Dirty Quinn - a romantic suspense (Dirty Darlings - The Beginning, Book Three)

by Denise Wells

  “Don’t mistake one good deed with being a good man.” He hands me a comms unit. “I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

  And with that, he’s out the door and I’m alone once again. He and his men are up, and over the wall in seconds. It’s times like this where I’m reminded that what I and my girls do, even what Mack and Reed do, it’s not so special. Anyone can ready themselves for battle, they just need to want it bad enough.

  29

  Quinn

  My head is fuzzy, and I feel lost. But I know I’m safe. I just want to open my eyes and make sure. I don’t want to miss anything; I hate when that happens. There’s a hand touching mine, fingers softly caressing my palm and inner wrist in a soothing motion.

  It’s nice.

  Reminds me I’m not alone. Which is the only way I’m able to let the darkness back in, allowing me an escape once more.

  The beeping wakes me. At least I think I’m awake. Is it a timer? Did I leave something on? My coffee pot?

  I try to get up, but I can’t move. My brain gives the command, my limbs just don’t respond. Am I still asleep and I just don’t realize it? That would make the beeping a dream.

  Or a bomb.

  Can I explode in my dream? And if it’s a dream, will I still be hurt? I don’t want to be hurt.

  I don’t like pain.

  My heart beats faster.

  I can’t move.

  Warmth fills me, starting at my arm and radiating across my body and down to my toes, until my thoughts are muddled, and movement doesn’t seem so necessary any longer. Blackness beckons, and I succumb.

  “Quinn? Quinn, honey, can you hear me?”

  This time my eyes open to find Daria sitting in a chair-bed next to me. She’s covered with a blanket and has her head resting on a pillow. I glance down to see that it’s her hand I clutch in mine. Her fingers that are caressing my wrist.

  I nod so she knows I can hear her and try to sit up.

  “Don’t move,” she says. “Just rest.”

  “Why?” I croak.

  “Because you need it.”

  I nod. Satisfied with that answer until I realize that I don’t know why I need it.

  “Why?” I ask again, my dry tongue sticking inside my mouth, making my words thick.

  “So, you can get better.” She squeezes my hand softly. I want to get better. So I believe her. But as I’m drifting back to sleep, I remember that I want to ask what I’m getting better from.

  The room is dark. Lit only by the glow of the machines next to me. I can hear hustling in the hall, but inside here, all is still. Daria snores lightly beside me. I turn toward her, but something tugs me back. It’s a string. No, a wire. Is that a tube? There’s a tube in my arm. Why do I have a tube in my arm? How does it even fit through my skin?

  I hear the beeping again. It’s the machines that are beeping. Why are they beeping?

  “Daria?”

  “Quinn? It’s okay, honey, I’m right here.”

  “Where are we?”

  “You’re in the hospital. Just for a little while so you can get better.”

  “What’s wrong with me?”

  “Do you remember what happened?” she asks, her voice soft and gentle.

  I shake my head.

  “Andrei Turgenev kidnapped you.”

  “Hmmm.” I try to lick my dry lips, unsuccessfully. Daria leans in with a wet sponge and dampens them for me. “I’ve always wanted to be kidnapped.”

  “I know,” she smiles, but it’s sad.

  “Why are you sad?”

  “I’m not sad. I’m just happy you’re okay.”

  “Are you okay?”

  She nods.

  “Did you rescue me?” As I ask, a memory drifts into my mind of being mad at Daria for not coming for me. Why wouldn’t she come for me?

  “I was hurt,” she says. “I couldn’t.”

  “What happened to you?” I strain my brain trying to remember, but the details are fuzzy and incomplete.

  “Explosion.” She sighs. “I was dumb and did a stupid thing, there were explosives in my car that detonated.”

  “Were you in the car?”

  “No, but I was near it. Close enough to fracture a rib and puncture a lung.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah,” she laughs shakily.

  “How did I get away from Andrei?”

