“What?” She shrugs. “It’s for the vodka.”
“I’ll have the same,” Quinn pipes up again from behind us. “And maybe a cookie too?” She sounds apologetic. “I can’t drink on an empty stomach.”
The attendant’s eyes narrow. She’s annoyed she stopped to offer a solitary drink in apology and is now getting inundated with orders from surrounding passengers.
With a quick, efficient flick, she has my food tray down and piled with juice bottles, clear plastic cups, napkins, enough plastic-wrapped cookies for all of us, and mini bottles of vodka.
“Bless you.” Mac flicks her sunglasses back down to cover her eyes and offers a smile.
It’s lost on the attendants. They’re already thundering the rest of the way up the aisle and away from us.
“Who else knows, Mac?”
“Just give me a …” She’s trying to twist in her seat to hand Quinn her requested order. It’s quite a feat considering half my body is in her way and the old man on her other side keeps harrumphing every time she takes a breath.
Frustration has her half standing and flinging the bundle over our seats. A thunk and a growl confirm Travis has copped a glass bottle of juice to the head.
“Mac!” I bark.
“Okay! Fuck!” she shouts, drawing the attention of everyone around us. “I’m just trying to have a damn vodka, asshead. Is that too much to ask? I need this.”
“Talk.”
Her nostrils flare. “Fine.” After snatching a clear plastic cup, she unscrews the cap on the mini vodka bottle and tips in a hefty mouthful. “Lucy knows.” Next she reaches for a juice bottle. The attendant must have been completely over us because she only provided orange. Mac makes a face as she pries off the lid. “I don’t like orange juice.”
Lucy is Quinn’s best friend, so I figured she would know. “Who else?”
Mac’s cheeks burn red as she puts her muscle into removing the bottle cap. I snatch it before I cop an elbow in the face. It pops off with minimal effort, and Mac’s lips pinch. “I already loosened it for you.”
“Clearly.”
She takes the opened bottle and begins pouring.
“You’re welcome.”
“Thank you,” she replies primly. Setting the juice bottle down, she picks up her mixed drink and takes a sip. “Evie.”
“Evie knows too?”
“Mmm hmm.”
Mac unwraps a cookie.
Christ. It’s like pulling teeth. “Who else, Mac?”
“No one else.”
Anger tightens my jaw. When I speak it’s between clenched teeth. “So you girls all got together and came up with this little plan of just telling them, when they approach Quinn again, that you just don’t have the money?”
Mac nibbles her cookie before taking another sip of vodka. “That’s correct.”
“No.”
Her brows rise. “No?”
“Just no.”
Fire lights her eyes. “What, because we have vaginas we can’t handle our own shit?” I pinch the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and count to ten. I reach five when she adds in a snide tone, “Do you think our plan requires a penis, Jake?”
That question is clearly a trap. I change my approach. “Is Quinn doing okay?”
It works. The fire fades as she nibbles on her cookie again. “She’s stressed, but she’ll be okay.”
“Did these guys give a deadline for the money?”
“She has three days.”
It’s not ideal, but it’s better than three hours. And it’s time enough to get to the bottom of the situation.
JAKE
It turns out there’s no time to get to the bottom of any situation. Clearly these guys lied when they told Quinn she had three days to pull the money together. It’s hardly a surprise for two reasons: The first is that we’re dealing with criminals; relying on their word is the equivalent of making a fist and using it to punch your own face. The second reason I know they lied is because after our band finishes playing at the festival, we return to the hotel and see the evidence: a trashed hotel room shared by Mac and Quinn.
It looks nothing like it did when we left for the venue earlier in the afternoon. Bullet holes litter the wall. Smashed glassware and furniture cover the plush carpet. Picture frames hang crooked. Empty bottles of alcohol lie tipped over across the bar. And the worst of it, Mac’s gun, Polly, is calmly resting on the dining table.
Mac is seated in one of the remaining chairs, hair a little wild, calmly chugging a shot like it’s just another day in paradise. I scan her for injuries. When I find none, I survey the damage a second time. “What the fuck?”
She lets out a breath. “You know the guys who want that money from Quinn?”
I step inside the room, my shoes crunching over broken glass. “Uh huh.”
“Well they sent a guy to collect it a little early.”
“I see that,” I growl, even though I don’t see at all because my eyes are blinded by anger. “And you thought a gun fight and hand-to-hand combat would be the best way to inform this guy that Quinn doesn’t have the money?”
Mac’s lips purse in a pissy expression. It doesn’t make sense. If anyone has the right to be pissy, it’s me. “I took care of the situation.”
“Would you care to explain how you took care of the situation?”
“Well …” She draws in a breath. I’m expecting the explanation of a lifetime and know I need to brace accordingly, so I walk over to the table, pick up the vodka bottle, pour a shot, and down it fast. “It started when we got to our room and found three drunk guys partying by the corner bar.”
“Three drunk guys were …” I need another shot. I pour it. “How the hell did they get in your hotel room?”
“Jared is downstairs dealing with that particular issue right now.”
“Okay.” Good. I down the second shot. “And?”
“They were trying to meet the band. Mostly Evie. So we yelled at them to get out, but they wouldn’t go. Quinn threw a chair because in the self-defence training Travis gave us last month, he said to use whatever weapon we happened to have handy. They reciprocated and started throwing bottles of rum.”
“Just …” I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Where was Sean? Didn’t he check your room before letting you go in?”
Sean is the newly hired security with Jamieson and Valentine Consulting. He comes with high credentials, having been a bouncer at the Florence Bar for three years. It’s one of the best and most high profile venues in the city of Sydney.
“No, he didn’t check our room.”
My eyes flatten. “He’s fired.”
“Would you …” Mac sighs, clearly exasperated. “That’s not your call.”
“It seems you’ve forgotten, but I’m a part of this band too, Princess. That means I get a say in who handles our security, and I’m saying that Sean is no longer welcome.”