QUINN
“Jesus Christ, what now?” I mumble as we walk straight into more drama.
Bambi and two of her girlfriends are huddled together, sobbing as the other one is laid out on a stretcher, about to be wheeled out by ambulance.
Before I overthink it, I walk over. “Can I do anything?”
Kade coughs less than subtly, and I get the message. I wasn’t going to say I was a doctor and could fix anything happening with my eyes closed.
Bambi dismisses me with a flick of her wrist before dissolving into loud sobs. Her girlfriends huddle around her, and I leave them to find where my husband is.
“Do you think this level of drama is typical for weddings or just Russians?”
Santiago grins as he checks out the room, not answering me per se, but I get what he’s not saying too. Rolling my shoulders back and giving myself a pep talk about keeping it together for abit longer, I walk to where Sergey and his associates are sitting. Aleksei is noticeably absent.
My arrival is ignored by everyone. I know it’s intentional, probably another reminder from Sergey of how I don’t fit into his world. I completely agree—I don’t—but I’m not the one who wanted to go into an alliance with Victor and agreed to this farcical union, so there is that too.
I’m here as a symbol of trust, an offering of goodwill, on an agreement that was put in place years ago by Victor and Sergey’s father. Back then, perhaps because of what I did, or others simply caught on, a mysterious group called the Trinity Alliance emerged and were very aggressive in their vision for eradicating the practice of trafficking.
Victor and Sergey’s father had to go to ground, and their “agreement” was put on hold until the dust settled on their vile practice. A timeline was agreed upon when they would restart with the same vigor they had originally. In the meantime, Sergey’s father died, but the agreement didn’t die with him. Maybe that’s why Sergey is acting like he’s the one being put out now that the deadline for the marriage is here.
I know the reasons I’m here—to save my sister and to a stop to the BS both Victor and Sergey are once again trying to resurrect, on a larger scale. Their global plans have started, and now I need to stop it.
Growing up within the polite but brutal realms of diplomacy, rubbing shoulders with the upper echelon of international movers and shakers, means I’ve seen these, and many other, games at play. The constant double-crossing and deceit involved does my head in and is another reason I don’t want this life for myself or Marco. If me being here, though, means he won’t ever be forced into this life or these situations, then I’m not going anywhere. At least until Sergey’s dead.
I mean, it was my intention to do that… it’s why I’m here. I guess I’d started considering other ways of dealing with the issue, weakened by meeting them. But I couldn’t live with myself now and not kill him, especially after the BS that I’m stuck looking at in this moment.
With my features locked down, my scent too, I stand like a statue. It’s nearly impossible to keep the disgust off my face as I listen to their conversation. I can’t understand a word they say, but all of them are guilty by association of the atrocity I’m staring at.
The girl laid out on the table like an ornament is easily under twelve. Her coloring is pale, but the blaze of red hair points to her being Irish, and not Russian, which only backs up Sergey’s claim these children in some way come from the Irish.
As much as I want to rush over and pick her up in my arms, I instead spend the time memorizing the faces and voices of the people around Sergey before I move on to remembering everything I can about each of the children. The last child is my proof that my father is involved. The boy shares similar coloring with Santiago and most of the people back in the place where I was born. I can’t include myself in that because, of course, I was an anomaly, taking after my mother completely. Her pale skin and freckles and caramel-colored hair are all I see when I look in the mirror. Looks aside, I share ethnicity with the small boy.
I don’t need to look at either Kade or Santiago to read how repulsed they are; I feel their energy and emotions wrap around me, and if anything, it reconfirms the sense of rightness of our bond.
When I hear Santiago hissing under his breath, “I’m going to kill him,” I nearly fall out of character to comfort him, but Sergey decides that’s the time to acknowledge my existence.
Keeping my face blank and my eyes downcast, I wait to see what he does. Because he’s an Alpha, I can sense him comingcloser. His scent gives him away too. Both act as warnings to me, which is in complete contrast to the signals I get from Santiago and Aleksei.
He stops in front of me. “Is this above you?”
“Sorry?” I ask, thrown by his sudden, unexpected question.
“You are ungrateful and ungracious. From the second you walked into my home, you looked down your nose at us. I expected more, since you are one of Victor’s, and I’ve already told him that.”
I fight against an urge to defend myself. Clearly, Sergey Petrov is a fucking idiot, but I’m not going to be the one to point this out to him.
“I’m sorry, Sergey. Please tell me what I can do to fix this.”
“Stop looking like you ate a lemon, for starters.”
I barely stop myself from bursting into hysterics at the absurdity of his comment. Considering how bonkers everything has been, and how ridiculous everyone has acted since I landed here, I think I’m doing great. I’m at a loss as to how he wants me to act, until I remember he is fucking Bambi, which means she’s my inspiration.
Brushing my hair and curling it in my fingers, I borrow her cues and expressions, transforming in front of him. With each small change I make to how I’m holding myself and acting, he responds encouragingly.
I look up at him through my eyelashes, being as coyly cute as possible. It’s a weird combination, but apparently, he likes it because his scowl isn’t as deep.
“Better. Now do something else with your hair.”
