Quinn

by D. B. Reynolds

  She looked up, and he saw the matching desire in her eyes, the remembered heat from the times they’d fucked. And for a moment, he thought she’d stay. But then she shook her head and said, “I have to go home. To Howth. You’ll call me? When you know something, I mean.”

  He stepped away from her, both hands in the air in front of him. “Sure thing. Garrick will see you safely to your car.”

  “That’s not necess—”

  “Actually, it is. This is my world, Eve. I call the shots.”

  The look she shot him had a little of her fire back, which made him happier. He didn’t want his Eve to be sad or confused. He wanted her pissed off and ready to rumble. As long as the rumbling didn’t involve killing more vampires.

  “What about the Sig? You going to steal another one of my guns?” she demanded.

  Quinn picked up the gun, popped the magazine and emptied it. Then racked the slide. It was empty. “You should keep a round in the chamber, in addition to a full mag,” he said as he handed her the now-empty weapon. “It gives you an extra round. And with such a small gun, you can use it.”

  “Doesn’t do much good if you keep taking all my weapons away from me.”

  “Self-preservation, sweetheart.” He winked as the office door opened on silent hinges, and Garrick stood there. “Make sure Eve gets to her car safely, please.”

  “Sure thing, my lord.”

  “You make your own cousin call you that?”

  “He doesn’t make me do a damn thing,” Garrick snarled. “It’s a matter of respect. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Garrick,” Quinn said quietly, then turned to Eve. “My world, Eve.”

  She blushed and headed for the door, while Garrick gave him a questioning look.

  “Make sure she leaves the neighborhood, then we’ll talk,” Quinn told him.

  EVE STAYED TWO steps ahead of Quinn’s cousin. He was nearly as bad as that bodyguard, Adorjan. Both of them hovered over Quinn, as if he couldn’t protect himself. From her, for God’s sake. She’d seen him take down that gang of vampires without breaking a sweat, and Garrick was worried about her? She reached her car and climbed inside. Granted, she had killed a few vampires over the last five years. But she didn’t want to kill Quinn.

  She locked her car doors, then turned and raised her middle finger at Garrick. Asshole.

  No, she thought as she drove away. She didn’t want to kill Quinn. She wanted to fuck the beautiful bastard. Fangs and all.

  GARRICK WALKED into Quinn’s study and closed the door softly behind him. “So?” he asked.

  Quinn threw down the iPad he’d been making notes on. “She wants the vampires who killed her brother.”

  “And?”

  “And I told her I’d deliver them, but that’s it.”

  Garrick walked over and slumped onto one of the chairs in front of Quinn’s desk. “Can I speak candidly for a minute?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Garrick. Talk.”

  “Q, you know I’ll support whatever you do. Unless, you know, you become a mass murderer or something, then all bets are off.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “Yeah, well, I just wanted to set limits before I continue.”

  Quinn rolled his hand in a signal to move on.

  “I’m worried about this girl. We’re vampires, we’re territorial crea­tures. You’re a vampire lord, or you soon will be, which means your territorial instincts, your possessive instincts, are off the charts. And when it comes to women . . . hell, we’ve all seen the lengths to which powerful lords will go to protect the women they love.”

  “I don’t love Eve.”

  “Not yet, maybe. But you could. I’ve seen you with a lot of women over the years, and there’s not one of them you’d have made that deal with. Any other woman would be dead by now. She’s a killer, damn it.”

  “And so are we,” Quinn said quietly. “We’ve both killed vampires, me more than you.”

  “In challenges, in defense of our lives.”

  “But that’s what Eve thinks she doing. Defending herself and others against the kind of vampire who killed her brother.”

  “Except she’s not, damn it. She’s killing whoever crosses her path.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “If you can believe her.” Garrick sighed. “So, what’s the plan, my lord?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not going to rush out and hunt down Eve’s vamps, just so I can deliver them tied up like hogs on her doorstep. My first priority is getting rid of Sorley. As for the rest, I’m sure some of his inner circle will choose to make a stand with him. And I’m sure those two will be included in that circle.” He tossed the burner phone over to Garrick. He’d retrieved it from his desk after Eve had gone. It had been in the office the entire time, just muted.

