in the center of the couch, peering around the living room. It was nicer than any place she’d ever lived. Everything from the furniture to the art on the walls screamed money. All the appliances were state of the art. As of this morning she still hadn’t figured out how to use the ice maker. It was only a one-bedroom apartment, but all the rooms were massive.

She tapped her foot on the floor and glanced over at the clock—6:36am. Quinn had already been awake for two hours. She’d showered, dressed, ate breakfast, and was left playing the waiting game. She naturally assumed Aaron would come to get her again, and this time she wanted to be ready to go. But she had no idea when that might be. No one mentioned it to her when she was dropped off at the Tower the previous night.

In fact, no one said a word to her at all. Not the driver, not the two men she passed walking into the building. Hell, the guy in the elevator refused to look at her. The alienation was weighing on her.

It didn’t take her long to realize she was the only occupant on the floor. It was probably the reason she had a hard time falling asleep. It was too quiet. Quinn had lived her whole life in a state of chaos. This was new territory for her. While she should’ve welcomed the retreat, she didn’t.

Quinn sighed, looking over at the clock again. Only three minutes had passed. She could’ve stayed in the apartment and waited, but boredom usually bred the devil’s work. At least, that’s what her father would say. She peered around the room. There wasn’t anything to occupy her time. She’d already unpacked her clothes into the dresser and closet in the bedroom. Aside from a few sketchbooks, she didn’t own much.

At this point, she was wasting time when she could’ve been working off her debt. I should be proactive. Technically, she wasn’t breaking any rules. She hadn’t been told to stay at the apartment. Right?

It took her about forty minutes to walk across town to the Bowery. She could have taken a car service or the bus. She had the money from the drawing, but she needed to buy some clothes, and she had one other debt she needed to pay back.

She arrived just before seven-thirty to an empty parking lot. Quinn had no idea what time the club opened for the day or when Rogue would be in, but she’d show initiative and be there ready to work.

After only five minutes of waiting, a scooter pulled into the driveway and rounded the side of the building, parking near the dumpster. Quinn had seen some around the city before but never one with such a bright color. She watched as the rider got off and removed the helmet. Nothing surprised her more than to see a woman. She tucked her helmet under her arm and started to the back door where Quinn was waiting.

“Hi there!”

Quinn lifted her hand, giving a short wave.

“Can I help you?”

“Um, I hope so. My name is Quinn. I’m—”

“The girl from the phone?” The woman rushed closer with a smile. She pressed her hand against her chest. “I’m Sloane. I took the message.”

Her voice clicked in Quinn’s memory, and she smiled, offering her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. Did you get everything squared away with Rogue?”

“I think so.” That was still up for debate, but she wouldn’t get into it now. Quinn glanced back at the door and hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m starting work today, but I didn’t know what time I start.”

“Oh, I didn’t know.” She paused, cocking her head. “Did Trey hire you directly?”

Oh, this was a predicament . Quinn knew enough to never openly speak about the Underground or any business connected with strangers or around them.

“Trey and Rogue, actually.”

Her brows shot up to her hairline. “Oh, okay. What position were you hired for?”

Quinn bit her lip. “I’m not sure that I’ll actually work at the club.”

Sloane blinked, clearly confused.

“I mean, maybe I will.”

Sloane offered an awkward smile and nodded. “Okay, no problem. Why don’t you come in, and you can wait until they arrive.” She opened the door and gestured to Quinn. She walked in and stepped to the side, waiting for Sloane to take the lead. They walked down the hall and into an office on the right.

“I don’t know what time Trey and Rogue will be in. Usually, it’s just me and Dahlia here in the mornings and afternoon. But she’s off today.”

Quinn remained silent as Sloane dropped her bag on the desk.

“What can I do?” Quinn asked.

“You don’t have to…”

“I’d really like to. I’m here. I might as well help.”

“There’s a list in the break room of opening duties. If you want to pick something, that would be great. I know the incoming staff would appreciate it.”

That was just the direction she needed. It was time to start working off her debt to Rogue.

*

Quinn looked down at her watch, noting the time. She’d only been gone from the club for about thirty minutes, but she’d gotten a lot done. She made her first stop at Jacki’s house and returned the cash she’d loaned Quinn. She thought about knocking on the door but opted to shove the cash in an envelope and leave it in her mailbox. She was lucky to catch the bus in time and went shopping. Neither task was necessarily exciting, but it was a small taste of freedom. She just had to make sure she didn’t take longer than an hour.

