by Emma Slate
It was like Quinn had punched me in the stomach. I was winded and unbalanced.
“Dolinsky… what do you know about Dolinsky?” I asked her.
She tapped the rim of her glass as she bit her lip. “I know that he was in charge before Sasha. I know that a lot of people weren’t happy with the direction things were going. I know there was a coup.” She took a deep breath. “I know you killed him.”
“Sasha must really trust you if he told you that,” I said, not all surprised.
“He didn’t tell me. I suspected.”
“Oh?”
“He’s told me enough. He’s glossed over a lot, but I know the general ideas.”
“The illegal stuff?” I guessed.
“Yeah. He told me he was responsible for Dolinsky’s death. Something about his wording stuck with me. He didn’t pull the trigger, but he was there when someone did. I thought about you and your relationship with Sasha. It was like a light going on. You helped him stage the coup, he helped you get back to your husband.”
“Dolinsky was… terrifyingly charming,” I began. Lulled by the fire and three fingers of scotch, I realized how easy it was to speak of things I would have otherwise guarded.
“Terrifyingly charming? What does that even mean?” she wondered.
“He wasn’t just powerful. Flynn is powerful. Sasha is powerful. But Dolinsky… he was ruthless and evil. But not with me. With me, he was seductive. He lured me in. He had a way with words, he played the viola, and there were times that our eyes would meet and all I saw was sadness.”
“Was it Stockholm syndrome?”
“Maybe. A little.” I shrugged. “I didn’t sympathize with him, not in the way someone who is kidnapped sympathizes with the kidnapper.”
“Then what was it about him?” Quinn asked, enthralled.
“He introduced me to a world I never knew existed. His mansion was imperial Russia. Dolinsky was a modern-day czar, and he wanted to make me his queen.”
I thought of the mink coat he’d given me. The mink coat I wore when I killed him. Flynn had taken that coat and burned it. And still the essence of Dolinsky remained in the ashes.
“I wasn’t seduced by the money or the clothes or the jewelry. I was seduced because Dolinsky told me to embrace my own brutality. He told me never to be afraid of who I was becoming. He told me he saw me for who I was, who I could be. He thought I was as terrifying as he was, I just didn’t know it yet. But he was wrong.”
“He was?” Quinn asked, a note of something hopeful in her voice. I hated to disappoint her.
“He was wrong,” I repeated. “Because at the height of his power, I brought him down. A woman brought him down. I took his power and killed him with it.”
Chapter 27
Quinn’s cell phone rang disturbing the intimacy of the moment. She reached for the device that vibrated across the coffee table.
“Hello? Hey,” she said with a glance at me. “Yeah, she’s here. Hold on.” She handed me her phone and then made a move to leave to give me privacy. I waved her down.
I put the phone to my ear. “Hey.”
“I’m with your husband,” Sasha said in way of greeting.
“You’re at The Rex?”
“No, we’re at Krasnyy.”
Krasnyy was Sasha’s Russian lounge.
“Who’s with the kids?” I demanded.
Sasha asked the question. I heard a muffled answer and then Sasha came back on the line. “Flynn says the nannies got back from the show.”
“Fine. If that’s all—”
“Barrett, what the hell is going on?” Sasha growled. “You’re at my apartment, your phone is off, and Flynn is drunker than I’ve ever seen him. Not to mention he’s miserable.”
“He hasn’t told you what happened?” I asked.
“No. He’s sitting at the bar of my bar and broodingly staring into a glass of scotch. You need to talk to him.”
“Not when he’s like this.”
Sasha cursed in a stream of Russian. “I’m giving you the phone. Talk to each other.”
I briefly thought about hanging up, but that was a juvenile way of dealing with my hurt feelings.
“Barrett?” Flynn slurred.
“Flynn,” my voice softened. “What are you doing, love?”
“Miss you.” There was a smattering of static and then a mumbled, “Drive you away.”
“You haven’t. Put Sasha on the phone.”