  “We’ve met these two,” Garrick said, studying the images. “Or, not met so much as seen. They were at Sorley’s that first night, part of his close guard.”

  “They were. I’m betting they’re his enforcers, which means they like beating up other people, especially people who can’t fight back, like humans.”

  “What if they decide not to go down with Sorley’s ship?”

  Quinn took the phone back when Garrick offered it. “I’ll be making changes once I become lord, bringing in my own people, vampires I can trust. These two don’t strike me as the trustworthy kind.” He lifted his gaze to meet Garrick’s. “They won’t like being sidelined. I expect them to protest forcefully.” He leaned back in his big chair, until the springs creaked with strain. “Ireland will soon be mine, Garrick. Every vampire on this island will live by my sufferance. Or they will die.”

  Chapter Nine

  THEY HAD A VISITOR the next night, soon after sundown—a mes­senger bearing a summons from Sorley. Quinn was in the front yard with Adorjan and Joshua Bell, the head of his daylight security detail, discussing improvements necessary to make the house secure. The wooden gate stood half-open, enough to admit foot traffic as there was a lot of work going on in the garages, as well as the house. The previous owners hadn’t used the garages at all, and the door mechanisms had gone to rust. Quinn liked elegant cars, and he intended to put the garages to their intended purpose.

  He and the others turned when a sleek motorcycle roared up to the gate, bearing a black-clad vampire. The vamp gunned the bike’s engine, as if demanding admission. The gate guards regarded him impassively, not moving, even though one of the guards was from Conover’s gang and must have recognized the biker.

  “You recognize him?” Quinn asked Adorjan.

  “Not offhand.” He looked around and called over another of Conover’s people who was supervising a crew working to restore the garage doors. The vampire looked up when Adorjan called his name and came running over.

  “My lord?” he said, bowing his head to Quinn.

  “Do you recognize our visitor?”

  The vamp studied the biker. “One of Sorley’s flunkies. He’s prob­ably a messenger, though he can’t be trusted.” Adorjan thanked him, and the vamp returned to his duties.

  “Let him in,” Quinn told Adorjan.

  “My lord—”

  “Let him in, Adorjan. He’ll report back to Sorley on everything he sees here. Let’s make sure it’s what we want him to see.”

  Adorjan’s mouth pinched, but he nodded his agreement and signaled the gate guards, who widened the gate opening enough for the bike and rider to pass through. The messenger would have rolled his motorcycle right up to Quinn, but Adorjan stepped into his path, forcing him to brake hard. The bike spun in a half circle, but the vamp held onto it. Kicking it to a standstill, he shut down the engine, jumped off, and stormed over to confront Adorjan, ignoring the fact that Quinn’s security chief was nearly twice his size.

&nbs
p; “What the fuck, asshole?” their visitor demanded. “Sorley’s going to hear about this.”

  Adorjan regarded him with silent amusement. “What shall I do with him, my lord?”

  Quinn bit back his grin and said, “Let’s get this over with. Let him by.”

  The rider—who seemed to have let his position go to his head— bristled at Quinn’s casual disregard, but he held his tongue. It was one thing to tell off one of Quinn’s subordinates, but, apparently, it was something else entirely to show disrespect to a vampire powerful enough to warrant a personal message from Sorley.

  Adorjan stepped aside. The rider stomped past him and stopped in front of Quinn. He half-bowed from the waist and held out an old-fashioned message tube. “From the Lord of Ireland,” he said briskly.

  Quinn took the tube and flipped it in his hand, spinning it around like a baton, testing it for magical residue. He wouldn’t put it beyond Sorley to use the archaic piece as a trap to assassinate Quinn before he could become a serious rival. The messenger stared at his treatment of the tube with such horror that Quinn thought his suspicions must have merit. But he didn’t sense anything and quickly realized that the vampire’s shock was due to Quinn’s irreverent treatment of the message, rather than some murderous plot. He’d known Sorley was a self-im­portant bastard, but this exceeded even his estimations.

