Chapter Nine
THEY HAD A VISITOR the next night, soon after sundown—a messenger bearing a summons from Sorley. Quinn was in the front yard with Adorjan and Joshua Bell, the head of his daylight security detail, discussing improvements necessary to make the house secure. The wooden gate stood half-open, enough to admit foot traffic as there was a lot of work going on in the garages, as well as the house. The previous owners hadn’t used the garages at all, and the door mechanisms had gone to rust. Quinn liked elegant cars, and he intended to put the garages to their intended purpose.
He and the others turned when a sleek motorcycle roared up to the gate, bearing a black-clad vampire. The vamp gunned the bike’s engine, as if demanding admission. The gate guards regarded him impassively, not moving, even though one of the guards was from Conover’s gang and must have recognized the biker.
“You recognize him?” Quinn asked Adorjan.
“Not offhand.” He looked around and called over another of Conover’s people who was supervising a crew working to restore the garage doors. The vampire looked up when Adorjan called his name and came running over.
“My lord?” he said, bowing his head to Quinn.
“Do you recognize our visitor?”
The vamp studied the biker. “One of Sorley’s flunkies. He’s probably a messenger, though he can’t be trusted.” Adorjan thanked him, and the vamp returned to his duties.
“Let him in,” Quinn told Adorjan.
“My lord—”
“Let him in, Adorjan. He’ll report back to Sorley on everything he sees here. Let’s make sure it’s what we want him to see.”
Adorjan’s mouth pinched, but he nodded his agreement and signaled the gate guards, who widened the gate opening enough for the bike and rider to pass through. The messenger would have rolled his motorcycle right up to Quinn, but Adorjan stepped into his path, forcing him to brake hard. The bike spun in a half circle, but the vamp held onto it. Kicking it to a standstill, he shut down the engine, jumped off, and stormed over to confront Adorjan, ignoring the fact that Quinn’s security chief was nearly twice his size.
“What the fuck, asshole?” their visitor demanded. “Sorley’s going to hear about this.”
Adorjan regarded him with silent amusement. “What shall I do with him, my lord?”
Quinn bit back his grin and said, “Let’s get this over with. Let him by.”
The rider—who seemed to have let his position go to his head—bristled at Quinn’s casual disregard, but he held his tongue. It was one thing to tell off one of Quinn’s subordinates, but, apparently, it was something else entirely to show disrespect to a vampire powerful enough to warrant a personal message from Sorley.
Adorjan stepped aside. The rider stomped past him and stopped in front of Quinn. He half-bowed from the waist and held out an old-fashioned message tube. “From the Lord of Ireland,” he said briskly.
Quinn took the tube and flipped it in his hand, spinning it around like a baton, testing it for magical residue. He wouldn’t put it beyond Sorley to use the archaic piece as a trap to assassinate Quinn before he could become a serious rival. The messenger stared at his treatment of the tube with such horror that Quinn thought his suspicions must have merit. But he didn’t sense anything and quickly realized that the vampire’s shock was due to Quinn’s irreverent treatment of the message, rather than some murderous plot. He’d known Sorley was a self-important bastard, but this exceeded even his estimations.
Finally, Quinn handed the message tube to Adorjan, who popped it open with intentional disregard, letting the end cap drop to the gravel drive, before pulling out the single piece of rolled paper and passing it to Quinn unread.
Quinn scanned it quickly, half-expecting it to be calligraphic, given the pomp of its delivery. But it was a simple typed message from Sorley, demanding he present himself that same evening for “reassignment.” Whatever the fuck that meant. Obviously Sorley knew he’d taken up residence in Dublin Ballsbridge, rather than remaining in Howth. But then, Quinn had made no attempt to hide that fact. His presence in Dublin, by itself, didn’t change his status in Howth. Although, his status had changed, something Sorley clearly understood. This summons was a test. And since Quinn wasn’t yet prepared to challenge the Irish lord directly, he would answer accordingly.
He looked at the messenger who was waiting expectantly. “You can leave,” he said bluntly.
“Lord Sorley—”
“You’re done here,” Quinn interrupted. “Adorjan.”
His security chief stepped between Quinn and the messenger, but instead of using his imposing size, he used his power to give the vampire a backward shove, moving him several feet, until he almost tripped over his own bike. It was a blatant show of force, and the vamp’s eyes went wide with shock. He scrambled back onto his bike and gunned for the gate, which, fortunately, the guards had left open. Once on the street, he hit the throttle so hard, the bike rose up on its back wheel before hitting the street with a crunch and zooming out of sight.
