Sloe Ride (Sinners, #4)

“Are we talking about Q-bert? He’s right pissed at the moment. Mum’s got him cornered in the kitchen. I figured it was safe to find the two of you while she’s got him in circles.” Con nodded to his father’s glass. “It’s bad enough to get hammered at four in the afternoon? And can I get in on it?”


“Just seemed like it would lubricate the conversation,” Kane replied, handing his brother the bottle and a glass. “Considering I’m trying to convince the captain here to throw his weight behind my craziness. Da’s just brought up a good point—fast escalation between blowing up cars to killing Kappelhoff. I think Quinn’s either been hiding stuff from us—”

“Or he’s as oblivious as he’s always been.” Connor put the bottle up, then sidled in next to his younger brother on the edge of the desk. “Quinn’s intelligence doesn’t extend out to simple things like walking around a bad neighborhood and hiding his wallet, but maybe one of us can pry something out of him? He might have dismissed something before, but now—this asshole got his car. That’s enough to piss a man off.”

“He likes cars,” Donal spoke up. “Notice that, did ye? Cars and fire, but with Kappelhoff, he went a different route. Uglier. More personal.”

“Just now.” Kane nodded. “Sure, Kappelhoff is an escalation, but for what? If I knew what Quinn did to get this guy’s notice, I could chase that down and find him.”

“Now, Simon there. Lot of rage there from what ye said was left of him. A man does a killing like that, it’s personal to a deep level. If Quinn’s done something, then why lash out at Kappelhoff and not our Quinn?” their father asked softly, his accent thickening nearly to the pea soup of his childhood. “Someone wants Quinn’s attention. Summat bad.”

“The guy warned Quinn off or is leading him to something,” Con pointed out. “Maybe killing Kappelhoff is his way of pushing Quinn somewhere? But why would that be important? Why is Quinn this guy’s target?”

“Has to be someone Quinn knows. Someone who’s known Q for a long time, because it’s been years since he’s been with Simon. Hasn’t given him the time of day since.” Kane shook his head, more confused than resigned. “Guess I better go shake baby brother’s tree and see what falls out. He might know more than he realizes. I just know I start poking, and he’s going to push back.”

“It’s because he doesn’t think it’s serious.” Connor drained his glass, hissing at the bite of whiskey in his throat. “We’ll have to corner him in without him knowing. Can’t let him wander too far without some backup. Too much of a risk.”

“Kane, if ye find out anything, ye tell me,” Donal rumbled. “I’ll see about getting Southern to let you have the truck, but ye’ve got to stitch this all together, Kane.”

“Trust me, Da,” Kane reassured his father. “I’ll do the stitching. I just need the rest of you to help me wrangle in Quinn.”





Chapter 10





Time’s come for me, momma

Time’s come to take me away

Leave a coin on my eye for the toll

’Cause the river man needs his pay

Don’t cry ’bout the way I’ve gone

Or the mud I’ve got on my soul

I’ve lived the way I needed to live

No way was I going out whole

—Toll for the River



“SO THEY think someone is trying to kill you?” Graham sniffed—as he always sniffed whenever he poured himself a fresh cup of tea. He spun a spoon of honey into the dark steep, stirring it hard enough to splash a few drops onto Quinn’s desk. Patting at the spill, he sighed. “And you still came to work? Is that wise, Quinn?”

“I couldn’t just stay home. It’s not even my home.” Quinn refilled his electric kettle with bottled water and set it to boil. There was enough room on the low bookcase beneath the window to set up a makeshift hot beverage station, and he’d grown accustomed to Graham dropping by for a cup of tea before they did their afternoon office hours. Dumping two packets of Vinacafe into his mug, he listened for the burble of the kettle. The boil came quickly, and he filled his mug, then sat down with a sigh. “And then there’s… Simon. God, I didn’t even think about him in months, and now he’s….”

Quinn couldn’t say it. Not out loud. He hadn’t wanted to admit the man he’d tried to fall in love with… a man he’d hoped he would find happiness with… was dead. And he’d been more wrapped up in his anger at his family for boxing him in than mourning Simon’s death.

Guilt couldn’t begin to describe how shitty he felt about it, but Quinn felt even guiltier when he realized he couldn’t quite recall Simon’s favorite foods, the sound of his voice, or even why they’d continued their relationship when Simon realized he really didn’t want to go any further than a hand job in Quinn’s office.

They’d fought small skirmishes of double-meaning words and knifelike snips where Quinn was outmatched and outgunned. It’d gotten to the point where he’d decided he didn’t really want to be around Simon anymore, and the whole thing blew up in Quinn’s face when he’d tried to talk about it.

Quinn’d been so confused and then so angry he hadn’t even cared when Simon left. He’d just wanted Simon gone.

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