A moment later, Sasha came back on the line. “Yes?”
“I know this is asking a lot, but is there any way you can bring him home with you?”
“You don’t want me to stick him with his driver and take him back to The Rex?” Sasha asked.
I ran a hand down my face. “I don’t want our employees to see him like this.”
“You both can stay in the guest room.”
“You’re the greatest there ever was,” I said.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before. Hold on, your husband is making a grab for the phone.”
“I love you,” Flynn yelled into my ear.
I winced. “Love you, too. I’ll see you in a little while.” I hung up before Flynn could further destroy my eardrum. “Thanks.” I tossed Quinn’s phone to her.
“Sure.”
“How much of that did you hear?” I demanded.
“Oh, you know just a—not a lot. There was a lot of noise.”
I peered at her. “So everything.”
“Yeah, everything.” She shook her head and smiled ruefully. “Sasha tried to tell me, but I didn’t believe him.”
“What?”
“How you and Flynn are.”
“What’s that mean?” I demanded.
“You fight as much as you love.”
“The stupid man,” I said, feeling tears come to my eyes.
“Will you finally tell me what your fight was about?”
“Flynn thinks I’m having an affair. I went to visit my best friend’s brother who’s a lawyer and Flynn assumed it was because I want a divorce.”
Quinn’s green eyes widened.
“Yep. This is my life.”
“Why would he… How did he…”
“Another source of our problems.” I briefly explained about the out-of-sight bodyguard, but didn’t get into why I had one. One question would just spawn another.
Quinn shook her head in disbelief.
“I’m not, you know. Having an affair,” I said to her.
“Well, of course you’re not!” she insisted.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” she replied loftily.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She pointed to my empty glass. “Refill?”
I sighed. “Might as well.”
The kids were fine, Jen assured me. They were asleep and despite the fact that Iain and Noah had red streaks on their faces due to Hawk going Sharpie crazy, everyone was good.
As I hung with the nanny, Sasha’s front door opened. Flynn had his arm slung across Sasha’s shoulders, but he drooped and would’ve stumbled if Sasha hadn’t been there to prop him up. I rushed to Flynn’s other side, and he immediately gave me a good deal of his weight. The term ‘drunken lout’ popped into my head.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “How much did he have to drink?”
“He was already pretty drunk by the time he got to the bar,” Sasha said. “My bartender cut him off after one drink. Flynn didn’t like that too much.”
“He’s the reason your night with Quinn was ruined,” I said in realization as we managed to lug Flynn into the guest room.
“Yep.”
“You could’ve called me,” I said as I maneuvered out from underneath Flynn’s arm. He was still strangely silent, not having made a sound. Maybe he’d had so much scotch he was rendered momentarily silent. I turned on the bedside lamp so we didn’t all tumble to the ground.
“I did call you,” Sasha said. “You didn’t answer yo
ur phone.”
“Right. I turned it off.”
We got Flynn onto the bed on his back. I took off his shoes and set them aside, but there was no way I was going to be able to undress him.
“You got this?” Sasha asked. “I can stay and help—”
“Nah, I’m good. Apologize again for me.”
“I will.”
“Will you guys be around tomorrow morning? There’s some stuff we need to discuss.”
“We’ll be here.”
Sasha ducked out of the room and I was left with my snoring husband. Shaking my head, I brushed the dark locks off his forehead.
“What am I going to do with you, Flynn Campbell?” I asked. I didn’t expect a reply, and I didn’t get one. I tried to make him as comfortable as possible, but he was 250 pounds of liquid scotch.
I kicked off my shoes, tried to find a spot on the bed, and fell asleep. I woke up a few hours later with Flynn’s head on my chest, his arms wrapped around me. It was in that moment that I realized what was going on with Flynn. What had happened with Dolinsky hadn’t just happened to me—it had happened to Flynn, too. Every time I had a dream about Dolinsky, sexual or otherwise, it tore into Flynn’s soul.