“Twitchy little bunny,” Adorjan commented, as he signaled the guards to close the gate.
“I suspect he’s more accustomed to fear and reverence,” Quinn observed. “Not for himself, but as a speaker of sorts for Sorley.”
“You really plan to go there?”
“Of course. It would be rude otherwise,” Quinn said, with a grin.
“I’ll arrange a security team to—”
“No, I’ll take Garrick.”
Adorjan’s gaze was steely. “My lord—”
“If I show up with a bunch of guards, Sorley might feel threatened and take action. It could easily come to a fight, and I’m not ready for that yet. He already knows Garrick. The two of us will go.” He smiled at Adorjan’s grimace. “I can defend myself, you know.”
“I know,” Adorjan agreed. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
GARRICK DROVE THE Range Rover to Sorley’s. Adorjan had made a final argument in favor of him going along, too, but Quinn had vetoed it.
“We’ll be back soon enough. I suspect that whatever Sorley wants, I’m going to need my own people before the night is over.”
They rolled through the gates of Sorley’s Donnybrook estate, with its mature trees and ivy-covered walls. If Quinn’s house looked like the home of a nouveau riche investment analyst, then Sorley’s place should have been occupied by the third or fourth generation of some ancient Irish nobility. Although Quinn doubted there was a single drop of noble blood in Sorley’s veins.
Garrick again parked on the street, not wanting to risk getting trapped behind Sorley’s wrought iron gates, or end up carrying a bomb on the Range Rover’s undercarriage. Quinn wouldn’t put it past the Irish lord to use this opportunity to get rid of the American interloper who was already an irritant and was quickly becoming a genuine threat.
They ignored the guards—who ordered them to wait for word from Sorley before passing through the gates—and walked right up the short set of stairs and into the house. Surprised silence greeted their arrival.
“Gentlemen,” Quinn said, breaking the silence. “And ladies,” he added, when a group of women were ushered in from a side door. He scanned the group, looking for red hair and, not finding any, said, “Looks like I’m in time for dinner.” He winked at the women who giggled happily, not at all offended.
“They’re not for you.” Sorley’s lieutenant, Lorcan, appeared in an open doorway on the side opposite the women. He gave Quinn a sour look up and down. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Lovely. Lead the way.”
Lorcan scowled, but apparently Sorley really was waiting, because he pushed open one of the doors and gestured for Quinn and Garrick to go ahead of him.
Quinn shared a chuckle with Garrick at that. “I don’t think so,” he told Lorcan, letting amusement flavor his words. “You go first.”
“Americans,” Lorcan growled. “Fucking uncouth.”
Quinn shrugged. In his world, Lorcan would have insisted on going first, rather than permitting a vampire whom he clearly distrusted to precede him into Sorley’s inner sanctum. But maybe they did things differently over here.
They followed Lorcan into an ordinary office. It was on the small side, with two bookshelves on the left and a single leather visitor’s chair beneath a painting that looked old, but that Quinn didn’t recognize. He’d taken art history several decades ago, in his sophomore year at Princeton, but only because he’d been dating a pretty blonde Fine Arts major. He’d broken up with the blonde before the semester ended. He’d still gotten credit for the course, but he didn’t remember much about it.
Directly in front of him, centered between two tall windows, was a desk behind which sat Sorley in a leather chair that was too big for his modest stature. If he was trying to make an impression, he should have bought a smaller chair. But then, he didn’t need a chair to impress anyone. For all that Quinn intended to kill the Irish lord, he didn’t make the mistake of thinking him an easy target. Sorley was old, wily, powerful enough to have unseated the previous lord, and had held onto the throne for 65 years.
“Lord Sorley, you rang.” Quinn didn’t bow, or even dip his chin, but his greeting was respectful, if not traditional.
“I didn’t ring, and I didn’t ask for him at all.” He flicked his fingers in Garrick’s direction, then jerked his chin at Lorcan, as if ordering him to get rid of Garrick.
“He stays,” Quinn said, his voice hard. He would play the game only so far.
Lorcan reached for Garrick anyway.