  Finally, Quinn handed the message tube to Adorjan, who popped it open with intentional disregard, letting the end cap drop to the gravel drive, before pulling out the single piece of rolled paper and passing it to Quinn unread.

  Quinn scanned it quickly, half-expecting it to be calligraphic, given the pomp of its delivery. But it was a simple typed message from Sorley, demanding he present himself that same evening for “reassignment.” Whatever the fuck that meant. Obviously Sorley knew he’d taken up residence in Dublin Ballsbridge, rather than remaining in Howth. But then, Quinn had made no attempt to hide that fact. His presence in Dublin, by itself, didn’t change his status in Howth. Although, his status had changed, something Sorley clearly understood. This summons was a test. And since Quinn wasn’t yet prepared to challenge the Irish lord directly, he would answer accordingly.

  He looked at the messenger who was waiting expectantly. “You can leave,” he said bluntly.

  “Lord Sorley—”

  “You’re done here,” Quinn interrupted. “Adorjan.”

  His security chief stepped between Quinn and the messenger, but instead of using his imposing size, he used his power to give the vampire a backward shove, moving him several feet, until he almost tripped over his own bike. It was a blatant show of force, and the vamp’s eyes went wide with shock. He scrambled back onto his bike and gunned for the gate, which, fortunately, the guards had left open. Once on the street, he hit the throttle so hard, the bike rose up on its back wheel before hitting the street with a crunch and zooming out of sight.

  “Twitchy little bunny,” Adorjan commented, as he signaled the guards to close the gate.

  “I suspect he’s more accustomed to fear and reverence,” Quinn observed. “Not for himself, but as a speaker of sorts for Sorley.”

  “You really plan to go there?”

  “Of course. It would be rude otherwise,” Quinn said, with a grin.

  “I’ll arrange a security team to—”

  “No, I’ll take Garrick.”

  Adorjan’s gaze was steely. “My lord—”

  “If I show up with a bunch of guards, Sorley might feel threatened and take action. It could easily come to a fight, and I’m not ready for that yet. He already knows Garrick. The two of us will go.” He smiled at Adorjan’s grimace. “I can defend myself, you know.”

  “I know,” Adorjan agreed. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

  GARRICK DROVE THE Range Rover to Sorley’s. Adorjan had made a final argument in favor of him going along, too, but Quinn had vetoed it.

  “We’ll be back soon enough. I suspect that whatever Sorley wants, I’m going to need my own people before the night is over.”

  They rolled through the gates of Sorley’s Donnybrook estate, with its mature trees and ivy-covered walls. If Quinn’s house looked like the home of a nouveau riche investment analyst, then Sorley’s place should have been occupied by the third or fourth generation of some ancient Irish nobility. Although Quinn doubted there was a single drop of noble blood in Sorley’s veins.

  Garrick again parked on the street, not wanting to risk getting trapped behind Sorley’s wrought iron gates, or end up carrying a bomb on the Range Rover’s undercarriage. Quinn wouldn’t put it past the Irish lord to use this opportunity to get rid of the American interloper who was already an irritant and was quickly becoming a genuine threat.

  They ignored the guards—who ordered them to wait for word from Sorley before passing through the gates—and walked right up the short set of stairs and into the house. Surprised silence greeted their arrival.

  “Gentlemen,” Quinn said, breaking the silence. “And ladies,” he added, when a group of women were ushered in from a side door. He scanned the group, looking for red hair and, not finding any, said, “Looks like I’m in time for dinner.” He winked at the women who giggled happily, not at all offended.

  “They’re not for you.” Sorley’s lieutenant, Lorcan, appeared in an open doorway on the side opposite the women. He gave Quinn a sour look up and down. “He’s waiting for you.”

  “Lovely. Lead the way.”

  Lorcan scowled, but apparently Sorley really was waiting, because he pushed open one of the doors and gestured for Quinn and Garrick to go ahead of him.

