by Addison Fox
“Too much cover-up?” Drake questioned.
“Oh yeah”—Kane nodded—“no doubt. No one believes they’re innocent, but they’ve been slick enough to hide all the nasty shit they’re up to. Black Jack Grant’s been untouchable.”
“And now?” Quinn asked, a sinking feeling gripping him low in the gut. “I’ve already gone through the head game on this after talking to Grey. I admit I doubted her, but I know Montana’s innocent. I know she is. I figured all along, but what happened today couldn’t be faked.”
Kane nodded in clear agreement. “She likely is. Black Jack was a wily son of a bitch and supposedly worked with a very small, very refined inner circle. If Montana’s trying to take the company public, an attack by an immortal is possibly the least of her worries.”
Quinn stared at the spike of metal in his hand and for the first time, felt a genuine trickle of alarm. Every time he got a handle on what was happening, the sands shifted yet again. As a lifelong disciple of Themis’s mission—a Warrior to the core—the sense of fear was as startling as it was humbling. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The kind of men who want her out of the way are likely as dangerous as any immortal. Hell, many of them even make Enyo look like a walk in the park.”
Chapter Eleven
Montana ran her hands over the sleek lines of the indigo-blue silk sheath spread across her lap as she stared up at Quinn. “You really want me to still go to this event tonight?”
“We need to figure out who is behind the attack, and I can only do that if my brothers and I can get him out in the open.”
“Him?” She raised her eyebrows as she stood up from the small couch in the sitting area of the bedroom they’d given her. The bandages and stinky poultice were long gone, replaced by a designer gown and thousand-dollar shoes.
“Likely.” Quinn’s voice brooked no argument and he’d shifted into what Montana already thought of as security mode.
“And he’s an immortal?”
“Likely as well, but we need to confirm that.” The BlackBerry at his waist must have gone off because he had the device pulled out with the speed of an Old West gunslinger.
“I’m not done grilling you.” At his raised eyebrows and distracted glance from the small screen of his phone, she added, “All the immortal stuff. Just because I haven’t said much about it since earlier doesn’t mean I’m just going to roll over and agree with all of it.”
“It is what it is.” With that, he refocused on the device
Those flashes of annoyance came back in full force. She’d hated her father’s constant immersion with his BlackBerry, the subtle sense she was always taking second place to an electronic device an ever-present feeling. She’d be damned if she’d tolerate it from Quinn. “You really need to learn some people skills, you know that?”
He glanced up from where he scrolled through the screen. “What are you talking about?”
“That thing, for one.” She made a grab for the device, catching him off guard enough to wrest it away. “Look at me when I’m talking to you. The message will still be there in another five minutes.”
He actually looked confused. Lines furrowed his brow and his eyes had taken on a distinctly unfocused gaze as he watched her hold on to the device. “It’s giving me a constant stream of info on tonight’s event. I’ve got it synched to my office.”
Montana tossed said device in an arc, where it landed on the middle of the bed. “I don’t give a shit. Talk to me. I run a multibillion-dollar global company and I know how to ignore mine for more than two minutes at a time.”
“Montana.” He was already up and heading for the bed when she reached for his arm.
“Quinn. I’m serious.” On a deep breath, Montana weighed the pros and cons of what she was about to say. After the two days they’d shared, she finally settled on the realization she likely didn’t have all that much to lose.
She sat on a small settee flanking one wall. “I’ve spent my entire life ignored. And most of the time, I don’t let it bother me beyond the fact that it’s a base annoyance. But I was attacked today. And I’ve potentially discovered my body’s changing in ways I never could have imagined. And I’m trying to talk to you about what’s going to happen tonight. Look at me. Talk to me.”
Whatever confusion she’d seen in the chocolate depths of Quinn’s eyes morphed into a completely different sort of look. Those dark orbs turned molten as he took a seat next to her and turned to face her.
With sweet, aching movements, he ran a fingertip down her cheek, over her jaw and down the line of her throat. “What do you want to know?”
Every single shred of annoyance and anger slid in a heartbeat into long, sensuous ribbons of need. They unfurled in her belly and spread through her bloodstream. Their interrupted moments from earlier came rushing back as her body sprang to life with barely banked need.
With a shake of her head, she pulled back and shifted in her seat to add a few inches of separation for good measure. “Oh no. I can’t go there right now. I need to know about myself. I need to understand.”
On a resigned sigh, he sat back and settled himself on the impossibly small, decorative couch. “You’re right. I don’t like clients who are in the dark and I shouldn’t do it to you. Where do you want me to start?”
“You’ve told me about my mother. While it’s odd and fantastical, it makes a logical sort of sense.” As if any of this were logical. “What did you find out earlier?”
“Earlier?” Quinn took a deep breath as if he were reaching for additional strength.
“With the guys? When Callie came to find me, she said you had something you wanted to tell me. That you all discovered something. What did you find?”
“The guys and I were trying to figure out what weapon was used on you. What it meant.”
“You figured it out?”
“I wouldn’t exactly go there. But we do have a better sense of something.”