He accused me of having an affair because he could fight a living man. There was hope of wining me back from a living man—but not from a dead one.
Flynn sighed in his sleep and gripped me tighter. I ran my hand through his hair. The man drove me insane. But I loved him. Unconditionally. And he still didn’t know it. I didn’t know what else I could do to prove it to him.
I tried to extract myself from Flynn’s heavy form, but he threw a leg over my body, pinning me to the bed. That wasn’t going to work for my full bladder. I tried to shove him off me but that had no effect.
“Flynn,” I said low in his ear, shaking him. He continued to sleep and my bladder was screaming. Drastic times. I put my fingers to his armpits and began to tickle. Just as I’d hoped, Flynn jerked and then rolled off of me, trying to escape the tickling. He was insanely ticklish.
I jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom connected to the guest room. When I returned, I saw two eyes tracking my movement.
“How are you feeling?” I whispered.
“I think I’m still a little drunk,” came a raspy reply.
I climbed into bed and scooted closer to him. We were face to face and even though there was only a bit of moonlight coming through the window, it was enough to see the anguish on his face.
“I want to be better. For you and for the boys.” He paused. “Are you unhappy?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
Despite the gravity of the situation, I smiled. “I’m sure.”
“So you’re not having an affair and you don’t want to divorce me?”
“Correct.”
“Then who—”
I placed my fingertips to his lips. “I’ll explain everything tomorrow.”
He nodded, his eyes beginning to close. “I’m not good husband and father material,” he murmured as he sank into the pillows.
There was no use arguing with him at the moment even though that statement couldn’t be farther from the truth. Flynn was loyal, protective, and he loved deeply. If that wasn’t good husband and father material then I didn’t know what was.
Chapter 28
I woke up before everyone and I did it on purpose. I wanted to apologize to Quinn and Sasha for ruining their night and the best way I could see doing that was to cook breakfast. When I’d first started working for Flynn, he’d come to my prewar apartment once a week and I’d given him a rundown of what I thought was going on in his club. I’d cook him lunch, and he’d eventually navigate away from work to grill me on personal business. Such simpler times, I thought wryly.
I enjoyed cooking, but there wasn’t usually a need for me to do it. We had a housekeeper in Dornoch who cooked and when I wasn’t there, I was in a Rex Hotel. Room service with a push of a button.
I rifled through Sasha’s massive steel refrigerator; it was a chef’s dream. I pulled out eggs, bacon, and bread, and set them on the counter. I got the coffee brewing, hoping that might rouse some of the other occupants.
Sasha’s living room was an open floor design with large windows. Morning rays filtered in, painting streaks of light on the wood floor. There was a spiral iron staircase that connected the three floors of the warehouse, very reminiscent of a fireman’s pole. I saw a pair of long legs in yoga pants coming down the stairs and then the rest of Quinn. As she strolled across the living room to the kitchen, she covered her yawning mouth. She looked a little sleep dazed as she took a seat on one of the stools, resting her elbows on the counter.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Cooking. You do know what cooking looks like, don’t you?” I teased.
“How are you awake and coherent right now?”
I poured her a cup of coffee and set it down in front of her. “I have three children under the age of two. Enough said.”
Quinn yawned again and then asked, “You didn’t have to make breakfast.”
“I wanted to. You hungry?”
“I will be in a bit. I need a few more minutes to wake up.”
“Is Sasha up yet?”
“Not officially,” she said with a smile. “He kind of rolled over into my spot when I got up.”
I chuckled. “I do that when Flynn gets out of bed.”
“Is he okay?” she asked tentatively.
“He will be. What do you want for breakfast?” I asked changing the subject. “Eggs? French toast?”
“French toast, please.”
Just as I was setting Quinn’s plate in front of her, Sasha came down the spiral staircase. He looked just as confused by what was going on in his kitchen as Quinn had been.
“Do either of you guys cook?” I wondered in amusement.