Leaving hadn’t been her idea, and she would’ve been happy to work for another few hours, but Sloane insisted on her taking a dinner break. She mentioned something about labor laws. Quinn neglected to mention that somehow those wouldn’t apply to her.

Sloane also insisted she took an extra phone when Quinn mentioned she didn’t have hers. Quinn didn’t give a reason, and Slone never asked. Initially, she’d tried to refuse, knowing Rogue would probably be upset. Aaron’s words replayed in her head. But Sloane was pushy, shoving it in her hand and said it was for safety reasons. As long as Rogue never found out, where was the harm?

Quinn still had no idea what Rogue’s intentions were for her. He was impossible to figure out. She wasn’t sure why she was trying. She quickly learned that dealing with Rogue was less like a game of chess and more like a ping-pong match. Her head was forever spinning.

Her feelings were a little more complex, but she refused to dive too much into the sexual attraction of it all. It was sadistic. How on earth could she be attracted to a man who had threatened her with bodily harm and death? That was insane, but still, it was there. There was something so powerful about him. His confidence crossed the line into arrogance, and she was pretty sure he was a textbook narcissist. None of which were redeeming qualities. But there were small inconsistencies. The carefully crafted nice gestures. They’d go overlooked by most people, but she saw them as if spotlighted for her eyes only.

Quinn’s stomach rumbled as she passed an eatery. She stopped mid-step, glancing through the window. It was definitely a bar, but from the smell spilling onto the sidewalk, they served food, too. Eating at any type of restaurant wasn’t something Quinn did often. Clay had never been into anything other than fast food and constantly complained about wasting money. Oh, the irony .

Quinn still had a little over one hundred dollars in her pocket. She’d gotten some good finds at the thrift shop and planned on saving the rest. But this was an indulgence she hadn’t had often. Without Clay, she could spend her money freely. What was one meal?

She backtracked toward the door but jerked her head when she heard a rumbling engine pull up to the curb. Bikers were prevalent in Lawry. Quinn didn’t have much knowledge about the biker life in the city, but as she passed, she snuck a peek at the back of his vest. She’d heard of Ghosttown East MC. When the older biker glanced over, she immediately dropped her chin to her chest and walked to the door of the bar. She grabbed the handle but was caught completely off guard when the door swung open. Unfortunately for Quinn, she was still holding on. She stumbled forward, inches away from knocking into a woman twice her age.

“No rush, sweetheart. The food’s not that good here.”

Quinn chuckled, feeling the heat rise on her cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No damage. It’s all good.”

Quinn smiled at the woman and immediately shifted to the side to allow her to pass. The woman glanced over to the bar.

“Triple count the closing cash, Brax. If you fuck up, I’m gonna have your ass tomorrow.”

“Got it, Gee,” the bartender said, and the woman walked out.

Quinn watched her through the cloudy window. The woman sauntered to the motorcycle and kissed the biker. His arm wove around her waist, his hand landing on her ass. The sight made her smile. They were probably old enough to be her parents. The biker? Maybe her grandfather. But they clearly had something special. Quinn watched until they took off, then made her way to the bar.

There were three older men at the opposite end of the bar, and a woman, probably in her late thirties, seated and looking down at her phone. Quinn climbed up on the stool and smiled at the bartender making his way toward her.

“How’s it goin’?”

“It’s going good. Thanks.”

“What can I get you?”

Quinn grabbed the dingy menu between the napkin dispenser and the salt and pepper holder. It was simple, with only a few items. It didn’t matter. They had what she was craving.

“Can I have a cheeseburger, medium with lettuce, tomato, onion, and mayo, with a side of well-done fries, please?”

He nodded with a smile. He was younger than her, maybe in his early twenties. Good looking, but almost in a way he hadn’t realized it yet.

“Anything to drink?”

“Um…” Quinn scanned the bar. “Anything on tap.”

“Just need to see some ID.”

Quinn dug into her back pocket. Getting carded was nothing new for her. At twenty-six, her face hadn’t caught up to her birth certificate. She didn’t wear much makeup, and her clothes weren’t fashionable. The irony of it all was Quinn would’ve loved to wear beautiful clothes and a face full of makeup, totally embracing her girly side. But her funds wouldn’t allow for it. Neither would Clay, calling it frivolous.

Quinn pulled out her cash. Not that pocket. She reached for the opposite one and stilled. Shit. She’d only grabbed her cash, not bothering with her pocketbook, which was where her driver’s license was. Dammit .

“I left it at work.”

The bartender flattened his lips. “Can’t serve you without ID. We could lose our license.”

It was understandable, and Quinn wouldn’t argue. It didn’t mean the woman two stools down wouldn’t.