“Come on, Quinn. I’m aging here.” At the idea that maybe she wasn’t aging any longer, a laugh bubbled up in her throat. “Or maybe I’m not. But come on. Tell me.”
“We looked at the spikes that we pulled from your back. And there were images imprinted on the metal.”
“Really?” Montana had avoided looking at the metal bowl Callie had filled with the spikes beyond a cursory glance, but she had looked closely enough to see them. “I’ll admit thirteen of them hurt horribly—one would have hurt horribly—but they weren’t that big. How did you find writing on them?”
“The best we can tell, the spikes had been part of a larger knife that had a spell on them.”
“A spell?”
Quinn nodded. “Something dark, that hasn’t been used in a very long time. The moment it reached your skin, it shattered as it was designed to.”
Ice-cold fingers of fear gripped Montana from the inside out, the sensation reminding her of a long-forgotten memory of her father.
She had been fourteen and on a rare ski trip to Switzerland with her father and whatever woman he’d been dating at the time. Annoyed with the attention he lavished on the bimbo and the lack of time either of them had had for her, Montana took a lift to one of the highest mountains at their resort.
Within minutes after starting the run, she realized she was too far out of her depth as the scenery flew by. She’d finally found a place to regroup, in the midst of a few jagged outcroppings, and had stopped her descent down the mountain.
Cold wind had whipped around her and battered her body as she sat huddled between the rocks. Anger had filled her, but no matter how heated her emotions, it couldn’t warm her. Couldn’t keep the fear at bay.
She’d made a vow that day. A vow to ignore her father as he ignored her, taking what he was willing to offer and finding what she needed somewhere else.
So slowly, she worked her way down the mountain. It had taken her nearly two hours before she made it back to the chateau where they were staying.
She’
d climbed what felt like endless stairs to her bedroom and fallen into the shower, allowing the water to run for what must have been an hour.
Long after her body had warmed, the fear that had consumed her on the mountain wouldn’t leave.
“Montana? What is it?”
“Bad memories.”
“About what?” Quinn moved closer and wrapped an arm around her. The motion wasn’t intended to be sexual, but she felt her body come to life under the comforting gesture.
Had she ever really found what she needed somewhere else?
“I was just thinking about something that happened when I was a kid.”
“Tell me about it.”
In a soft voice, she recounted the story and her painstaking trek down the mountain. “I was so afraid. So fearful I was cold from the inside out.”
“You probably had hypothermia.” She heard the anger in his voice, felt it in the subtle tightening of his grip on her upper arm. “What the hell kind of parent lets that happen?”
“My parent, obviously. The only one I had since my mother chose to leave.”
“If what we suspect is true, maybe she felt she didn’t have a choice.”
The heat of rising anger stamped hard on those cold fingers of fear clenched around her belly. She might have been unable to do anything about them as a child, but there was nothing that could keep the anger at bay now.
“Didn’t have a choice?” Montana leaped up and stalked across the room, the plush carpet under her feet a soft cushion as she moved back and forth. “She had a choice, Quinn. She had a choice when she fell from her supposed immortality. She had a choice when she bound her life to my father. And she had a fucking choice when she walked out on me!”
The anger morphed yet again, into the hot swell of tears. Great, heaving gulps of anger, frustration and the pain of long years of being ignored rose to the surface, swamping her and constricting her chest as if someone sat on it. She tasted the hot, salty tears before she even realized she was crying, her voice coming out in heavy sobs.
“She chose to leave. She ch-chose to walk out.”
Quinn walked toward her, his movements gentle, like he were reaching out to a hurt animal. “I didn’t mean that to hurt you.”
“Everyone has a choice, Quinn. She was a very wealthy woman at that point. She could have taken me out of that situation. Instead she left me in the middle of it.”
“What if she thought that was the only place you’d be safe?”
The continuous loop of angry emotions that flowed through her head on a regular basis—you’re not good enough; you’re not worthy enough; your own mother abandoned you—slowed until it finally stopped, replaced by Quinn’s words.
“Safe?”
“Yes, safe.” Quinn’s large body overshadowed hers as he moved to stand in front of her, completely consuming her field of vision with his large body and broad shoulders.
He wrapped his arms around her and Montana felt the steady thump of his heartbeat under her cheek.
“Think about it. She came back only in the last month, right?”
“Yes.” The hot tears still fell down her cheeks, but they were slowing, along with the hiccups that gripped her diaphragm.
“She came back for a reason, Montana. And we’re going to figure that out. But she has also brought something with her. Something that has set its sights on you.”
“What something? I know she’s not working with anyone.” She pulled herself back and stared up into the dark depths of his eyes. “I know it, Quinn.”
“Even if she’s not, none of this started until she came back.” Quinn tightened his grip. “She’s tied to what is happening to you.”
Montana gripped a bit of Quinn’s T-shirt and wiped her eyes, searching for some explanation as she repositioned her head against his chest. “It could be a coincidence.”
