Resisting Ruby Rose (The Ruby Rose Series) (19 page)

It was reassuring to see him drink water while under stress. For too long,
I’d
watched my parents turn to bottles of alcohol every time things got tough. Now wasn’t the time to dull any senses; it was time to fire on all engines. I ripped open the granola bar and chewed while I studied the man in front of me.

He was somber and cerebral. Built strong, but gentle in manner. Weathered but determined. I didn’t hate him, but I didn’t love him either. Who was this man I thought was my enemy but had proved to be my greatest ally?

“How many people have you killed?” I asked, knowing it was a stark question.

He closed his eyes and kept them shut. Maybe trying to calculate. Maybe trying to forget. Maybe trying to ignore me.

“I’ve killed eight,” I said thinly. “At least, I think it’s eight. I’m not exactly sure how many were in the car at Big Bear.”

“I don’t think I could even estimate, unfortunately,” Silver said, opening his eyes to meet mine. “But I promise you this: I’ve never taken a life lightly. I’ve never killed indiscriminately or without cause. It has always been for a purpose, for the greater good.” The way he said “greater good” made me think that not even he believed those clichéd words.

“Same here.” I feigned agreement, wondering if he had the same conflicted relationship with guilt and satisfaction that I did when taking the life of an evil human being.

“Ruby, I’m more sorry than words could ever express,” he said. “I thought keeping my distance would protect you. Turns out it was the distance that allowed it to happen.”

“Maybe Martinez was right,” I said. “I would’ve ended up a killer no matter what anyone did or didn’t do.”

“Don’t say that,” Silver said, his voice sharp and direct. “If it weren’t for Martinez, you never would have ended up in this position.”

“I don’t kno
w . . .
” I paused, thinking it through. “I was following the Filthy Five because I wanted to. Because it made me feel alive in a way
I’d
never felt before. On some level, I wanted to hurt those men long before Martinez gave me the justification to do it.”

“Stop,” Silver growled. “I won’t let you blame yourself for any of this. You’re the innocent one here. Surrounded by selfish, manipulative, and careless adults who never considered the ramifications of their actions.”

“I’m not innocent. Never have been. And now I have to accept the ‘ramifications’ of my actions.”

My phone vibrated inside the Cleave. It was Quinn.

“Hey,” I said.

“I’ve got her. Where do we meet?”

CHAPTER 25

Silver’s words stuck with me. There was no shaking them off—Quinn was a manipulator with no loyalty to me, to Silver, to the things I cared about. It was his job to recruit me, play me, break me in, even have a bit of fun with me. Partners with benefits. Beyond that, he was the property of Skryker. Loyal only to the man who paid him and kept him safe from prosecution in who knew how many jurisdictions.

I stared out the motel window as Quinn’s rented Charger pulled into the parking lot. “He’s here,” I said to Silver.

“OK, remember,” Silver said, standing to join me at the window and have a look for himself. “Let Quinn handle this. He knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to young girls.”

“Whatever,” I said, grinding my teeth. I didn’t need to be told (again) what an idiot I was for believing in Quinn’s warmth and vulnerability. Maybe he made up that whole backstory about his mom and sister. Maybe nothing he said or did was genuine. Except for the enjoying-kissing-me part. Regardless, I had no intention of letting Quinn or Silver “handle” any of this. I was just as capable, if not more, of “handling” a girl only a few years younger than I was.

The Charger’s taillights went off, and a few moments passed before Quinn finally opened his door, then the passenger door. He held out his hand like he was guiding the girl from a horse-drawn carriage. She emerged willingly, presumably having no idea that her life was about to be put on the line in order to get to her father. Suddenly, I felt a kinship to her. Rosie Martinez—I knew what it was like to be a pawn in her father’s game.

Her long black hair, pulled back in a braid, made her look even younger than fifteen. The friendship bracelets, T-shirt with a cat sporting a mustache, and pink Chuck Taylors didn’t help either. A pang of guilt nearly knocked away my resolve.

Quinn shut the door behind her and escorted the lamb up the motel stairs to the slaughter—though I promised myself
I’d
do everything I could to guard against the slaughter part.

“What could Quinn have said to make a fifteen-year-old girl get in a car with a complete stranger and walk willingly into a shady motel?” I asked aloud, though I really didn’t expect Silver to answer.
I’d
come up with what w
e’d
tell her once she was here, but Quinn had said h
e’d
handle getting her to the motel without frightening her.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Silver said, opening his laptop on the wobbly desk by the bathroom.

I waited until Quinn knocked before I opened the door. “Hey,” I said, as I motioned for them to come in.

“Good evening,” Quinn said, laying the charm on thick. For her or for me, I wasn’t sure. Though his hand was on
her
back, so probably for her.

“Please, sit down,” Silver said, from his dark corner of the room. I shivered, maybe from the ocean breeze or maybe from what I feared was about to happen. I wasn’t sure.

I wasn’t sure about much anymore.

“What’s going on?” the girl, Rosie Martinez the Innocent, finally voiced. She didn’t look scared as much as hesitantly excited. Again, I wondered what Quinn had told her to get her here.

“Sit,” Quinn said, less drug lord–ish but less Prince Charming–ish, as he guided her to the nearest bed and sat down on a chair close to her. “We’ll explain everything.”

I shut the door and sat on the edge of the other bed.

“Rosie,” Quinn began, leaning forward in his chair. “We’ve brought you here to give you good news. Your father is alive and wants to see you.”

“What?” she said. Her eyes lit up in a way that only furthered my self-reproach. Even though it was my idea, it felt like every kind of wrong to set her up to believe that her father actually wanted to make contact.