  “That’s a long story.” She sighs. “Do you feel up to it?”

  I nod. I hate not knowing what happened. It’s like all the memories are there, just someone has grayed them out, blurred the faces. I’m censoring my own thoughts from myself.

  Daria starts by admitting they didn’t even know I was gone until at least a day after Andrei abducted me. She looks guilty as she says it, so I try not to be upset with her. But that’s like my ultimate fear in life. To go missing or die and have nobody notice.

  Until finally the mail carrier realizes the junk mail is piling up—because no one sends me anything of value by mail—and hunky firefighters break down my front door to find my half-eaten body.

  Because as a lonely, old woman, I would have the kind of cats who would eat my weakened body once I can no longer fend for myself.

  Asshole cats.

  Daria continues the story, telling me how she searched my car and my house, until realizing that I was missing. She glosses over the part where she goes a little crazy and blows up half of Andrei’s stuff before the guys shoot her car up and everything explodes. When she gets to Ronan visiting her in the hospital, I have a vague recollection of pee. Or else I have to pee, I’m not sure which one.

  She’s a good storyteller, and I don’t have many questions for her at all. Not much surprises me until she gets to the part about Reed rescuing me. My heart beats faster, adrenaline rushing through my veins, waking my limbs, and alerting my brain.

  “Reed was there?”

  “He was working with my father.”

  “With your father? Why? How?”

  “Let me finish, and I’ll answer all your questions,” she says, sounding tired suddenly. At a time where excitement courses through me, she’s deflating rapidly. Making me wonder what comes next that could be so wearisome.

  She tells me about Ronan coming in at the last minute to save the day. Helping to extract us to safety, all the while fending off what remained of Viktor’s men. How she and her father came to war over his negligence of those who Daria loves. And it’s then that I see the immense sadness on her face. What I assume is the loss of her family now that she and her father have come to odds.

  As the story continues, I learn we all made it out of the compound safely, in part thanks to Ronan and his men, who were able to get more of the rubble down on the opposite side of the hall from us. Which was the only way they could get me out, and more importantly how Mack was able to fit his large bulk through.

  They rushed Mack and me to the hospital. He was fine. Me, not so much.

  That was three days ago, and I’m just now waking up. Apparently, time passes by quickly when you’re unconscious.

  Daria pushes some hair back from my cheek that has somehow stuck there in the remaining dirt and grime that’s yet to be cleaned off me. I glance around the room again, and it hits me that Daria is the only one here.

  “Wait, where is Reed?” I ask.

  She sighs heavily. “That’s the thing, Q. I don’t know.”

  Epilogue

  Roxie

  “We doing this or what fancy pants?”

  “Please refrain from calling me that.”

  “What? Fancy pants? Why? That’s what you are, isn’t it? Some gazillionaire, high-falooting, custom suit wearing, tea drinking, muckety-muck?” I grin big. In part to show that I’m kidding, even though I’m not. And in part to take the edge of since I’m serious. Because this guy? Ronan Sinclair? He is all those things and more.

  It didn’t take me long after I first met him to realize he was the same guy from the hospital that I was checking out when
we went to visit Daria. The one who’d been wiping his hands on a handkerchief, trying to be subtle about it. As though hospitals hold nothing but the dregs of society.

  I mean, I guess they are germ-filled cesspools of sickness and death now that I think about it, so maybe the hand wiping thing wasn’t such a bad idea. But it still made him look like a complete pussy.

  A sexy as hell complete pussy.

  So, imagine my surprise when he was also the guy who came grunting his way up over that rock and debris wall in Andrei’s basement to help us get out. We’d moved as much as we could from our side of the pile to try to escape, and thought we had a space large enough. But it turned out to be too difficult to circumvent without risk of injury by way of sharp concrete edges.

  He and his guys moved a lot from the opposite side that we couldn’t get to budge because of the way the chunks had wedged themselves in. And that was the only way we were getting out. Even though before that, none of us wanted to admit it to ourselves. With Mack injured and Quinn unconscious, anything we tried to do was slow going anyway at best.

