Page 83 of Tortured Eyes
“Logan has been… We’ve been… He’s…” I stumble over the classification of who Logan is to me, my hands still protecting my ears in the hope my hearing returns soon. My heart stammers as nerves take over. I need to make him believe me. Not just for me, but for Logan as well. “We have a connection. Maybe he knew I didn’t kill Nate and I didn’t deserve to die. I don't know, but he made me pay. Believe me. He’s in trouble, though. There's no time for this. He's been arrested, Quinn. He sent me here with the message to get him out.”
Telling him our story makes it even more real, but Quinn doesn’t respond or show that he cares. My whole body is wound tight, ready to explode from the tension regardless of my fear levels. “Quinn! Did you hear me?”
“Who the hell are you to raise your voice to me?” he roars.
“Did you hear what I told you? Logan needs your help,” I plead, desperation now in my voice.
“My help. Because you arrested him.” I falter at his accusation, the attitude I'm showing dissolving under his words. He's right; this is my fault.
“Yes, I did. He said it was the only way out. That you’d find what you needed to have him released if I came to you.”
“What did you arrest him for?”
“Killing a cop.” The words nearly choke me as I speak them, but it pulls his attention away from shooting me.
“So, after being responsible for the gunfight that saw my brother murdered, Logan spares you and grows to trust you with this information?”
“Yes. It’s totally fucked up,” I huff out, watching him back further away. “Can you lower the fucking gun now?”
He moves back to his desk, chuckling before perching on the edge and setting the gun down. The movement allows me to sit up and take a deep breath now that I’m not about to eat a bullet. “You want to tell me what you find funny about this?”
He looks back at me like I’m a puzzle for him to solve. “You care for him. A fucking cop. Unbelievable.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I lie.
His quiet gives me pause to compose myself. Barely enough given his overbearing presence and gun, but still.
“So, what has my son been doing to make a cop care enough to come to me for help?”
“He’s been doing what he’s always done. But this time he’s taken it too far," I say, finding my voice again. "Now, are you going to help him or not? I’ll go to Carter. He’s his brother. I thought you’d want to protect your son, but...” I stand up, ready to leave. “Obviously, I was wrong.”
Before I have a chance to step towards the door, he's at my side with a knife pressed against my throat. I gasp, unsure how the hell he moved that quick.
“Be careful, detective.” He pulls me closer against him, his chest pressed to my back. "You're one step away from me doing what Logan should have." My fingers dig into his arm as I think of how to kick my way out of this. There are a few options that spring to mind, but I really don’t want to get into a fight with Quinn Cane. I'm not here for that, my fault in his brother’s death or not.
“Logan?” I ask again. "Please, Quinn."
“Logan is a big boy now, and he's more than capable of looking out for himself. What aren’t you telling me about this situation?" For good measure, the knife digs a little deeper into my skin, making it perfectly clear that he might just finish me off. This isn’t a situation I’m in control of, neither have I anything else to leverage. "And think carefully about your answer this time, detective. You’ve been more than economical with the truth so far.”
He grazes the knife back and forth,running it over my jugular. Everything I've read about him over the years comes flooding back, and my fingers dig in tighter.
“I killed the cop. I was protecting Logan, but then he told me to arrest him because he had a get out and he didn't want me to go down for it.” The words rush out of me, panic laced in their tone. I'm damn ready to have this little meeting over with, and for some strange reason I know confessing to Quinn won’t matter now. He’s either going to believe me and help, or he's going to kill me for Nate. "You’re his get out, Quinn. Senator Kelly. Please!"
I'm shoved forward the moment my plea leaves my mouth, and I stumble to my knees, my hands bracing my fall.
“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” he says, chuckling.
“What the fuck?” I look up at him from where I've landed on the floor and watch as he walks towards an alcove next to his desk. He's as hot and cold as his son damn well is. "Asshole.”
“Yes. But I'm sure you knew that before you arrived.” He pours a drink, knocking it back swiftly and then refilling. “Drink, detective?” he asks, coming back to me with two tumblers of amber liquid.
Fucking hell, I’m going to have a drink with Quinn Cane? My father would be turning in his grave.
“A cop. That’s going to be complicated.” Quinn seems to be musing more to himself than to me. “But then again, Vico’s fucking daughter. They sure know how to pick them.”
“Excuse me, what the hell are you on about? Shouldn’t you be calling someone, doing something to help Logan? Your son!”
He smiles at me, a calculated and cunning smile just like the one Logan’s flaunted at me. Everything about the two of them blends together. Same features. Same asshole personality. Same goddamned sense of superiority, as if we're all ten steps behind them.
"I am doing something. I'm watching you and learning." What the fuck does that mean? He tips the glass towards me. "What was the access code?" he asks, pressing a button on his desk phone. "And you can get up off the floor now. Drink the drink. Calm down.”
My feet push me to standing, and I snatch the crystal glass, some part of me not even realising I was still down there. Backbone, McCarthy. Jesus. "Clearwater Translucent 928. All one word."
He nods and continues smiling at me as the phone rings, until a clipped British voice answers. One I've already met.
“Landon, you’re needed.”
