Quinn II (Undaunted Men #2) (11 page)

Rolling over onto my side, my head sinks into something soft and I moan. It feels like a pillow. I don’t remember having a fluffy pillow out here on the trails. Come to think of it, except for Quinn’s chest, I haven’t had a pillow for the past two weeks. I slowly begin to realize the fact I’m lying on a cushiony mattress, and I’m wrapped up in a warm blanket. I’m cozy and comfortable, and that means something’s off. I bolt upright, startling myself out of a sleepy haze, only to find myself in the middle of Vince’s bed.

“How are you feeling?” I jump out of my skin at the sound of Vince’s deep voice. I press my hand to my heart, suppressing its wild beat as I turn in his direction. He’s leisurely sitting in an overstuffed chair near the foot of the bed and is still wearing the same clothes when he took me. I glance at the window behind him and confirm it’s dark outside, just like my mood.

“Where is Quinn?” I demand to know.
He closes the hardbound book he was reading then quietly places it down on the side table, all while silently regarding my outburst.

“Quinn is not your concern.”

“He is very much my concern,” I snap back.
 

“And why would that be, Sweetheart?” He tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on mine. “Did you get attached to him in just that short amount of time?”

I bite my tongue, not willing to answer his question. When I don’t respond, he states, “Quinn is fine.” But I’m sure he’s only saying that to placate me. I don’t believe him for a second. Quinn is anything but fine.

“I know you’re lying. If anything happens to him I will...”

“You’ll what?” he challenges with a heated glare. “You think you're in a position to threaten me?” He leans forward in the chair, his tone hard. “Have you forgotten your place that quick? Two weeks on the run, and suddenly you think you’re holding all the cards, when you left here with none?”
 

“What did you do with Quinn?” I ask, my tone insistent.

As he stands up and saunters his way to the side of the bed, he shakes his head in disapproval, his boots quiet against the carpeted floor. His long-sleeved, camouflaged shirt is rolled at the cuffs, and the muscle in his forearms flex with tension as he comes to loom over me.
My heartbeat kicks up a notch as I shrink back into the covers. I've agitated him to the point of anger, and he’s trying to restrain himself. His ominous hostility swirls around me. He’s on the brink of exploding.

Bending at the waist, his hands come to rest on either side of me as he hovers his lips close to mine.
“I said he’s fine,” he slowly growls between clenched teeth. The fact that I’m concerned with Quinn’s wellbeing is clearly pissing him off.

“You say he’s fine, but for how long?” I tentatively whisper, pushing my luck. Seemingly amused with my question, he smirks, but says nothing more. The mattress dips down as he sits beside me. “Don’t I deserve to know?”

“No, you don’t. You’ve already done your part.”

“My part?” My brows rise in surprise. “What does that even mean?” I ask, not sure what to think about his subdued vexation. This whole escapade was a setup, and I’m confused beyond words. I’m physically sick about what happened today.
 

I pinch the bridge of my nose, because, God, my head is spinning with questions. After Quinn discovered the tracker in my backpack, I had originally thought Connor was keeping track of me for my own safety, and then perhaps Vince found out about our secret plan and was coming after me. But none of that was the case, because the entire time, the tracker was really meant to capture Quinn, but why?

I can’t seem to wrap my head around this. “What did he ever do to you?”
 

“Besides him fucking my girl?” he remarks in a derisive tone. His eyes narrow and he seethes with renewed rage. Leaning into my personal space, his tone is low and guttural, “You are mine.”
 

“I belong to myself, you don't own me,” I hiss, “and you set me up.” I no longer care about his threatening presence as I push against his chest, forcing him to back off. “Connor, the escape plan, getting Quinn involved, it was all orchestrated to trap him. You used me, and apparently you’ve been using me for years.”
 

“You may think I’ve used you, but I don’t see it that way.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t,” I quip.

He half smirks at my remark. “I don’t know what happened on that trail, but your newfound feistiness is going to get you into a shitload of trouble.” He runs the back of his knuckles over my cheek, and I pull away. “Alexis,” he tries to reason, but there is a warning to his tone, “we are a team, and you are part of a much bigger plan.”
 