  Then they laid cover against Viktor’s men as we made our way across the compound and over the wall to where Daria was waiting. I’ve known forever that girl was over the moon for Mack, but when I saw her face once she realized he was out, it became crystal fucking clear.

  She didn’t even realize Reed had unintentionally shot Mack until minutes later, giving her reason to fuss about him all over again. An odd sight to see since she is normally so cool and collected.

  Which about brings us to now—the hospital admitted Quinn, and Daria is staying with her. Jen and Alyssa took off to where I have no idea. Some nurse patched Mack up, and he was out again, against doctor’s orders.

  He and Reed left to track down Andrei.

  Because word on the street is that Andrei escaped.

  Which is the same thing that fancy-pants and I plan to do. We’re going one way, Mack and Reed are going the other, and with any luck at all, we’ll all meet in the middle, hopefully with Andrei stuck in between.

  “Wealth does not make a person falooting high or muckety,” Ronan says drily.

  I’d almost forgotten we were talking.

  “High-falooting and muckety-muck,” I correct.

  He waves his hand dismissively at me and continues fiddling with the controls in front of him. His accent is strong, like Daria’s, so I can understand him. But his voice is deep, which makes everything he says sound suggestive somehow.

  It could also be how he looks still dressed in his tactical gear. Tight black T-shirt showing off every nook and cranny in the muscles of his abs. Triceps and biceps piled on top of one another, begging to break free from the confines of his cotton sleeves each time he reaches for some knob or lever.

  At least I think it’s cotton. Who knows? Maybe super-rich guys have some sort of crazy-exotic cloth they use instead.

  I reach out to touch the shoulder closest to me. His skin twitches under my fingers. He turns to me and raises a brow. “What are you doing?”

  “I was just seeing if it was cotton.” I shrug, fixing my headphones as my shoulder knocks the mic slightly out of place.

  “It’s a T-shirt,” he returns.

  “I know.”

  “Of course it’s cotton,” he says.

  “It could be some fancy rich-guy material I’ve never heard of.”

  “Are you going to focus on my wealth through this entire trip?” he asks.

  “Um, hello?” I gesture to our surroundings. “We’re about to take off in this fancy-pants private plane.”

  “It’s a jet.”

  “Fancy-pants private jet,” I amend.

  He stops his ministrations and turns my way. “This is a Dassault Falcon seven X. It’s one of the fastest private jets a person can own with a maximum speed of Mach point nine. Not to mention a range of six thousand nautical miles. We can go almost anywhere without refueling and in about half the time as commercial travel.”

  “And?” I pretend I’m not impressed. But really, I’m excited as hell to feel Mach anything.

  “And hold on to your fancy-panties, red, we’re about to take off.” The jet starts to move, picking up speed rapidly as we go.

  “I’m not wearing any.” I smirk right before my head pins against the seat and my stomach drops. Ronan manipulates something else, and before I know it, the ground is falling away beneath us, and all I see are clouds.

  “You never told me where we’re going,” I say.

  “Where all the deceived go hunting for Judas.” He pauses before continuing, “To the ninth circle of hell.”

  A note and acknowledgments

  Yeah, I know. Even after I promised never to again, I did another fucking cliffhanger. Trust me, I’m hanging my head in shame right now. I hate myself for it. Want the truth? I ran out of time. I overcommitted and underdelivered. So, even as I type this I’m also frantically rearranging my 2020 production schedule so it doesn’t happen again. I’d promise you that it won’t happen again, but we’ve already seen how seriously I take a promise.

  That said. . .

  Rachel Radner - If I could put you in my pocket and keep you forever and ever, I would. I’m sure you realize how much I rely on you and how important your input is to my writing process. Thank you for being you. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your constance support and guidance.

  Missy Borucki - Dude, we’ve hit our sweet spot and I fucking love it. A harmonious, symbiotic relationship that I would shrivel and wilt without. Thank you for pushing me. Thank you for supporting me and standing by my side during this journey.

