Page 34 of Dirty Roxie
“I was trying to rescue you when I was literally blown out of a tree by an explosion.”
“Yes, but then you were in the hospital while I still sat rotting in that room. That awful, horrible room. I’ll never get the smell out of my nose. The smell of me. My sweat. My tears, my urine and feces. My desperation. Do you know how it feels to smell your own desperation, Daria? It’s terrible. I don’t wish that on anyone.”
“I see. And is it just me you are upset with or are Mack and Reed in this little club as well.”
“Oh, I’m mad at them too, don’t get me wrong.” If I weren’t on my third margarita, I probably would have picked up on the tone in her voice. The one that said “Danger, Will Robinson.” But I didn’t. All I could think about was getting my thoughts out as fast as I could so I wouldn’t have to keep them bottled up inside me any longer. After which, I could feel a bit lighter and a hell of a lot freer. Instead, I kept talking. “The thing is, Daria, as my best friend, you should have known that I was in trouble, that I needed your help because you knew I would somehow get myself involved.”
“And your therapist told you this.”
“Yes. A professional who knows what she’s talking about.”
“So, even though I was unconscious in the hospital, and the man in my life was by my side, we should have been rescuing you.”
“In a way, yes. But when you say it like that, it sounds bad.”
“It should. It is. What about Reed?”
“Well, he was undercover. He couldn’t blow his cover looking for me.”
“I see, so it’s just Mack and me who are to blame?”
Her voice is angry. I’ve gone too far. I need to backpedal but my mouth refuses to cooperate. “All I’m saying is I feel angry that you didn’t find me sooner, that’s all. But I feel guilty about it. It’s just how I feel, and I should be allowed to express my feelings. To you of all people, as my best friend.”
“What about how I feel, Quinn? What about you being the reason I was in that tree to begin with? Because I was so wrought with fear and guilt over you and what might have happened that I couldn’t even think clearly. All I could do was focus on finding things of Andrei’s to hurt and destroy so he could feel a modicum of what I was feeling. If he’d had a child, I would have kidnapped it. A lover I would have harmed her. Innocents, Q. I would have hurt innocent people to get back at him for what he was doing to you. I hurt myself and Mack, plus all those people killed during the battle between my father and Andrei’s men.”
“That wasn’t your fault, that was all on your father. And he didn’t even get Andrei, anyway.”
“He wasn’t after Andrei. He wanted Ronan. He was in cahoots with Andrei, but then he turned on him. That’s why Andrei had to slink away like the snake he is. He no longer had the backup of Viktor and his men. And now that I know the truth about my father, I’d love nothing more than to sink a knife deep into his chest and carve out his heart, wring it dry with my bare hands, and leave it somewhere in the desert to wither and die. He knew you were in there and he attacked anyway. He knew my family—Mack, Roxie, Jen, and Al—was inside getting you too, and he attacked anyway. That is not a man who loves altruistically. That is a man who calculates his every motion and emotion. He does nothing that is not a benefit to him.”
“I’m sorry, Daria.”
“No, no. Please go on, Quinn. Please tell me more about how I should have rescued you sooner while I was unconscious and in the hospital. How about this? How about you think for once before you act? How about you get the childish notion of you and Reed and a happy ever after out of your head? How about you look at how your actions impact others? Mack’s collarbone is shattered. Both he and Reed have lost their jobs at the FBI.”
“Technically, they quit.”
“It doesn’t matter, Q. Why don’t you realize that? It doesn’t matter how it happened. What matters is you have two men who were doing something that they loved, and they were forced to stop because of you and your actions.”
“Yeah, but the FBI just let Reed hang in the wind where Viktor was concerned.”
“His choice.”
“I don’t want to fight with you,” I tell her.
“I don’t want to fight with you either,” she says.
“But I need you to understand where I’m coming from.”
“And I will, once it makes a modicum of sense.”
“It makes sense.”
“How? How with everything I’ve just said to you do your feelings surrounding this make sense, Quinn?”
I shrug, not sure where to go from here.
“Are these your words or your therapist’s?”
“Mine.” But I say it with enough pseudo indignation that even I don’t believe what I’m saying.
Daria nods in response. Her nod is sarcastic. I’m not even sure how that’s possible, but she pulls it off.