“Braxton, sweetheart, get the girl her beer.”

Quinn looked over at the woman. She’d placed the phone on the bar and grabbed her glass, sipping what looked like a margarita.

“I need ID. It’s the rules.”

The woman scoffed, rolled her eyes, and glanced at Quinn with a soft smile. To say she was beautiful would’ve been an understatement. She had a softness about her features and a patch of freckles across her nose and cheeks usually only seen on children. Her long strawberry blonde hair hung past her shoulders in loose waves. The corners of her eyes creased, and her mouth was more pronounced with faint wrinkles. Laugh lines.

“Isn’t he adorable?” she said, then winked at the bartender.

Quinn muffled her laugh. She wasn’t one to take part in mocking anyone, but the woman’s playful teasing didn’t seem to offend the young bartender. While he tried to hold tight to his sharp scowl, a smile broke through. They obviously knew one another.

“I don’t want to get fired, Elle.”

That was the last thing Quinn wanted, too. She raised her hand, gaining their attention.

“I’ll just have a soda. That’s fine.”

The woman tapped the bar. “And while you’re getting her soda, grab me a beer.” She smirked. “Whatever you have on tap.”

Braxton lost his smile and cocked his head to the side.

“Elle.”

She held up her finger. “Don’t make me tell Ernie you refused to serve me. I believe he has a little bit of a crush on me. And from what I hear, he’s not the only one.”

Braxton blushed and grabbed a glass, filled it, and pulled out a napkin, placing the glass down on the bar in front of the woman. Then he served Quinn her soda and walked toward the kitchen.

The woman grabbed the beer, sliding it down in front of Quinn.

“Thank you.”

The woman winked and grabbed her phone. Quinn took a sip of her beer, licking her lips. She didn’t indulge often, but when she did, she savored it. Who doesn’t love an ice-cold beer?

Quinn should’ve waited silently at the bar, not bothering the woman who helped her out, but…she couldn’t help herself.

“I am over twenty-one,” Quinn blurted, and the woman glanced over. “Twenty-six, actually.”

The woman smiled and swiveled in her seat. “I would’ve guessed twenty-two. You got that beautiful, youthful skin. I usually loathe girls like you, but you have such a sweet smile. I’ll let that slide.”

Quinn chuckled.

“I’m Elodie. But everyone calls me Elle.”

“I’m Quinn,” she blurted, sounding too eager to her own ears.

If Elle noticed it, she didn’t say anything. She glanced down at the floor where Quinn had dropped her bag. “Shopping?”

She felt the heat rise from her chest to her cheeks.

“Money is a little tight, so…”

Elle scoffed, waving her hand. “Don’t make excuses for thrifting, girl. Some of my best finds have been someone else’s first.”

Quinn doubted this woman wore anything secondhand. Her outfit looked expensive and completely put together in a way that made it look effortless.

“Your sweater is beautiful.”

“Thanks. I own a boutique on Cartwright, corner of Smithtown Road.” Her smile faltered. “Well, for the time being, at least.”

“Are you closing?”

Elle grabbed her glass, squinted, and took a sip. “Not if I can help it, but…” She cleared her throat, placed her glass on the bar, and smiled. It seemed forced, as though she was putting up a front. “It’s a long story of bad timing, mismanaged funds, and trusting the wrong person.” Elle snorted and shook her head, muttering, “And at thirty-nine, I should’ve known better.”

“What happened?” Quinn asked, swiveling in her seat to face Elle. When she didn’t answer immediately, Quinn realized her own mistake and held up her hand. “I’m sorry, that was rude. I don’t mean to pry.”

“You’re fine, Quinn.” Elle drew in a breath, seemingly on the fence whether she wanted to share or not. Sometimes, it was good to talk things out, especially with a stranger.

“I’m a pretty good listener. And I’ve made so many mistakes, I’d be the last person to judge yours.”

Elle glanced over with a small smile playing on her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “A few years ago, I went through a really rough patch. I lost my…” Elle cleared her throat, clamped her lips, and glanced across the bar. “It was a dark time. And it took me a while to pull myself out of it.”

Elle could’ve lost anything. But Quinn sensed she hadn’t lost something . Quinn stared at her profile, focusing on her mouth and how the corners pulled down. Elle lost someone , and it was still painful.

“But you did,” Quinn blurted for no other reason than serving as a distraction.

Elle looked over at her, and Quinn smiled. “You pulled yourself out, and you should be proud. Not everyone can do that. It takes a lot of strength.”

