Page 105 of Bonds of Obsession

Malcolm sits at the head of the table, his expression completely neutral. “Quinn needs our assistance.”

“Again.” Elliot doesn’t even try to conceal his disdain.

“I need somewhere secure.” I look around the table from face to face. “A place Ambrose can’t touch.”

Imogen leans forward. “I have a penthouse. Top floor security, private elevator access. I use it for high rollers.”

I study her face, looking for the catch. But her expression gives nothing away.

“That would work.” Malcolm nods. “What else?”

Rafael offers surveillance equipment. Owen promises to have his people sweep the building for bugs. One by one, they contribute something, although I can feel their resentment building with each offer.

These people aren’t used to giving. They’re used to taking.

“It’s settled then.” Malcolm’s eyes find mine. “Imogen will contact you when everything is ready.”

As chairs scrape back and people start to rise, I catch Elliot muttering something about me being an entitled little bitch under his breath.

Atlas shifts behind me, but I touch his leg. Not worth it. Not yet.

Imogen catches my arm as we head for the stairs. “A word?”

My men tense, but I nod. We move away from the others, into the nearest corner of the cavernous room.

“The penthouse is yours.” Her voice drops low. “But you should know that you’re making enemies fast. Too fast.”

“It isn’t my intention to make enemies with anyone here.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Her eyes flick to the others filing past us. “You’re using your votums too quickly. Recklessly.”

“The circumstances?—”

“They don’t care about circumstances.” She cuts me off. “They care about respect and paying your dues.”

My jaw clenches. “I don’t have time for their games.”

“Make time.” Her fingers dig into my arm. “Or you won’t survive long enough to use another votum.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning.” She releases me. “People have died for less than what you’ve done in the short time you’ve been here.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Her smile is sharp. “That’s a matter of perception.” She steps back. “Watch yourself, Quinn. And watch your men. The Syndicate’s patience only stretches so far.”

I watch her walk away, knowing she’s right. But what else can I do? I either face Ambrose alone or I incur the wrath of the Syndicate. Either way, I’ll probably end up dead.

33

QUINN

The driveto my house feels like a funeral procession. My throat feels tighter with each block we pass until finally we turn onto my street. The firefighters are gone, leaving behind only the wet, charred husk of what used to be my home.

“Fuck,” I whisper, the word scraping raw from my throat. I’m out of the car before it fully stops, my boots crunching over broken glass and debris as I approach what remains of my front door.

“Quinn, wait,” Killian calls after me, but I can’t wait. I have to see.

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