She felt the rumble under her ear before she heard the actual laugh. “I’ve been doing this for a very long time, Montana. I gave up on the idea of coincidence long before the Middle Ages, darling.”
The low, husky sound of his voice sent a wave of shivers down her spine and she felt his use of the endearment to her very core.
What would it be like to be loved by this man?
The thought was so immediate—so intense—it surprised her.
And then she didn’t wonder any longer. She tilted her face back, reached toward his neck and pulled his head down to hers.
Quinn gripped Montana’s hips, his fingers curling into the terry-cloth material she wore. Sometime during the afternoon, one of the girls must have given her something to change into. Ilsa, most likely, based upon the “juicy” emblazoned across the ass cheeks of the sweatpants.
He moved his lips from her mouth, trailing a row of kisses along her jaw, then down her throat. The heavy beat of her pulse throbbed under his lips, calling to him like a primal drumbeat of need and passion and want.
He unclenched his hands from her waist and dragged his fingertips across the top of the waistband. A small display of skin was visible between the top of the pants and the bottom of her T-shirt, the skin there calling him like a lodestone.
Montana’s mouth found his again as she wrapped her hands around his biceps. Her whisper was heavy against his lips. “We’re going to be late.”
“Well, then”—he pulled back and smiled down at her—“let’s make it worth it.”
With deft fingers he delved beneath the waistband of both her sweatpants and her panties, to her velvet core. Hot liquid heat filled him to his palm and his own body hardened in response, his erection painful against the fly of his jeans.
With unerring precision, he kept up a steady pressure against her slick channel, his fingers taking control and maintaining a rhythm her body was helpless to resist.
Filled with awe, he watched Montana as the pleasure built, her head thrown back and her breathing coming in short, quick pants. Despite the desperate needs of his own body, he was in awe of her. The purity of her response—so open, so receptive—humbled him and he leaned in and captured her cries of pleasure with his mouth, sucking her tongue between his teeth.
With his free arm, he held her body against his, the length of his hand spanning the slender width of her lower back. He knew it the moment her orgasm broke. Her entire body went still, then dissolved into a small series of explosions centered on his fingers.
Pulling her against him, he lifted her off her feet and cradled her in his arms, moving them both to the bed. Laying her gently on the bed, he followed her down and pressed his lips to where her pulse still beat a wild tattoo.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered against her throat.
A small giggle erupted from her as she turned her sloe-eyed gaze on him. “I was actually thinking that very thing about you.”
With seeking fingers, Montana ran her hand down his stomach and over his zipper. He pressed himself against her, unable to stay away from her seeking touch, even as he knew he simply wanted to savor the moment.
Savor her.
With shaking fingers, he reached for her hand and stilled her motions. “This is about you.”
“Quinn.” Montana struggled up onto an elbow, her eyes dark with a mixture of desire and annoyance. “What’s this all about?”
Before she could protest any further, he took her mouth in a searing kiss that was all lips and teeth and tongue. Satisfied he’d made his point—even as his heated body screamed for release—Quinn pulled back and pressed his forehead to hers. “You’ve had to take in a lot. Now’s not the time to get into this. I don’t want to rush.”
“And why do you get to decide?”
He smiled at the mulish tone of her voice and pressed a quick kiss on her lips, then pulled her into his arms, settling her head against his chest. “Because I’m older and wiser than you, and I say so. Besides, I have no interest in being interrupted once we get going.”
“Oh. Well, when you put it like that.”
The two of them lay
there for a while. Quinn soaked in the moment, the silence wrapping around them like a warm cocoon.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“This?” Quinn snuggled closer and pressed his lips against her throat. “I think it’s an outstanding idea.”
Montana turned toward him. “I meant tonight.”
“You’ll be safe. I promise.”
“But what about your friends? We’re dragging them into this, too.”
Again, he was struck by her immediate thought for others. Before in the park, and now this. Brushing back a stray, wispy curl from her cheek, he sought to reassure her. “This is what we do, Montana. We’re highly trained Warriors.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m quite sure. If I could, I’d leave you behind altogether, but we’re not going to learn anything if you’re not with us.”
Quinn pulled Montana closer and breathed in her soft, womanly scent. She smelled light and fresh, like brand-new sheets or a bright summer day, and in that moment he felt a very small piece of the heart he thought long dead come back to life.
Some of the emptiness—that vast wasteland that had filled him for far too long—wasn’t quite so empty any longer.
And in two hours, he was dragging her straight into enemy territory.
Chapter Twelve
Themis stood before the Mirror of Truth and watched her daughter roam the streets of New York like a homeless person.
Because she was a homeless person.
A sense of despair welled in her breast. Themis wrapped her arms around her middle as the bitter taste of regret rose up on her tongue. Eirene had made her choice. She knew the consequences and she made that choice anyway.
But all that seemed to fade into nothingness as she stared at her beloved child, dying before her very eyes.
Even if Eirene didn’t know the fate that awaited her, Themis did. And the cancer that ravaged her daughter’s body was a vicious taskmaster, exercising its will more and more each day.