“No, we are not a team. You are only using me to whatever capacity you see fit in order to reap your own benefits. That’s all you do, Vince, is use people for your own self-gain.”

His lips turn downward into a frown.
“That may be true, but not when it comes to you, Lexi. You really disappointed me,” he says sadly. “I knew you so well. I knew you’d run when I put the pressure on, and you did. You ran from me, and I got to see firsthand what you’d do if given the choice.”

I look at him like he has sprouted three heads as he sits here with the audacity to actually look hurt about it. I’m so affronted I don’t even know what to say in response. “Are you really that deluded?”
 

“No, Sweetheart, you're the one who has been delusional all these years.” His voice tightens with irritation. “Your parents didn't do you any favors by shielding you from the real world. You do realize kings have been marrying queens for centuries in arranged marriages. You’re a mafia princess, and I’m a king’s son, and our situation is no different.”

I can't believe my ears.
This cannot be happening to me.
“You are crazy if you think I'm really going to marry you, Vince.” I shake my head nonstop until he cradles my cheeks in his palms.
 

“What happened to you?” I whisper, truly wanting to know where things went wrong with him.
“You were my best friend once.”

Vince lets out a sigh of frustration, leans back, and swipes his hand down over his face. I watch him as he takes in a deep breath, and then exhales slowly, as if he’s trying to control his emotions. “Life happened, Alexis.
It’s called survival
.” He briefly smiles at me, but it’s in a condescending way, as if I’m an ignorant child. “You know
I love you,
and I know there was a time when you loved me. I realize it may take a little time for you, but we can get back to what we had before. You just need to give me the chance to prove it to you.”

“Prove what to me, Vince?” My voice rises with disdain.
“You lost your direction somewhere along the way; I don’t know what happened to you, but this isn’t how love behaves.”
 

“You know I’d lay down my life for you,” he professes.

“Really? That’s funny, because you don’t have a problem framing me for a murder I didn’t commit.” I shake my head with resolution. “No, Vince, I don’t love you, and I’ll never love you like that. Too much has happened between us to ever turn things around.”

As if he has a bad taste in his mouth, he bites out his next question,
“Do you love him?
” I close my eyes and turn my head the other way. I have nothing to say to him. Two fingers slide underneath my chin as he turns my head back to face him. His eyes are full of resolution. “He's no longer in the equation, Sweetheart. So you better get yourself used to that simple fact right now. It’s just you and me, Alexis, and we will be married.”

My eyes narrow into tiny little slits as I whisper a determined, “When Hell freezes over.”

Vince lets go of my cheek and exhales a heavy sigh. He raises my hackles when he begins speaking in an exasperated tone, “Why-oh-why do you always push me, forcing me to play hardball? Why do you have to make this so much harder than it needs to be?”

He gets up and leaves my side. He’s turned calm, too calm, and I begin to
grow nervous
. When he reaches his tallboy dresser, he opens the top drawer and pulls out a manila folder. I watch him intently, taking note of his every move, wondering just what the hell he's up to.

He taps the folder against his other hand as he walks slowly back to me. He sits back down on my side of the bed. His thigh muscle nudges mine, and I purposely scoot over to avoid the contact. He tosses the folder onto my lap and points at it with his chin, indicating I’m to open it. I hold still, not wanting to know what’s in that folder.
 

“Open it, Lexi,” he gruffly demands.

“No, I don't want to know what's in there.”

“You need to know,” he says matter-of-factly. “This will help you see things in a different light.” My hands grasp the sheets and twist them, refusing to touch the file
.
 

“No?” He arches an eyebrow. “Well then, let me help you.” I watch his deft fingers as they unfold the metal clasp, and then he tips the envelope upside down, pouring out its contents onto the bed. There are pictures, lots of pictures.

“You remember about a month or so ago you went shooting with Connor, right?” He’s not asking a question; he’s being a smart ass, reminding me how my prints got on the murder weapon and of his recent threats. I feel the anxiety rising in my chest as I have a pretty good idea what he’s planning on showing me.