Quinn lifted his gaze to Sorley’s lieutenant and shoved, using just enough power to get the job done. Lorcan stumbled backward with a surprised yip of sound, then immediately growled as if to cover up the embarrassing noise. He started forward angrily, but Sorley stopped him with a raised hand.
“Let it be, Lorcan. If Quinn here is too afraid to face me alone, I’ll leave him his nanny.”
Quinn smiled, unfazed by the intended insult. If anyone had shoved his lieutenant around, that person would be writhing on the ground. Either Sorley didn’t value Lorcan, or whatever he wanted from Quinn was important enough to ignore the offense.
“I have a task for you,” he told Quinn, steepling his fingers on the desktop in front of him.
“I assumed as much.”
Sorley scowled at the interruption, but continued. “It would have been Conover’s responsibility, but you fucked that up.”
Quinn shrugged. “He came to my home and challenged me. He lost. It’s the vampire way.”
“Con was ever ambitious, but good at his job. Which is now yours,” he added smugly.
When Quinn didn’t comment, he continued. “One of his duties, the one he should have been doing instead of getting himself killed, was keeping an eye on the human gangs here in Dublin. We move a lot of product through the main port, most of which is controlled by one gang or another. I don’t get involved in their endless battles. If they want to butcher each other, it’s no matter to me. But when they try to fuck with my business, I do get involved.”
“That’s happening now?” Quinn asked, as much to move along Sorley’s explanation as to express polite interest.
Sorley nodded. “One of the gangs has been handling my drug imports for years, but now they want guns. Not to sell, to use. Probably against some other gang. They tell me, no guns, no drugs.”
Quinn raised an eyebrow. He had plenty of guns coming in through Howth, and Sorley knew it. Was he suggesting Quinn give the guns to his human allies? That was a double-edged sword.
“I don’t give a damn what they want,” the Irish lord said, as if in response to Quinn’s unvoiced question. “Don’t mistake me. I use humans when it suits me, but they are not allies. They’re animals who’d be just as happy killing every vampire in Dublin, and I have no intention of giving them the weapons to do so.”
“Then what?”
“I want you to kill the lot of them. Every single gang member. Once they’re gone, others will step in to fill the void, and they’ll know to show proper deference to their betters.”
“I see.”
“Do you?”
“It’s not that complicated,” Quinn said dryly. “I’ll need whatever you have on the rebellious gang and its members. My on-the-ground intel isn’t yet established in this country.”
“I should hope the fuck not,” Lorcan muttered from behind them.
“You’ll have it,” Sorley said. “I’m assuming you have whatever personal weapons you require.”
Quinn grinned. “That and more.” It was a taunt of sorts, since, strictly speaking, the weapons which had come in through Howth belonged to Sorley. Not that Quinn intended to let them go, which was something Sorley surely suspected by now.
But that was a fight for another night. For now, he had to figure out how to co-opt this human gang of Sorley’s into working for him. And without killing anyone. Or at least, as few as possible. Sorley might despise the gangs he worked with, but Quinn didn’t. Human allies would be needed just as much as vampire ones as he built his power base in Ireland. These gangs knew the city far better than he did, and his vampires would have to work with them. They were necessary, for now, at least. And, oddly enough, that made the humans his, just as much as his vampires were, whether he liked it or not.
“YOU SHOULD LET me call Adorjan and bring in a few of the guys,” Garrick said stubbornly. It was the second time he’d made the request since they’d left Sorley’s, but he received the same answer.
“I don’t need an entourage to deal with a bunch of humans,” Quinn said absently. His mind was on the coming confrontation, but not the physical part of the fight. He wasn’t being arrogant in refusing to bring in Adorjan or any of his team. Quinn honestly didn’t need them, and the humans would respond better if only he and Garrick showed up. No need to overwhelm them with vampire muscle. According to Sorley—and he sure as hell couldn’t be trusted—the leaders of the human gang had previously agreed to a meeting tonight to discuss their demands. The vampire lord hadn’t said, but Quinn imagined the humans were expecting Sorley himself to show up, as a matter of respect. That also meant the humans might be planning an assassination attempt, because what better way to get what you wanted than to eliminate your rival. Sorley had probably reached the same conclusion, which explained his decision to send Quinn in his stead. If the humans killed Quinn, it would get him out of the way. But it would also give Sorley a justifiable reason to go in heavy after the gang. Win-win. The wily fucker.
