Sloe Ride (Sinners, #4)

“But I don’t want you to take care of me,” Quinn grumbled loudly as his brother walked away.

In the waning hours of the afternoon, Rafe Andrade looked like a god coming through the fading sun to find him. A very disreputable god with dirty-blond hair pulled back from a strong, handsome face and wearing a pair of torn and stained jeans barely on the side of wearable, but a god just the same. Earthy and sensual, he’d moved quickly through the blockade of people, murmuring something good enough to get him through Sam the security guard’s tightly held perimeter. Kane’s frown pushed his eyebrows into a thick storm over his blue eyes, and Quinn spat at him, a hard Gaelic reproach.

“Damnú ort, Kane. Don’t be a dick. I don’t need anyone—”

“Hope that doesn’t include me, babe, because I’m pretty sure I broke a few laws of physics to get here.” Rafe smiled as he jogged up to Quinn’s side. “How are you doing, Q?”

“You—you’re different. Kane can go to hell, for all I care right now.” Quinn let himself be folded into Rafe’s arms, reveling in the heat he’d been longing for. Rafe smelled of sweat, sugar, and weariness, but Quinn held on tight, wishing he could fall into Rafe’s body and stay there until all of the shadows lapping at his feet went away. “Gods, it’s good to see you.”

“Hey, I got you. Tell me what’s going on,” Rafe muttered into Quinn’s hair, slowly letting him go. He didn’t go far, about an arm’s length away with his hands resting on Quinn’s hips. “What happened?”

The more he told Rafe, the harder Quinn had to fight to keep his stomach where it belonged. Halfway through, his knees gave out, and Rafe caught him, easing them both down to the bench. He got to the anger he felt when Ziortza accused him of murder when Rafe pulled Quinn back into a tight hug.

“Fucker. What a fucking asshole.”

Rafe’s hug tightened, and Quinn nearly squeaked from his lungs being squeezed out of his throat. Loosening his embrace, Rafe muttered an apology.

“I’m glad you called me. Fuck this.”

“I don’t want to deal with Kane. Call me a chickenshit, but I just… can’t,” Quinn confessed. “No way the dealer’s going to give me another car after this, so I’ll be stuck in that damned brick box until I get a rental. And I am fixated on that instead of blowing my mind apart about LeAnne. What is wrong with me? Might as well put me in a straitjacket.”

“Okay, what have you got over at Miki and Kane’s place?” Rafe asked.

“Clothes, books, and well, Harley.”

“The cat, right?”

“Yeah, she’s a cat. Mostly,” Quinn amended. “Why?”

“Think the Chevelle can hold all of it?” Rafe let Quinn go to eye his car. “Trunk’s huge. The amp’s up against the firewall, so that’s not an issue. Couple of boxes maybe? Suitcases?”

“And a kennel. Harley’s cat litter box.” Quinn cocked his head. “Again, why?”

“Because you, magpie of mine, are going to come live with me for a bit.” Rafe stood, tugging Quinn to his feet. “I’m your only hope.”

Quinn’s already abused stomach lurched, and his tongue swelled, sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Um, the cat… and Kane… shit, are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of Kane.” Rafe nodded to the parking lot where a large black Hummer rumbled past the police cars. “Better decide fast, ’cause I think once Connor and your dad get here, chances of them letting you do anything other than breathe hysterically into a paper bag are slim to none. You up for it?”

Connor swung out of the Hummer, and Quinn nearly bit through his tongue when he saw his father get out of the car’s passenger-side door. The light struck Donal’s badge, winking at Quinn as Donal authoritatively strode through the packs of uniforms clustered at the parking structure’s main entrance. Quinn gave himself three minutes at most before he was bundled up like a stray and tossed into the back of Connor’s Hummer where the family could keep an eye on him.

He was tired of his family’s swaddling. As much as he loved them, Quinn was sick of their coddling, nudging, and eggshell walking whenever something ruffled him. It was a mutual game of do not wake the baby whenever he was near, and the murders only kicked their protectiveness into overdrive. He needed space—to think, to breathe—and if Kane and the others got their way, he wouldn’t be able turn around without banging his elbow on someone he was related to.

Enough was enough, and Rafe was waiting for him to say something—anything—to the offer he’d made to give Quinn what he needed the most.

“Yeah, sure.” Quinn nodded curtly. “Just let me go pack up my cat, and I’m all yours.”





Chapter 12





Gator sausage, dirty rice

Johnny Lee begging not to go

Cheap ass whiskey sours

Getting ready for the show

Can’t think of you right now, baby

Can’t remember the taste of your lips

Made you a few promises

Shook those off when she rattled her hips

Hope you don’t go thinkin’

I’m the man for you

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