Page 133 of Savage Suit
“I’m not sorry for what I did. If I had said anything after our meeting at the club, you might not have given her a chance. The truth from me would’ve triggered either Nick’s need for revenge or your desire to be politically correct.”
“Spoken like a true fucking asshole,” Quinn said, gliding to us from the opposite direction of where we’d entered.
“Quinn!” Reid’s eyes lit up. “You’re here.”
“Not for you,” she retorted, snatching his drink, and draining it, then shoving it against his chest.
He caught it by reflex.
The opening door brought in a blast of cold air as well as Graham and Soraya. Like Ryan, Soraya had dark hair. Unlike Ryan, Graham’s wife dyed the tips of her hair according to her mood. Blue, tonight.
“Thanks for pointing me in the direction of the bathroom,” Quinn said to Graham.
He nodded and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist, bringing her closer to him. “Babe, this is Concerned Sister. Quinn Hagen.”
Soraya grinned and held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Quinn,” she said as they shook hands.
“Same,” Quinn said, smiling and reclaiming her hand. “Thank you for your help. I figured it was time to confess or start sending in checks to cover your therapy fees.”
Soraya chuckled. “What time is Ryan coming?” she asked, her lips turning down when we didn’t answer. “Are you two fucking serious?” she demanded, glancing between Quinn and me.
“Don’t forget him,” Quinn said, pointing to Reid.
“Nope, you’re not putting me in the middle,” Soraya announced, ignoring Quinn’s words. “Ryan deserves to know the truth.”
“How do I tell her the truth?” Quinn asked. “My sister will hate me.”
“I’ve met your sister,” Soraya snapped. “She seems like a reasonable woman. She’ll be angry, but she’ll get over it.” She glared at me. “Noah—”
I held up my hands. “She’s not ready to hear the truth, Soraya. I have to find the right time.”
“The longer you wait, the harder it will become,” Graham said.
“You don’t understand,” Quinn said bleakly. “My sister…” Her voice trailed off and she pursed her mouth. “The morning my parents were killed, they read her for filth.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Criticized,” Quinn, Soraya, Reid, and Graham chorused.
“Harshly,” Quinn added. “To the nth fucking degree. Brush up on your slang, dude. Go to urbandictionary.com. Do you have your cell phone?”
I nodded.
“Assignment starts now. Look up Alabama hot pocket.”
“God, Quinn,” Reid said, exploding with laughter at Soraya roaring, “you’re bad!”
“What the fuck is that?” Graham asked and I sagged in relief I wasn’t the only clueless one.
While Soraya whispered in Graham’s ear, I opened my phone browser and typed in the address Quinn gave me, ignoring Graham’s widening eyes.
As I started on the word ‘hot’, Graham snatched my phone. “Look it up later,” he told me. “Just trust me, man. You don’t want to know.”
“Now I’m doubly curious,” I grumbled, reclaiming my phone to resume the search. When the definition came on the screen, I stared. Reread the words. Twice. Again. Nothing changed. The meaning stayed the same. I was both aghast and sick to my fucking stomach. “People actually do this?”
“I hope not,” Soraya said, wrinkling her nose.
Quinn’s humor faded. “That’s grounds for murder.”