“Does boiling water count?” Quinn asked around a bite of French toast. Sasha snuck a piece of bacon off of her plate and popped it into his mouth.
“Flynn’s not up?” Sasha asked on his way to the coffee maker.
“Not yet.”
“I’m up,” came Flynn’s reply. I looked to the doorway of the guest room and took in Flynn’s ashen face and tight expression.
I poured him a glass of orange juice and set it down on the counter before sliding two pieces of bread into the toaster. Flynn took a seat on other side of Quinn, keeping his eyes downcast in embarrassment. We’d all been there—drinking too much and then being sorry for our behavior. But I’d never seen him lose control before, not in nearly four years.
“I’ll grab you some painkillers,” Sasha said with a teasing glint in his eye.
“Thanks,” Flynn rasped.
Everyone was quiet after Sasha returned with Advil. I lightly buttered the toast and put it onto a plate for Flynn. Sasha didn’t want any food, settling for coffee. I cooked myself some scrambled eggs.
“I’d like to apologize for last night,” Flynn said. His eyes darted between the three of us, seeking forgiveness.
Quinn and Sasha were gracious in their acceptance of his apology. Flynn’s eyes shot to mine asking a silent question.
Instead of answering, I walked into the guest bedroom to get my shoulder bag. I returned to the kitchen, pulling out the file on Alessandro Filippi.
“I think it’s time I brought everyone up to speed.”
We moved to the living room and brought our cups of coffee. Quinn sat next to Sasha on the couch while I stood near Flynn who all but collapsed into a chair. And then I told them everything. From my first encounter with Filippi in Las Vegas ending with our time in Central Park when he finally explained to me his end game.
Quinn appeared composed as if everything I revealed didn’t bother her. Her background must’ve prepared her for something like this. Sasha, however, was livid. Flynn might’ve been livid, but at the moment, he still looked hungover.
“Someone wants to take down Flynn.
Filippi says he knows who it is,” I said.
“Yeah,” Sasha growled. “He’ll tell you, but he wants all the territory I took over after Marino died.”
“So he has something to take back to the Italians and make a play for leader,” I explained.
“No, I get it,” Sasha voiced. “It’s just bullshit.”
“What happens if he doesn’t get what he wants? Does he have the manpower and support to take it?” Flynn wondered. He reached for the file on the coffee table, hoping to find the answer in there.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I didn’t get a chance to really read through that information.” I placed a hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “He threatened our children.”
All traces of hangover vanished. Flynn suddenly morphed into the man I recognized. Calm, sure, lethal. “He did what?”
“Not outright, but it was blatant enough.”
“I’ll fucking kill him,” Flynn stated.
“I’ll help,” Sasha added.
“Okay, before we do anything, first thing’s first,” I said, interrupting them before they could begin their masculine show. “We need to get the boys out of New York.”
“Belfast,” Flynn said. “We’ll send the boys with Jen and Evie to Belfast.”
“Who’s in Belfast?” Quinn inquired.
“Flynn’s uncle,” I explained.
“And you trust him to see to your kids’ safety?” she went on.
“James has ways,” I said evasively, shooting Flynn a look.
When Quinn frowned, Flynn took pity on her and said, “My uncle might be a member of the IRA.”
“What’s his last name?” Quinn asked suddenly.
“Kilmartin,” Flynn said. “James Kilmartin.”
“Does he have a son named Brandon?”
“Yeah,” I said in surprise. “How did you—”
“The Kilmartins are old friends of my father,” Quinn said with a laugh. “Growing up, I had the biggest crush on Brandon.”
I let out a surprised chuckle as did Flynn. “Small world,” Flynn remarked.
“Yeah, small world,” Sasha repeated with a glower.
Quinn patted his knee. “I don’t have a crush on him anymore.”
“That takes care of the boys,” I said, feeling a smattering of relief. Though I hated the idea of sending them away, I didn’t want them in New York where they could be used as pawns. I’d been through that before with Hawk. They’d be safe with James and his wife, Moira.
