“Hey, babe,” Rafe mumbled past his swollen lip. He wedged himself onto an elbow, then forced himself upright. “Do me a favor?”
“Not the time, Rafe,” he argued. William was moving around behind him, and Quinn didn’t think he could hold off the guard and get the other two men to safety.
“Now’s the perfect time, magpie,” Rafe replied, clasping Quinn’s shoulder to force him out of the way. He raised his other hand, quivering from the weight of the gun he held. “Time for William to go the fuck to hell.”
The gun went off, a rippling boom sharp enough to prickle pain through Quinn’s eardrums. He caught a face full of powder and the heat of the muzzle flash. The bullet caught William in the shoulder, spinning him back off his feet. His body jerked, riding the pain of the shot, then went still, his chest shuddering as he drew in uneven breaths.
“Hey, Q, you know what?” Rafe gasped as he let the weapon drop back to his side. “I think you are worth killing for.”
“I don’t think you killed him, Rafe.” Quinn sighed, kissing Rafe on his bruised mouth. “He’s still breathing. I think he fainted.”
“Well, shit,” he grumbled through the kiss. “Can’t I do anything fucking right?”
Epilogue
Bled onto my hand,
Shoved his fist into mine
Stood tall against anyone
Who’d break through our line
No matter what they do
No matter what they say
Death’s already tried to part us
And we’ve already made him pay
So lift a glass to the Sinners
Lift a glass of cheap ass gin
Put your lips on the Gates of Heaven
’Cause we’re taking you to sin.
—Sinners’ Calling
A Few Months Later….
DINO’S WAS exactly what Quinn expected. It was a dingy, worn around the edges club with a stage barely large enough to hold a band and a rowdy crowd loud enough to make his teeth ache from the noise.
But the band waiting to go on stage was loving every minute of it.
The club was small as clubs went, a back-door blues-and-rock bar tucked behind a San Francisco noodle shop old enough to have survived the Great Quake. Dino’s smelled of beer and flour with a touch of oil and probably pot, Quinn decided after taking a sniff. Down an alley from a fire escape and more than a few years since two very young men met for the first time, Dino’s was a comeback of sorts, a slip back into a time before the world got too big around them and their own lives became filled with Morgans and song.
There were rituals, odd little things Quinn couldn’t help but be fascinated by. A few feet away, Forest slung his arms around Connor’s waist, their foreheads touching, voices dropped to a murmuring low whisper. Seemingly unfazed by the bustle of the band’s crew as they wove cables from amplifier towers set on either side of the stage, Connor and Forest were lost in one another, sharing a still, sweet moment untouched by the chaos.
Damien, on the other hand, bounced in place, shaking his arms out as his eagle-sharp gaze followed every speck of movement from the stage to the back. He muttered, then paced a foot, burning off or storing nervous energy. Quinn couldn’t tell which. Sionn stood nearby, bemused and drinking a Finnegan Dark, one of the first to come out of his fledgling brewery. Damie stopped short in front of his lover, stealing first a kiss, then a sip of beer before starting up his preshow pacing again.
“Leave off,” Miki muttered behind Quinn. Pushing Kane’s hand away from his face, Miki bared his teeth at Quinn’s older brother. “I’m going to get all fucking sweaty anyway. It doesn’t matter how I look.”
“How the hell can you even see?” Kane grumbled as he attempted to get his fingers on a shock of Miki’s chestnut hair, the thick strands falling over his forehead and across his nose.
“See good enough to kick your ass if you keep Brigiding me.” Miki’s teeth flashed white, and Kane jerked his hand back, fingers barely scraped by Miki’s bite. “Seriously, leave me the fuck alone. A kiss is okay. Fucking with my face, not going to happen.”
“Like loving a honey badger.” Kane caught Miki up, yanking the lanky singer toward him. He risked a kiss—even Quinn could see it was a risk—and Kane pulled back, his lips slightly swollen by the passionate draw from Miki’s full mouth. “Nervous?”
“Yeah,” Miki admitted. “Scared, fucked-up, and nervous. But we’re going to kick fucking ass. Just you watch. Dino’s isn’t going to know what fucking hit them.”
“Hell yeah,” Rafe said, slapping Miki’s ass as he walked by.
“Hands off, Andrade.”
There was a teasing lilt to Kane’s warning, more a habit than a threat, and Rafe laughed, taking a step back to slap Kane’s as well.
“There, so you don’t feel neglected.” Rafe nodded at Miki and then handed Quinn a bottle of iced tea. “Here you go, magpie. One cold dirt and leaves for you and one red cream soda for me.”