Quinn didn’t have Sorley’s contacts in Dublin, but he had both the brains and the power to derail whatever twisted scheme the Irish lord had in mind.
“I want to talk to these humans, not kill them,” he told Garrick. “If I call Adorjan, he’ll bring at least a few of his fighters, and the whole thing will balloon into a giant, murderous clusterfuck that will serve no one’s interests but Sorley’s. And I’m not here to make that bastard’s life easier.”
“All right, so what’s the plan, my lord?”
Quinn laughed at the many ways his cousin had of saying that two-word honorific. And the many emotions he could convey. “The plan is simple. You and I walk into the meeting as Sorley’s reps and walk out with the humans in our back pocket, instead of his.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so.” He swung the SUV onto a street that took them right past the main entrance to Dublin Port. Even late at night like this, it was a busy place, with passenger cars dwarfed by the huge container trucks that rumbled in and out at all hours, and bright lights spotlighting the giant cranes that were loading and unloading the multi-colored containers. Some of those, probably more than anyone knew, carried the same illegal goods that Sorley was after.
Garrick drove them past the port and into the Sheriff Street neighborhood, a poorly lit section filled with blocks of so-called council houses, the Irish equivalent of the “projects” back in the U.S. They were side by side attached homes, some with lights shining through the windows, and some fewer with brightly colored flowers blooming in window boxes. Quinn had Googled the neighborhood while Garrick drove, and so he knew that twenty years ago, it had been much worse. There was a gentrification of sorts going on now, with the old council houses being torn down and new high-rises being raised in their stead. Skeletons of building cranes were silhouetted against the skyline almost everywhere he looked. The streets were clean and neat for the most part, although some of the buildings bore gang graffiti that could easily have been spray-painted on a wall in any big city back home.
He caught himself at the thought. This was his home now. He had friends back in the U.S., but his parents were both long dead and, with Garrick here, Ireland was as much of a home as any he’d had.
“There’s the place,” Garrick said quietly, as they turned down a narrow street. He didn’t have to say more. The dark-clad men hanging around the small house, some with weapons carried in the open, others with suspicious bulges beneath their jackets, gave it away. Quinn hadn’t noticed any police presence since they’d entered the neighborhood, so either they stayed away from the more dangerous streets, or they’d been bought off. Either way, the result was the same. A high-level meeting between humans and vampires that had the potential for considerable bloodshed was about to happen right under their noses.
Garrick parked around the block from the meeting house. That way, if everything went sideways, the Range Rover had less of a chance of being shot up. Out of sight, out of mind. Although, hell, if worst came to worst, Quinn and Garrick could simply outrun the humans all the way back to the south side of Dublin.
Walking side by side down the middle of the street, they turned onto the block they wanted. They were big men, and the sidewalks were too narrow to give them room to maneuver. And then there was the possibility of enemies hiding in the shadows. They slowed when they neared the meeting place, which Quinn suspected was the gang leader’s home. It was brightly lit behind closed shutters, and when Quinn and Garrick stopped in front of the house, the front door opened, shining even more light onto the street.
Quinn blinked slowly. If they’d thought to startle him, they were going to need more than a sudden wash of bright light. He waited silently. He’d already clocked every single human in a two-block range, from the families hiding behind closed doors and drawn curtains, to the multitude of armed guards on the roofs and behind the windows of surrounding buildings. The humans either didn’t know or didn’t consider the fact that he didn’t need to see the guards to know they were there. Their heartbeats alone would have given them away, but he didn’t need even that. He was a powerful vampire. He’d sensed their life forces just as he would have if they’d been vampires.
A human male finally appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright light. Quinn thought it was a stupid show of arrogance. Sure, he was appearing like a space alien out of the white light, but he was also setting himself up as the perfect target if any enemies lurked nearby. Quinn shrugged. If the guy wanted to die, it wasn’t his concern.
“I was expecting Sorley,” the human said as the light behind him clicked off, leaving him backlit by nothing but ordinary lamplight. He wasn’t a big man. Maybe five feet, eight inches tall. Slender but with muscles in his arms and shoulders that revealed a wiry strength.
“Sorley rarely takes meetings,” Quinn replied. “And never if it means traveling to someone else’s lair.”
“So, he sends you into the danger zone, is that it? Into my lair. He must not value you very highly.”