  Quinn shared a chuckle with Garrick at that. “I don’t think so,” he told Lorcan, letting amusement flavor his words. “You go first.”

  “Americans,” Lorcan growled. “Fucking uncouth.”

  Quinn shrugged. In his world, Lorcan would have insisted on going first, rather than permitting a vampire whom he clearly distrusted to precede him into Sorley’s inner sanctum. But maybe they did things differently over here.

  They followed Lorcan into an ordinary office. It was on the small side, with two bookshelves on the left and a single leather visitor’s chair beneath a painting that looked old, but that Quinn didn’t recognize. He’d taken art history several decades ago, in his sophomore year at Princeton, but only because he’d been dating a pretty blonde Fine Arts major. He’d broken up with the blonde before the semester ended. He’d still gotten credit for the course, but he didn’t remember much about it.

  Directly in front of him, centered between two tall windows, was a desk behind which sat Sorley in a leather chair that was too big for his modest stature. If he was trying to make an impression, he should have bought a smaller chair. But then, he didn’t need a chair to impress anyone. For all that Quinn intended to kill the Irish lord, he didn’t make the mistake of thinking him an easy target. Sorley was old, wily, powerful enough to have unseated the previous lord, and had held onto the throne for 65 years.

  “Lord Sorley, you rang.” Quinn didn’t bow, or even dip his chin, but his greeting was respectful, if not traditional.

  “I didn’t ring, and I didn’t ask for him at all.” He flicked his fingers in Garrick’s direction, then jerked his chin at Lorcan, as if ordering him to get rid of Garrick.

  “He stays,” Quinn said, his voice hard. He would play the game only so far.

  Lorcan reached for Garrick anyway.

  Quinn lifted his gaze to Sorley’s lieutenant and shoved, using just enough power to get the job done. Lorcan stumbled backward with a surprised yip of sound, then immediately growled as if to cover up the embarrassing noise. He started forward angrily, but Sorley stopped him with a raised hand.

  “Let it be, Lorcan. If Quinn here is too afraid to face me alone, I’ll leave him his nanny.”

  Quinn smiled, unfazed by the i
ntended insult. If anyone had shoved his lieutenant around, that person would be writhing on the ground. Either Sorley didn’t value Lorcan, or whatever he wanted from Quinn was important enough to ignore the offense.

  “I have a task for you,” he told Quinn, steepling his fingers on the desktop in front of him.

  “I assumed as much.”

  Sorley scowled at the interruption, but continued. “It would have been Conover’s responsibility, but you fucked that up.”

  Quinn shrugged. “He came to my home and challenged me. He lost. It’s the vampire way.”

  “Con was ever ambitious, but good at his job. Which is now yours,” he added smugly.

  When Quinn didn’t comment, he continued. “One of his duties, the one he should have been doing instead of getting himself killed, was keeping an eye on the human gangs here in Dublin. We move a lot of product through the main port, most of which is controlled by one gang or another. I don’t get involved in their endless battles. If they want to butcher each other, it’s no matter to me. But when they try to fuck with my business, I do get involved.”

  “That’s happening now?” Quinn asked, as much to move along Sorley’s explanation as to express polite interest.

  Sorley nodded. “One of the gangs has been handling my drug imports for years, but now they want guns. Not to sell, to use. Probably against some other gang. They tell me, no guns, no drugs.”

  Quinn raised an eyebrow. He had plenty of guns coming in through Howth, and Sorley knew it. Was he suggesting Quinn give the guns to his human allies? That was a double-edged sword.

  “I don’t give a damn what they want,” the Irish lord said, as if in response to Quinn’s unvoiced question. “Don’t mistake me. I use humans when it suits me, but they are not allies. They’re animals who’d be just as happy killing every vampire in Dublin, and I have no intention of giving them the weapons to do so.”

  “Then what?”

  “I want you to kill the lot of them. Every single gang member. Once they’re gone, others will step in to fill the void, and they’ll know to show proper deference to their betters.”