  Linda Russell - Not sure what I would do without you and Alissa. Because of you I don’t have to stumble through this blind and alone and for that I am eternally grateful. Even when I do forget to say good (time of day) in my messages and the fact that time zones exist.

  Angie, Jaime, Gabriella, Rochelle, and Susan - It takes a special kind of person to be a good BETA reader. You have to be honest, with a temperamental, over-emotional, exceedingly needy writer - never an easy task. Thank you for your time, your opinions, your support, your friendship. I rely on you guys, probably too much, but I am so very grateful to have you all in my life.

  ARC Readers - Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! That you take the time to read my words and review them means so very much! I read every single one. I pretend I don’t, but I do. And I love them!

  Sonja Tonjer - You and your eagle eye for imperfections hold a very special place in my heart! I hope, for my own sake, that you always want to read my books.

  Todd Claus - I know you said I didn’t have to thank you, but I’m going to anyway. Without your input, I’d be remotely detonating bombs that require fuses and making dynamite explode up all by itself. So, thank you!

  My Dirty Darlings IRL - Best reader group ever, I swear! Y’all inspired an entire world in my imagination - it doesn’t get any better than that. At least not for me. Thank you for the laughs, the virtual hugs, and the support!

  Remi-from-the-block - One of these days we’ll be in the same room again. I’ll write, you’ll read, the dragon will sleep, whiskey will be consumed, and all will be right with the world. Until then, my soul sister, stay strong, and thank you for loving me.

  BW - My man, my love, my better half, my foundation from which I grow. Thank you is never enough, but it’s all I got. I love you more than you’ll ever know. Only because I don’t tell you enough. So, here’s me telling you, all public-like and shit - Dude, you fucking complete me.

  About the Author

  Denise Wells has been reading since before she could talk. And to this day, escaping into a book is her go-to activity before anything else.

  She likes to write about sassy women and semi-flawed alpha-esque men. Denise’s female characters always have strong friendships, potty mouths, and like to drink—a lot.

  Denise is loyal to a fault, a bit too sarcastic, blindingly optimistic, and pretty freakin’ happy
with life overall. As a diehard fan of the band The Replacements, Denise would be a rock star in the band if she couldn’t be a writer. She’s even kissed the lead singer, Paul Westerberg, ask her about it sometime.

  Home is in the Pacific Northwest where she lives with five special needs dogs, one cat (who’s busy plotting the demise of the dogs), and a husband (BW) who has the patience and tolerance of a saint. And, lest she forget, Denise also lives with too many to count characters inside her head, who will eventually have their stories told.

  For more about Denise visit her website at:

  www.DeniseWells.com

  Or follow her on any of the social media sites below.

  Also by Denise Wells

  LOVE IN SAN SOLOMAN (complete series)

  Love Undecided, Love in San Soloman, One

  Love Undiscovered, Love in San Soloman, Two

  Love Unforgettable, Love in San Soloman, Three

  Love Unavoidable, Love in San Soloman Four

  Love Resurrected, Love in San Soloman Five

  DIRTY DARLINGS - THE BEGINNING

  Dirty Ex-Mas, a romantic suspense novella, Dirty Darlings-The Beginning, Book One

  Dirty Daria, a romantic suspense, Dirty Darlings-The Beginning, Book Two

  Dirty Quinn, a romantic suspense novella, Dirty Darlings-The Beginning, Book Three

  Dirty Roxie, a romantic suspense, Dirty Darlings-The Beginning, Book Four (June, 2020)

  STANDALONES

  How to Ruin Your Ex’s Wedding, a romantic comedy

  I Heart Mason Cartwright, a romantic comedy

  Breezy Like Sunday Morning, a romantic comedy novella (Storybook Pub Anthology)

  Rebel without a Claus, a M/M romance novella

  Breaking Dylan, a dark high school “romance”