“On the contrary, my value is such that he’d like to be rid of it.” He grinned to emphasize the shared humor. “Rest assured, I’m at least as capable as Sorley, and far more willing to compromise, for all that I come as his representative.”
The human pretended to study him for a moment. Quinn doubted he could see much on the dark street. Rather the man was using the time to absorb what Quinn had said, and what he hadn’t.
“My name is Neville,” he said finally. “Let’s talk.”
Quinn exchanged a quick look with Garrick. “Be ready.” He sent the message telepathically knowing his cousin would get it, since they were both strong telepaths and had the added advantage of a blood relationship.
Garrick gave an infinitesimal nod. He didn’t trust the humans any more than Quinn did. Neville gave the appearance of being perfectly rational and accommodating, but it could be nothing more than a mask hiding his true intent. There were a lot more humans inside that tiny house than could possibly be living there.
The two vampires followed Neville inside. One of the guards seemed intent on searching them before they entered the house, but a single dark look from Quinn had him backing away quickly enough.
“Matt,” Neville said, shaking his head. “That’s not necessary, lad. These gentlemen are our allies.” He continued down the hall with them at his back, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. “We’ve a conference room of sorts back here,” he explained as he walked down the narrow, dark hall. “Nothing like yours, I’m sure. But it works well enough.”
Quinn didn’t say anything. His attention was focused on the number of humans waiting in the supposed conference room and the stench of gun oil and metal. “Guns,” he silently said to Garrick, although his cousin had probably come to the same conclusion. All vampires had enhanced senses of smell. “I’ll enter first.”
Garrick’s rejection of that was so powerful that it reverberated in Quinn’s mind.
“Softly, please, cousin,” Quinn responded. “That hurt. And, yes, I’ll go first. If it’s the trap we believe, I can take them all down in an instant. You cannot.”
Garrick’s growl filled the hallway. It was intended for Quinn, but it was just loud enough that Neville’s head swiveled from side to side, as if expecting a wild animal to leap out at him. He didn’t stop walking, though, heading for an open door on the left, at the end of the hall.
Quinn quickened his pace just enough to put himself in front of Garrick when they hit the doorway. The lights were dim, which was suspicious. It was more than bright enough for vampires, but not nearly enough for the humans who waited for them.
“Watch your eyes,” he ‘pathed Garrick a moment before the lights were suddenly flipped on, beaming hot, white light, from row after row on the ceiling. Vampires weren’t sensitive to light, but coming from the dark street, walking down the dark hallway, the abrupt wash of light would affect them as it would a human, making it difficult to see while their eyes adjusted. Quinn couldn’t have said what the lights looked like—if they were normal household lights, or brighter spotlights—but it didn’t matter. He’d read the intent in the humans’ minds and shaded his eyes before the switch was thrown.
What he did know was exactly how many humans were in the room and where they were standing. Before a single one of them could bring a weapon up, Quinn buried their minds in a wave of power that shattered conscious thought and seared painfully along every nerve in their bodies. They screamed almost as one, dropping whatever weapon they’d been holding in favor of clutching their heads in a vain attempt to stop the pain. One or two were on the floor retching, while at least five had passed out completely. Quinn could have simply knocked them all out, but this demonstration of his power and control made a stronger statement.
Don’t fuck with me.
Garrick entered behind Quinn, went immediately to the multiple light switches on one wall, and flipped off everything, except for one row of low wattage incandescent lights. He then walked around the big table that took up most of the available space in the room, shoved past chairs that literally filled the room from wall to wall, pushed aside humans and chairs alike, and didn’t stop until his back was against a solid wall, and he was facing the open doorway.
Quinn glanced down at Neville, who was on his knees, doing his best not to throw up.
“Shall we get down to business now, Neville?” he inquired, then went to the end of the table where Garrick stood and pulled out a slightly larger chair. It was the only such chair in the room, and this was clearly the head of the table. Quinn sat, then lifted his gaze to meet the human leader’s, daring him to protest. Neville cast a look around at his men—some of whom were still struggling to their feet—then took the chair next to Quinn.
“I had to try,” he said quietly.
“Of course, you did. But now that that’s settled, let’s talk.”
BY THE TIME Quinn and his cousin were heading back through Dublin on their way to the Ballsbridge house, he and Neville had achieved a meeting of the minds. Or as much of a meeting as a human could have with a vampire who could read his mind. Quinn hadn’t confessed that latter detail to Neville. He’d already demonstrated his superiority convincingly. Why rub it in?