“Vince, stop,” I quietly plead. “I don’t want to see.”

“Oh, but I think you do,” he says in a mocking tone. “I think you forgot how much power and pull I have. I think you’ve lost sight of reality out on those trails.” His fingers land on the corner of a picture half covered up by other pictures, and all I see is blonde hair. He slowly pulls it out of the pile, the other pictures dropping away in slow motion. I turn my head the other way before the photograph is fully revealed.

“I don't know why you insist I show you just how ruthless I can be in order to get what I want. Have you forgotten how I grew up, Lexi? Have you forgotten what our families do and what we're all about? You are a mafia princess. You need to come to terms with that, and then embrace it for what it is.”

“No,” I whisper-cry, and shove the photos off my lap, sending them flying. I sneer, glaring at him, “I don’t want to see your dirty work.”

His lips turn into a sly smirk. “You always did like to live in your own fantasy world, didn’t you?” He holds the picture up in front of me, tapping his index finger on the edge of the photo. I look away again, but this time he’s more forceful and grabs my cheeks, turning my head with vigor. I whimper and squeeze my eyes tightly together, refusing to look.

“Open your fucking eyes, or there will be consequences,” he threatens, and by the tone of his voice, he’s lost his patience. My heart hammers in my chest and my pulse quickens. I clench my hands into fists as I slowly open my eyes. In the same second I open my eyes, I lose my breath, and all the color drains from my face.
 

The picture he's holding up before me is horrendous. It’s Myles' girlfriend, or should I say was. I was in love with Myles, and Vince destroyed that relationship too. Vince wasn’t bluffing when he said he framed me. This is for real. It’s the jealous girlfriend scenario Vince created, being able to get my fingerprints all over the murder weapon.

She has a bullet hole right through the middle of her forehead. Dried blood paints her face in a horrific pattern of death. My stomach lurches, and I know I'm going to be sick. I gag, and my hand covers my mouth in response as I try to stop whatever’s in my stomach from surfacing.

“Did you think I was kidding, Lexi?” his voice is hard and cold. “Did you not think I would follow through with my threats? Now, do you understand that when I mean business, I’m not fucking around? No matter how hard you try, you can't white-wash our lives, who we are, who are families are.”
He’s having a conversation with himself, because at this point, I don't hear him.
All I can think of is this poor girl, and all the evil she experienced before her death. She had a life, a family, and he had no right to strip her of that.

“Oh, my God,” I cry out. I close my eyes, and all I see behind my eyelids is her blood, and it is everywhere. I lean over the side of the bed and gag again. I know what’s coming next, as does Vince.

“God dammit,” he curses. He jumps off the side of the bed and steps out of the way just in time. I hurl the contents of my stomach onto his carpeted bedroom floor. Vince throws back the blankets and swoops me up into his arms, rushing me to his master bathroom. By the time we reach the toilet, there's nothing left to expel. I'm on empty.

I sit on the cool tile of his floor, because it feels good against my hot and clammy skin. I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes, trying to focus on not throwing up anymore, because it hurts like hell to dry heave when there's nothing to come up.

The faucet water has been turned on behind me, but I don't turn around to see what he’s doing. I am numb from head to toe as I think about what just happened. Seeing the actual evidence has put things into a brand new perspective. He's a monster. Whether he, himself, did this, or had one of his men commit the crime, he was guilty nonetheless. I think a large part of me wanted not to believe, despite how many times I voiced the truth. In the back of my mind I was hoping he was bluffing. Maybe because I grew up with him, knew him so intimately, I didn't want to face the realities a hundred percent. I didn't want to see the actual proof, confirming my biggest fears and bringing to light all that he's capable of.
 

Yes, I knew Vince had become darker, and still, because he'd been so wholesomely intertwined in my life for decades, I loved him. I both love him and hate him. I can almost understand how a parent could vindicate their child who had turned criminal, because of their familial love, but the premeditated homicide? He was pinning that shit on me if I didn't bend to his will. This is the worst he’s ever done to me, and I shudder to think of the future, because I know there would be more of this certifiable craziness in store for me. When did things become so fucked up?