chapter 6
“You need to feed.”
Quinn whipped his head toward Samson, who had quietly entered the guestroom. He stared at his boss, but barely saw his tall and dark features. Once more, he blinked, trying to wipe the remainder of blood from his eyes. He hadn’t even cleaned up yet and still wore his torn clothes. The dirt of the accident site still clung to his skin and clothes.
He’d been sitting at Oliver’s bedside for the last few hours, waiting for a sign that the kid would make it. His eyes had turned black, giving Quinn hope that things would turn out all right.
“Not now,” he answered.
How could he think of himself now when Oliver needed him?
Samson stepped closer. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”
Quinn expelled a bitter laugh. “And why not? Didn’t Zane tell you what happened? Didn’t he explain?”
His boss nodded. “It was Oliver’s responsibility to drive. Just because the two of you talked and joked, doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”
“I distracted him.” How could Samson not see that?
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“Doing what?”
Samson drew closer, bringing his over-six-foot fame within inches of Quinn. “Don’t play stupid with me! I know you’re not. You’re smarter than the rest of them, so what are you playing at?”
“I’m not.” Rage boiled up in Quinn. He wanted to be left alone with his grief, his self-pity, his memories.
“You selfish bastard!” Samson accused him. “You’re only thinking of yourself. Why am I even surprised?”
Quinn shot up from his seat. “What the f*ck? How dare you? I’m only thinking of Oliver!”
His boss sneered. “No, you’re thinking of yourself, of how this will change your life! Suck it up and don’t wallow in self-pity!”
Even though he’d hit a nerve, Quinn wasn’t ready to cave. Samson had no idea what was going on inside of him, and he wasn’t one to share his innermost self. “Keep out of it! You might be my boss, but we both know I don’t need this job!”
“Oh, ready to quit? Wanna throw it all in because it’s getting too difficult? Are we interfering with your playboy life?” Samson hissed.
“How I conduct my life is none of your f*cking business!”
Samson narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you’re gonna tell Oliver when he wakes up?”
“What do you want from me?” Quinn ran a shaky hand through his hair, encountering a cluster of dried blood in the process. Shit, he was in a terrible state and in no mood to carry on this conversation.
“I want you to tell me what you’re gonna do about Oliver.”
When he locked eyes with Samson, he saw worry in them. But before he could say anything, his boss continued, “If you can’t handle it, I’ll act as his sire. After all, he’s been with me for—”
“No!” Quinn interrupted. “He’s my responsibility.” Taking a deep breath, he tried to slow his heartbeat, tried to calm himself. “I’m sorry, Samson. I know what Oliver means to you. You lost your assistant, your right hand.”
Samson let out a surprised gasp. “You think this is about me?” He shook his dark hair then rubbed his neck. “It was only a matter of time until this happened. I knew one day Oliver would ask for this. I’ve been grooming him for it. Of all the humans I know, he’s the best prepared for a turning. But that doesn’t mean, he won’t need your help to adjust.”
Quinn let the words sink in. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pushing back the memories of a happier time. A time long gone. “Seeing our life from the outside is one thing, living it is another.”
Samson motioned his head toward the bed, where Oliver still lay motionless. “He knows that.” Then he pinned Quinn with a stare. “But do you?”
Quinn didn’t flinch. “I know what’s expected of me.” He wouldn’t shirk his duty. “You can count on me.”
“Good. Now go and take a shower. You look like hell. You smell even worse.”
“But, Oliver . . . ”
Samson waved him off. “I’ll sit with him. Go.”
Quinn turned and walked to the door.
“And Quinn . . . ”
He paused without turning. “Yes?”
“I always thought you didn’t care about anybody. Guess I was wrong.”
Quinn swallowed, his throat dry as sandpaper. Had somebody finally figured him out?
Without another word, he left the room and closed the door behind him, wishing he could close the door to his past just as easily. Maybe then he would be able to start living again.
***
As soon as Quinn stepped out of the spare bathroom, freshly showered and wearing clothes Samson had lent him, he headed for the stairs to the upper floor, wanting to rejoin Oliver. But Zane blocked his path, holding out a cell phone to him.
“Gabriel wants to talk to you.”
Quinn hadn’t even noticed that Gabriel wasn’t with the rest of the Scanguards gang, who lingered in the living room, anxiously waiting for any developments in Oliver’s condition.
“Not now. I’m busy.”
He tried to brush past him, but Zane didn’t budge. “He said it’s important.”
Impatiently, he yanked the phone from Zane’s hand and brought it to his ear. “What?”
“I need to see you. Now,” Gabriel answered.
“I can’t. Whatever it is, it’ll have to wait.”
Gabriel sighed. “I’m sorry to have to do this at a time like this, but . . . ”
“I said I can’t.” He pressed the disconnect button and tossed the phone back at Zane.
By the time he’d made it up to the second floor, the cell phone rang again. Behind him, he heard Zane’s footsteps following him, then his hand clamping over his shoulder.
“I suggest you take the call,” Zane warned.
Pressing his lips into a tight line, he snatched the phone and answered the call. “What the f*ck is so important?”
“I’m going to cut you some slack right now, because of what’s happened, but another sign of insubordination, and I’m going to have your hide!” Gabriel said in a calm voice that betrayed the seriousness of his words.
Shit, did everybody have it in for him tonight?
“Do I have your attention now?”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Yes.”
“Good. I have an assignment that just came in. You were requested especially.”
“I don’t have time for an assignment.” Oliver needed him now.
“You’ll be interested in this one. I get the feeling that there’s something odd about it. It’s worth checking it out. The woman says you’re old friends and that you owe her a debt. Yet at the same time she’s offering an outrageous amount of money to secure our—and in particular, your—services.”
Quinn’s ears perked up. “I don’t owe anybody anything. Who is she?” He wasn’t aware of any outstanding debt or favor. And certainly not one he owed a woman. He was always careful not to leave any loose ends.
“Her name is Rose Haverford. She . . . ”
But Quinn didn’t hear the rest of Gabriel’s words, because blood suddenly thundered through is head, rushing past his ears like a freight train barreling through a quiet countryside. It drowned out all other noise.
Rose.
A voice from the grave. His Rose.
“Is she still there?”
“Yes, she’s in my office, waiting.”
“Keep her occupied. Make sure you’re armed. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He disconnected the call before Gabriel had a chance to say anything else. As he pressed the phone back into Zane’s hand, his friend stared at him.
“Something wrong?”
Quinn nodded. Everything was wrong.
“She’s dead, long dead.”
Zane gave him a confused look, but Quinn brushed past him and rushed down the stairs and out the door without another word.
This imposter would have to pay for the cruel joke she was playing on him.