Sloe Ride (Sinners, #4)

“She loves you, you know.” He moved a bit, keeping Miki in his arms but sliding his legs around so they faced one another. It was cramped, and his knees banged against things… the wall, the toilet, a paper holder, but Quinn didn’t want to move. Not yet. Not even away from the cold. In a lot of ways, Miki was the brother he never had. He had a shit ton of brothers, but none so like him. Or at least in the ways it counted. “I’m glad Kane brought you home.”


“Thank Dude for that. Fucking dog wouldn’t leave him alone. Me? I was ready to toss him into the Bay.” It was a soft grumble, opening the way to other things. “Fucking Morgans. Damn it. I didn’t want this. Didn’t want you. Didn’t want her.”

“Mum’s kind of hard to get around,” Quinn drawled. His face ached from the tears he’d shed, but Miki’s righteous fury lightened his heart. “But she does love you.”

“She loves everyone,” Miki disputed. “We’re all just rabbits named George to her. But yeah, I know she loves me. Loves you too, asshole. You two just don’t fit sometimes, but she’s there. Just like she’s there for me. Hovering. With jazz hands. And those tick-tock heels she’s always wearing.”

“I love you too, you know. I think we all do.” Once he’d said it, Quinn had no regrets. Admitting his fondness for Miki surprised him… surprised Miki even, and they sat in the discomfort of Quinn’s stark honesty for a long, weighty moment. “I’m serious. I do love you. It’s nice to have someone confuse Mum like I do. You’re a good brother, Sinjun. And I like you for Kane.”

The stall blurred, swimming in Quinn’s vision, and he gulped, wondering how he could possibly cry anymore.

“She’ll be okay.” This time Miki was the one reassuring Quinn, a tit for tat in response to the tears stinging Quinn’s eyes. “She’s too fierce to die. Probably spat the bullet up and hit the doctor. That’s probably who they’re operating on.”

Quinn was saved from responding by the slam of the bathroom door against a wall. Someone called out to them, Irish and hard, startling Miki into a scramble. He fumbled, his knee refusing to unbend, and Quinn caught Miki in his arms before he bashed his head into the toilet. A vicious bout of swearing parted Miki’s lips, and the stall door pushed open, Braeden filling the wide space between the stall’s posts.

“Doctor’s back. Came to get you both. Da’s heading in. Mum’s out of surgery. She’ll be in ICU for a bit. Then they’re moving her to a room.” Brae bent down, hooking his hands under Miki’s arms. “Up you go, Prickles. Kane’s going to be looking for you.”

“Pat me on the head or ass, and prepare to pull back a fucking stump. You got that, Brae?”

Miki shook him off, baring his teeth at Braeden. Miki’s limp to the door was painful to watch, but the look on his face made the Morgan brothers step back.

Relief turned Quinn’s legs gummy, and he buckled, grabbing at the slick wall to stay upright. Breathing hard, he stared at the floor, a grid of white squares held firm by cocoa-colored grout. Brigid would be okay. She had to be okay. Did Braeden say anything about how she was going to be okay?

“Never know with that one. Kane’s Miki is an odd one.” Brae helped Quinn up. “Come on. Da said to bring you along. She’ll be wanting to see you when she wakes.”

“I can’t. Brae. I—”

Quinn’s protests didn’t seem to matter because Braeden shoved him toward the door.

“Is she going to be all right?”

“She’s fine. Blood loss. Punctured lung. So she’ll be screaming at our heads less until she gets better there. Imagine that’ll take about a day, because volume’s the best she’s got when dealing with our lot. And you’ll go in because Da said so, and Mum wants you.” His brother snatched the plastic bag off of the counter, peering at the bloodied shirt inside. “She’ll need to know you’re fine too. She won’t rest until she knows.”

“Mum shouldn’t—”

Braeden was big, nearly Connor and Kane big, but a loving tenderness shone out of his face as he cupped Quinn’s cheeks. “You go see her because you’ll both need to sniff butts and see you’re alive. Swear to God, breac, sometimes talking to you is just like talking to Mum. All stubborn and none of the giving way. Both of you would pick up a sword or climb on a cross if we’d let you. So for once, brother mine, listen to the black sheep of the family and go see Mum first. You’ve earned it. For good or bad.”

“Wait, how are you the black sheep? I’m a teacher.” Quinn sniffed, his eyes threatening to spill again. He was parched, too drawn out to think clearly.

“I’m a fireman, Q,” Brae reminded him. “And you’re a professor. Something for the family to be proud of. Any of us can hold a badge or a hose. You, breac, you’re the one who molds minds. Now, watch your step. Looks like someone vomited all over the floor there.”


Rhys Ford's books