“Thank you, Quinn.” Elle sighed, sliding her finger over the condensation droplets at the base of the glass. “Not sure how strong you’d think I am knowing the aftermath.”

“I don’t think my opinion is going to change. But?” Quinn shrugged. “Try me.”

Elle smirked, shaking her head. “Well, after I got myself back on track and out of my very own dark abyss, my finances were in ruins. A friend loaned me the money to bail me out so I wouldn’t lose the store. My credit was so bad, I couldn’t get a loan, and he offered.” She snorted. “Actually, insisted. That was mistake number one. And number two was never having a contract to repay him. I’ve been paying a little every month, but it was a lot of money. And after a recent disagreement , he’s decided he wants to be paid back in full. Immediately.”

Quinn raised her brows. ”Can he do that?”

Elle grabbed her glass, taking a sip of her drink. “According to the cheapest lawyer I could find in Lawry? He can.”

Quinn sighed. “I take it you don’t have the money?”

Elle laughed. “Not that kind of money.”

“Yeah, but he must understand that it’ll take time for you to pay him back, right?”

“Most reasonable people would, but…” Elle chuckled. “Not Julian. And now he’s suing me, which brings on a lot more costs with lawyers and court. Money I don’t have.” Her last statement was whispered as if a reminder to herself. Elle sipped her drink. “But I think my biggest mistake was trusting the wrong man.”

I hear you, Elle.

“He sounds like an asshole.”

“Well…” Elle smirked. “Most men are.”

Yes, they are.

“I had an asshole boyfriend.” Quinn wasn’t sure why she said it. Maybe it was because Elle seemed to relate to being wronged by a man. They weren’t the same. This woman had more confidence, more experience, more of everything. But they’d both been screwed over and betrayed by someone they trusted.

“Yeah?”

“He’s dead.” Quinn widened her eyes. Why did I say that?

Elle laughed, and Quinn jerked her head toward her.

“I should be so lucky.” Elle lifted her glass and gestured to Quinn’s beer, which she immediately grabbed. Elle leaned past the stool separating them. “Cheers to assholes. May they get exactly what they deserve.”

It may have been extreme and morbid, but Quinn clinked her glass with Elle’s.

“Amen.”

Fuck you, Clay.

Braxton brought her food out, and she ate in silence. Elle closed out her tab, whispering something to Braxton, who glanced over at Quinn and then quickly looked away.

Elle got up from her stool, grabbed her pocketbook, and stopped next to Quinn.

“It was nice meeting you, Quinn.” She brushed her hand over Quinn’s shoulder. She had a mouthful of French fries but forced it down her throat and waved.

“You too, Elle.”

Elle winked and walked toward the door. Then she stopped and turned, smiling.

“Thanks, Quinn.”

Quinn licked her lips and furrowed her brows. “For what?”

Elle drew in a breath and cocked her head, staring back at her with a small smile. “For being what I needed. I appreciate it more than you know.”

Quinn watched her walk out the door and pass by the front window. She wasn’t sure what to make of Elle’s statement, but it made her smile. She finished her meal and downed the last remnants of her beer while her soda remained untouched.

“You need anything else?” Braxton asked.

“Just the check, please.”

“It’s covered.”

She shifted her eyes and raised her brows. “What?”

Braxton gestured to the empty stool two seats down. “Elle paid your bill.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, and she covered the tip, so you’re good to go.” Braxton smiled and walked away.

It was beyond kind and generous, especially knowing her financial struggles. Why would she do that? Her chest tightened. There weren’t many people who did kind things for Quinn.

Quinn slipped a ten-dollar bill under her plate. She was riding on a high. She’d had a full day’s work to pay off her debt, a comforting dinner, and a kind acquaintance reminding her there were nice people in the world. It would go down as one of her best days.

She reached into her back pocket when her phone vibrated. She tapped the screen and gasped.

Sloane: Rogue is looking for you. Can you come back?

Sloane: Right now, please!!!!

Her day had officially taken a turn for the worse.

Oh shit!

****

Rogue’s night started at a low point and had gotten progressively worse.

Fucking Killcreek . Rogue had little tolerance for most people, but for the Killcreek Drifters MC, he had zero. Degenerate, disloyal assholes. That was how he’d seen them since a deal had gone bad years ago. Motherfucking pieces of shit. The lowest of the lows. He’d written them off and swore to never do business with them again. Then Dahlia came along.

Rogue started up the back steps to the balcony of the club with Trey.

“That went better than expected.”

Rogue scoffed, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Is that how you fucking saw it?”

Trey arched his brow. “No one died. I call that a success.”

