Page 25 of Dirty Quinn
“And you trust me?” Daria asks.
“No. But I trust that you don’t wish any harm to come to your friend.”
“And if I storm your place and get my friend anyway?”
“Then you’ll never know who killed Katya.” I play my trump card and watch as the intended effect transpires. Daria’s gaze snaps to Mack’s and the two communicate non-verbally. Somehow having an entire conversation and making decisions without the use of words as though I’m not even there.
“We’ll need to think about it,” Mack says at last.
“Of course,” I say. “Shall I check back with you?”
“We’ll call you,” Mack adds.
I nod and leave the room. While the conversation didn’t go exactly as I thought I would, it still ended better than I could have hoped. I’ve shown my weakness. She doesn’t seem to be able to take unnecessary advantage of it. And if I’m reading the situation correctly, I think they’ll help me.
It’s difficult for a man like me to acknowledge weakness. Especially not weakness in their organization. I can only surmise that Andrei has spent too much time in America and forgotten his place in the syndicate. Failed to remember the natural hierarchy of our roles. That he ever thought he could get the better of me proves how unintelligent he is.
While I will miss his companionship, it will be nice to wipe the slate clean. Show the remaining men that I am still in control. Because if anything scares men into submission, it’s mortality. And when I’m through with Andrei, I will have convinced every last one of my men of their own mortality and how fragile it is.
I hit the call button in the elevator bay and immediately use the auto dispenser for hand sanitizer next to it. Hospitals are hotbeds of germs and contagions; two things I abhor. I don’t consider myself a germaphobe, but I appreciate cleanliness.
The elevator doors open to reveal three women—a brunette, a redhead, and a blonde. It’s like the setup for a raunchy joke. I step aside to let them pass, doing nothing to hide my interest in their appearances, as all are beautiful in their own right.
The brunette keeps her eyes downcast. The blonde storms past me as though I don’t exist. But the redhead, she stops and does a slow perusal of my body as I do the same to her. Our eyes meet for a moment and I feel a jolt of energy surge through me. Something akin to lust but stronger, surprising me.
I enter the elevator and turn to watch her ass as she leaves. She surprises me by spinning to walk backward, keeping her own gaze on me. The blonde backhands her on the upper arm and the redhead pivots back forward, but not before winking and blowing me an exaggerated kiss.
I’m still chuckling as the elevator doors close and take me back to the ground level where my driver waits.
12
Reed
The room we’re meeting in is dingy and dark, not what I expected from these rich Russian guys. I’ve heard stories of how wealthy theseoligarchsare, but I’ve yet to see evidence of it outside of the limousine Viktor Limonov picked me up in.
Viktor wants me to spy on Ronan Sinclair, but he hasn’t shown his face yet. So, I’m stuck trailing this Andrei Turgenev guy who has got to be the biggest idiot I’ve ever met. And if Sinclair’s right-hand man is an idiot, then I’m guessing Sinclair is too. Case in point, they’ve let me into their organization with nothing more than Viktor Limonov saying he wanted me for himself. And then “allowing” Andrei to poach me. Now, here I am sitting in on this pointless as fuck, so-called meeting.
These guys have been going on for twenty minutes about some girl that Turgenev recently picked up. Apparently, she’s American and hot; therefore, everyone wants to fuck her, but apparently Sinclair has forbidden it. Turgenev is trying to figure out a way to go behind his back. Part of me wants to put a stop to the conversation by telling them all to just go fuck the girl if that’s what they’re wont to do.
But their accents are strong, and I can’t quite tell if this woman is here willingly or not. The last thing I ever want is to involve myself in an assault, knowingly or not. So, I sit back and follow the parts of the conversation that I can and nod and smile at the parts that I can’t.
Turgenev makes no secret that the whole lot of them kidnap women and sell them into prostitution and slavery. The blatant disregard they hold for the female race is astounding. I want to ask how they would feel if it were their mother or sister being taken and sold, but I also don’t want to get my ass kicked or my head blown off. Turgenev has a short fuse; it doesn’t take much to set him off.
Today, anything involving Sinclair seems to make him angry. One guy mentioned it’s because Sinclair is in town. As near as I can tell, Turgenev does not have a lot of respect for Sinclair. At the very least, he does not speak highly of him. Which I find odd since everything Turgenev does is in Sinclair’s name: murder, blackmail, trafficking drugs, and selling women—it doesn’t seem to matter. And the reason is that Sinclair’s name carries weight; Turgenev’s doesn’t.
To hear Turgenev talk, their trafficking ring is the largest on the West Coast, making me wonder if he’s who David was involved with. Either Turgenev or Sinclair. Which makes me hate this Sinclair guy with every fiber of my being. I can’t wait to meet him, size him up, then figure out how to take him down. Even though that’s not part of what Limonov has asked me to do. I’ve got my own agenda right now, fuck him.
I pour my third glass of vodka and take a large gulp relishing the burn as it goes down. These guys drink vodka like its water. Not that I mind. Continuing to dull the constant pain that has become my life is welcome at this point. Even if I ignore everything else in my past, the last month has shown I’m a failure as an FBI agent.
Just to recap, a Russian mafioso infiltrated my division and redirected my entire career track. My best friend was involved in a sex trafficking ring—kidnapping women on the regular—and I didn’t see it. My partner is in love with a hired killer who acts as a vigilante by night. He’s known about it and hasn’t said a word. And I didn’t notice or see a fucking thing. And the woman that I’m in love with has more than likely been helping her. Or at least covering for her. And once again, I missed it.
For someone whose sole focus in life is to observe and take action, I have failed catastrophically. So, when I want to avoid that reality, vodka becomes my friend. When I said these guys drink it like its water, I meant that literally. Their tolerance levels are unbelievable, albeit impressive. Granted, they all probably have at least fifty pounds on me too, and I’m not a small guy. They are allthatbig. Not necessarily tall, just beefy. Except for Andrei, he’s both—a giant in human form.
I tune back into the conversation in time to hear Andrei describing the woman’s supple ass. Only when he says it, it sounds more like “sup-pal-ass,” one word, three syllables.
“Are we talking about this bitch all day or getting shit done?”
“And what shit is it we must be getting done,Rico?” Andrei asks, challenging. Using the name Viktor gave when he introduced us.