Basically, the agreement Quinn offered boiled down to, “Work with me or die.” He’d phrased it more diplomatically, though. He was, after all, the product of years of legal wrangling. He knew how to tell someone to go fuck themselves in the nicest way. But Neville had gotten the message. He’d also betrayed a quickness of mind that told Quinn why he’d risen to the top of one of Dublin’s most violent gangs. Neville had understood right away that Quinn was angling for Sorley’s job, and that he expected to get it. And that Quinn intended to make changes to their business model that would serve everyone’s interests, including future generations of Neville’s neighborhood. And since that was what Neville wanted, as well, they’d reached a quick agreement.
“I want to visit Howth tomorrow night,” Quinn told Garrick as they crossed the invisible line between North and South Dublin.
Garrick glanced at him. “You think that’s a good idea?”
“It’s not to see Eve,” he lied. “We’ve a lot of guns in the warehouse. I want to see about moving them out. I don’t want Sorley getting any ideas.”
His cousin grunted. “All right. Who’s going?”
“You and me.”
“Adorjan is not going to like that. They already tried to kill you once down there, and he doesn’t trust your girlfriend, either.”
“She’s not my girlfriend. As for Adorjan, I don’t give a fuck what he likes. It’s Saturday night. I want some blood, and I want to fuck, and I don’t want him looming over me like a giant gargoyle.”
“As you say, my lord.”
Quinn didn’t realize he’d let his power swell along with his irritation until he heard that dutiful response. He pulled back his power, angry with himself for letting it get out of control like some new-made vamp.
Garrick shot him a careful look. “I’ll have a talk with Adorjan.”
Quinn had to bite back the urge to “hmpf” like a disgruntled old man. Even if he was one.
“WELL? DID THEY handle it?” Sorley glared at the kneeling human he’d sent to spy on Quinn’s supposed negotiation with the human gang. He’d have rather sent one of his vampires, but Quinn would have spotted a vamp without even trying.
“The meeting was . . .”
Sorley’s attention snapped to his spy, drawn by the man’s reluctance. What the fuck? “Well?” he demanded. “Speak up, you idiot.”
“I wasn’t in the room, my lord. But Neville and Quinn appeared more as allies than enemies by the end, and Quinn left the meeting unscathed. I was told by more than one reliable source that they’ve reached an accommodation.”
Sorley stared at the trembling human. “Get out.” The man scrambled to his feet and scurried from the room, as if expecting to be shot in the back. Not that Sorley would need a damn gun to kill a puny human rabbit. In this case, however, the rabbit was safe. The man was dependable, even if he didn’t always deliver the news Sorley wanted to hear. If he was going to kill anyone, it would be that bastard Neville. The human gang leader had agreed to their plan to kill Quinn, so what the fuck had happened? What could Quinn possibly have offered him that Sorley couldn’t? The damn American was fresh off the boat, and he’d done nothing but cause trouble. First with the guns in Howth and now the drugs through Dublin Port, which were far more profitable.
And what the fuck was he doing in Ireland, anyway? It was that stupid bitch Mathilde’s fault. She’d started all this with her ill-conceived plan to take out Raphael. Raphael! She couldn’t have started with someone she actually had a chance in hell of killing? And then, instead of learning from her mistake, her European friends had followed in her bloody footsteps. They’d gone and riled up every vampire in North America, and now Ireland had to pay for their fuck-ups, even though he’d had nothing to do with their stupid invasion.
Sorley watched his human spy slip through the barely opened door. He could still kill the bastard. He thought about it. But, no. The rabbit wasn’t the one he wanted dead. It was time to get serious.
“Get Kelan in here,” he told Lorcan.
His lieutenant gave him a sharp look along with a bow, then strode out of the room. Some communications were too sensitive for anything but face-to-face contact.
Sorley acknowledged, to himself, that he may have underestimated Quinn. Oh, he’d recognized his power easily enough, but he hadn’t thought the uptight bastard had the balls to use it. Turned out he was wrong. That buttoned-up exterior of Quinn’s was hiding the gut instincts of a real killer. He might have admired the asshole if he didn’t hate him. Or if Quinn hadn’t been trying to steal everything Sorley had worked so hard for. There could be only one response to that. It was time for Quinn to die.