“Fucking Killcreek.” Rogue twisted his lips. “You owe me for this.”

Trey snorted. “How could I forget? You remind me on a daily basis.”

Rogue ignored the comment. But it was true. Rogue had been against partnering with the MC from the very beginning. He had a long list of people he loathed and despised. Killcreek was number one. Consequently, partnering for a deal had been the last thing he’d wanted to do, but was his only viable option at the time.

They had just entered the balcony from the back stairs when he clocked her near the bar. Rogue didn’t bother making eye contact. The last thing this night needed was her .

Sloane waved and walked toward them. “Hi. How’s your night?”

Rogue ignored her as usual. He gestured to the bartender, holding up one finger and then pointing to his table in the corner. He rarely spoke to any of the staff, but they all knew his universal signs for what he wanted. It’s their fucking job to know.

“What do you need, Sloane?” Trey asked, but Rogue was only half listening.

“Um, just wanted to let you know Quinn is here.”

Rogue stopped mid-step. That got his attention, and he jerked his head to where Sloane was standing with Trey. He stalked back, eyeing the woman with a harsh scowl.

“What the hell do you mean she’s here?”

Last night, he’d given instructions for her to be taken to the Tower. Nothing further had been given. Therefore, her ass should have been at the apartments. He’d considered bringing her into the club, but not until he was there. What the fuck!

Sloane leaned past Trey and nodded. “Here in the club. She arrived around seven-thirty.”

Rogue looked down at his phone, taking in the time. His muscles tensed. It was well after nine. Someone would answer for this but until then…Sloane would take the brunt of his anger.

“She’s been here for two fucking hours, and you didn’t let me know?”

Sloane straightened. “Um, I d-didn’t know…”

“Stop fucking stuttering and get over here.”

Sloane drew in a breath, took a few steps, and stopped a foot away. “I’m sorry. You get very upset when I call if it’s not an emergency. I didn’t realize this was one.”

Motherfucker. Of course it was an emergency. He wanted to know where Quinn was at all times. Rogue clenched his fists. He was ready to go off on Sloane, but Trey stepped in.

“In the future, when Quinn comes in, you let one of us know.”

“Absolutely,” Sloane said and rocked back on her feet. “Um, there’s just one minor detail that I don’t think either of you will like.”

Rogue had a lot of regrets in his life, and the woman standing in front of him might be his biggest. I should’ve fucking taken you out when I had the chance . Sloane Baxter had a way of making every situation intolerable with her do-good bullshit and sunny disposition. Most days, Rogue wanted to strangle her. Today was no different. She spoke in cryptic bullshit, which only grated on his last nerve.

“What?” Rogue shouted.

“When I said she’s been here since seven-thirty?” Sloane paused. “I meant seven-thirty this morning.”

Fourteen fucking hours. Rogue clenched his jaw, sending a scathing glare at Sloane.

“What the fuck?”

Sloane held up her hands, lifting her shoulders to her ears. “She said you and Trey hired her, and she came in to work. Is that not true?”

Rogue drove his hand through his hair and circled, pacing the small area. How the fuck do I end up with another fucking woman that refuses to do what I fucking tell her?

“What has she been doing?” Trey asked.

“Pretty much everything. I told her she didn’t have to, but she insisted on working. She did all the opening duties, prepped the bars, emptied all the dishwashers in the kitchen, and mopped the floors. Oh, and I was having a problem with the computer, she fixed it within minutes. She’s amazing. I hope we’re paying her well.”

Rogue glared at Sloane, but he caught Trey’s faint smile.

“Get her up here now,” Rogue demanded.

“Oh, I sent her on a dinner break.”

Rogue rolled his neck. His patience was dwindling.

“Where?” His clenched teeth made it almost impossible to get out the words.

Sloane smiled and shrugged. “Not sure. But I’ll call her.”

His nostrils flared. “She doesn’t have a fucking phone.”

“Sure she does.” Sloane scrunched her nose. “I lent her one of our spares.”

I’m gonna fucking kill you.

Rogue lunged forward, but Trey moved in front of him, lowering his voice. “They’re all traceable.” Trey glanced over his shoulder to Sloane. “Call her and tell her she needs to come here. Now.”

Rogue drew in a breath. Trey was saving Sloane, whether she realized it or not.

Sloane rushed to the stairs, and he waited until she disappeared. He shared a look with Trey.

“You need to rein it in,” Trey said.

Rogue twisted his lips. “Rein what in?”

Trey pointed to Rogue. “Whatever this is.”

Obsession, possession, protection. Rogue was feeling it all but would admit to nothing.