Page 39 of Brutal Vows
If looks could kill, I’d already be dead. Quinn’s gaze is a thousand incoming arrows shot from enemy bows.
My smile grows wider.
The Irishman glowers at me like he’d give his left nut to make me invisible. “Aye, I remember. Let’s get on with it, then.”
He turns on his heel, yanks open the front door, and disappears through it. I listen to his footsteps echo angrily off the courtyard tiles and wonder if perhaps he has bipolar disorder.
It would explain a lot.
Gianni turns to me and mutters, “Brought up in a fucking barn.”
“A barn is too civilized. That Irishman was brought up in a slaughterhouse.”
Lili whispers nervously, “What do we do?”
“Follow him!” hisses Gianni.
I give Lili’s hand a reassuring squeeze, then lead her out the door. We walk out to the driveway, where Quinn is standing beside his big black Escalade.
The driver’s door is open. His sidekick, Kieran, is nowhere in sight.
Lili and I walk to the rear door of the SUV and stand there, waiting.
Quinn realizes we’re waiting for him to open the door for us and mutters, “Fuck.”
He stalks around the front of the vehicle, yanks open the back passenger door, and growls at me,“In.”
Then he opens the front passenger door and looks at Lili. “Sorry, lass. I’ve got a lot on my mind today. Up you go.”
He helps her get settled in the passenger seat, makes sure she buckles her seat belt, then closes the door. Without another glance in my direction, he hops back into the driver’s seat and guns the engine.
Clearly, I’m on my own managing to climb up into the truck.
Regretting that I didn’t think to bring my handbag—the one with the secret compartment for my .38—I gingerly step on the Escalade’s running board and reach up to grab the handle on the roof inside the door. I’m in heels and a dress, so hauling myself up onto the seat is a production.
Why the man couldn’t drive an adult vehicle like a sedan is a mystery.
I’ve barely got the door closed before he peels out. Gravel sprays from under the spinning wheels. Lili yelps in surprise and grabs onto her door handle. I topple over sideways onto the bench seat, cursing.
“Mr. Quinn! Will you please slow down?”
In the rearview mirror, he sends me a look of murderous rage that exactly matches my own. But he does take his foot off the accelerator, allowing the car to slow to a reasonable speed.
With four of Gianni’s armed guards following in a car behind us, we pass the guard gate in silence.
We drive through the wooded area surrounding the house in silence.
Miles of country lanes pass in the same stiff, uncomfortable silence.
It isn’t until we pass the lake and enter the highway that I break it.
“Mr. Quinn?”
Gazing straight out the windshield, he grunts at me.
“Where are we going?”
He shakes his head as if I’m annoying him. I certainly hope I am.
