Jim sighs. King frowns.
Finally, King clears his throat and looks at Jim. “This is all my fault, I’m afraid. The hunt for Desmondis a personal one. I’ve been after him for twenty years, but I’ve never been this close to squeezing him in my fist. We needed a very specific set of circumstances to bait him into the open, and you and Quinn were part of that.”
I shake my head. “Why me? I understand Quinn’s part in all of this, being that she’s Desmond’s current obsession, but you could have used any of your goons for this job. Ice Pick, Grim. Hell, even Rosie could have done this.”
“Not quite,” Jim says. “I had our psychology department run scenarios, and the greatest probability for a successful outcome involved using you. Granted, in most of the scenarios, you end up sacrificing yourself to save the girl, but Desmond gives us what we need in every case. We thought it seemed a fair trade.”
If that’s what his experts deduced, he needs some new experts. I’ll ignore the bit about my life being expendable, but they’re off their heads if they think I’d sacrifice myself for anyone. “The girl is nice and all, and beautiful to boot, but I likebreathing air. You would have been better off telling the boys they have a sister. Family ties and all that.”
I go to stand, but King grabs my arm.
“Wait, let me explain fully before you make any decisions,” he pleads.
But I’m not some weak-kneed woman. He can’t sway me with his smooth accent and perfectly styled hair and a jawline that could cut steel. “No thanks, pal. I’ve done my part and held up my end of the bargain, which was to keep Quinn safe until the party started. Now it’s your problem. I’ll take my pay and be on my way.”
“I’ll throw in a bonus,” Jim adds as he rises to stand. The bird screams from its perch and flaps its wings, so he sits down and drops his voice to a whisper. “Fifty grand to stay for the retreat.”
“No can do. Just wire what you owe me, then lose my contact info.” I head for the door without a single regret. Quinn was starting to grow on me, and I’ll probably think about her the next time I beat my dick, but the sooner I can put this place behind me, the better.
“I’ll double your base pay,” Jim says. “Five hundred grand total.”
My feet freeze. “Now you might be talking my language.”
“Gaelic?” King says with a scoff.
I roll my eyes. As if the Queen’s English is any easier to understand.
“There’s just a small catch,” Jim adds, and why don’t I like the sound of this?
Then he explains the small catch, and I like it even less.
Chapter Seven
Quinn
Aven bursts into the room after leaving me in here for what feels like hours. I’ve already rummaged through his duffel bag and changed into one of his t-shirts. I was sick of sitting in sexy lingerie without anyone to look at it. That’s the only reason I wear the shit. It certainly isn’t comfortable, what with all the strings and tassels ramming into every crack and crevice.
He eyes my ensemble and rolls his eyes. “Get over to your room and put on something nice. Preferably something that belongs to you. I’m taking you to dinner.”
“Oh, like a date?” I say with a flirty wiggle of my shoulders. My unrestrained breasts sway beneath the baggy shirt, but he doesn’t even look. He’s too busy digging through the closet.
“No, not like a date,” he grumbles. He stands upright and snatches off his shirt, giving me a glorious view of his chiseled chest. He’s built like a brick shithouse, with a barrel chest and a wide waist. Dark hairs paint a path toward his sweatpants, but my eyes are drawn to the tattoo running up his side.
I cock my head and point to it. “Is that a dragon?”
He raises his arm and looks at the tattoo as if he needs to see it to know what the fuck I’m talking about. “Aye. Ever heard of the Edinburgh Dragon?”
I haven’t, so I shake my head.
“Well, when you get bored, do some research and learn about it.”
“Or you could just tell me? Isn’t that how conversations typically work?” I nibble my lip and patiently wait for him to pull off his pants.
“I suppose. If we were having a conversation. Which we aren’t. Go get dressed.” He grips the waistband of his sweats and waits. “Go on.”
I grumble and slink toward the door. “You’re no fun. But how do I get into my room? My keycard is in there.”
He reaches into the pocket of his sweats and tosses a card to me. “A spare key to your room. Make sure you give it back at dinner.”