Silver turned the laptop around so we could all see it. A surveillance video of Martinez walking through a bank revealed a time stamp from two weeks ago. He looked different: his stupid facial hair more overgrown, a wide-rimmed hat covering his normally slicked-back hair, and no gaudy gold chain around his neck or tattoo on his arm. But the signature breezy silk shirt gave him away.

For a second, I was so entranced by seeing the man who took everything from me that I forgot to monitor Rosie’s reaction. I glanced over at her. She sat still, but her brow was furrowed and her eyes glassed over. I felt another round of sympathy as I remembered what it felt like to take in such life-changing truth. Her father abandoned her and hid in the shadows, making everyone believe he was dead. Sh
e’d
been left to suffer and wonder what happened, only to be told now that he was very much alive.

“He had his reasons for pretending he was dead,” Quinn began. “Your father has been involved in some major international investigations, and it became a necessary part of his operation to fake his own death.”

“We work with him, Rosie.” Silver took over the lie as if it were a hot potato Quinn had passed across the room. “He’s still in hiding, doing what he needs to do, but he wants to see you and explain things for himself.”

“That’s why we brought you here.” Quinn put his hand on hers. “He chose this secure location. Now we need to let him know that you’ve arrived. Ruby, would you mind coming and sitting with Rosie while I take a picture of the two of you together to send to Detective Martinez?”

“Why?” Rosie asked, looking me up and down with confusion, as if I seemed familiar but she couldn’t quite place why.

“Because, Rosie,” Silver said, “your father thought of Ruby as a daughter as well. He cared about her very much and wanted both of you to be here.”

Gah! Even though I was the one who came up with this story, I hated hearing the steaming pile of crap out loud.

“Hey, Rosie.” I held out my hand to introduce myself. “I’m Ruby Rose.”

Rosie’s eyes narrowed as she reluctantly took my hand to shake, maybe realizing I was the girl all over the news. The girl who was present the night her dad
supposedly
died in the fire. The girl whose boyfriend was originally charged with the murder. The girl wearing strange tactical clothing and running from the police because sh
e’d
allegedly killed Bill Brandon. Then again, she was only fifteen and probably didn’t watch breaking news—maybe she didn’t know about any of that. Maybe she only watched cartoons with mustache-sporting cats.

“You? He thought of
you
as a daughter?” Rosie’s expression shifted from the glossy look of heartache to a penetrating look of suspicion. “Why?”

“Your dad and my dad used to be partners. Before either of us were born. They had a falling-out, but when your dad was assigned to my case—you know, the LeMarq case, where
I . . .
killed a man to save a little girl—we grew close.” My words tasted sour on my tongue as I spewed them out. Although they were all sort of true in a very twisted way.

“That’s why he’ll be so pleased to see you together,” Quinn said, standing and pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “Come on, Ruby, sit down next to Rosie.”

I sat and put my arm around her small frame. And even though the position was a pose for a very specific purpose—to get rid of her father once and for all—the strong sense of protectiveness I felt toward her was genuine.

“What a pair!” Quinn said, smiling in amusement. “Ruby and Rosie. Ver
y . . .
alliteratious
. Come on, girls, a little smile for the camera won’t kill anyone.”

I faked a huge smile for the benefit of Martinez—I wanted him to see me being smug.

“Nice,” Quinn said, walking over to show the picture to Silver, who nodded. Quinn then began typing into his phone, completing the next step in our plan—sending the pic to Eva, who would post it online using the same platform address Martinez used to proclaim his manifesto.

I unwrapped my arm from Rosie’s shoulder and took my place on the other bed again. Feeling lost without my cell phone, my fingers grew restless. I wanted to text or call Liam. The old Liam, that is. Liam circa two weeks ago.

“So, we just wait here?” Rosie asked, her eyes roaming the room.

“For now, just try to relax,” Silver said, busying himself with the laptop.

The two-star motel didn’t exactly promote feelings of relaxation and reassurance. The comforter alone probably held thousands of forms of bacteria, stemming from the lovely combinations of sweat, blood, urine, and semen. I stood and ripped the atrocious blanket off and forced it into the corner with my imported sooty black leather ZIGI boots—which didn’t deserve to touch the comforter, either.

“S
o . . .
” I said to Rosie as I fluffed a pillow at the top of the bed and sat against it with my feet outstretched. “Your dad—aren’t you relieved he’s alive?”

She didn’t answer, and I couldn’t see her face. Her posture was stiff; she stared down at the carpet.

“Excited to see him?” I asked with a sincere effort not to reveal how eager
I
was to see him, but for very different reasons. While she probably wanted to hug him, I wanted to strangle him.

“I guess,” Rosie said softly, paying more attention to what Quinn was doing than what I was saying. What
was
Quinn doing? He was on a laptop as well.

Intrigued by her less than exuberant tone, I prodded further. “He’s such a great guy, right? So dedicated to his work. He’ll go to any lengths to achieve justice.”

“Totally.” Her tone came across as shockingly sarcastic.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“It mean
s . . .
I don’t know.” Rosie looked toward the windows, where night was falling fast beyond the blinds. “It means that I don’t actually know my dad that well. I live with my grandma. I haven’t even seen my dad in a long time. Him wanting to see me now is jus
t . . .
bizarre. I mean, not as bizarre as the fact he’s not even dead. But still, weird.”

Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of this? Martinez had been so obsessed with my family for so long that h
e’d
ignored his own. What little family he had, anyway. He never married Rosie’s mom, and his mother was raising his daughter. But the venom in her voice still surprised me.

“You’re his daughter, though,” I assured her. “No matter what, you’ll always be his daughter.” As the words left my lips, I realized Silver was listening intently.

“Yeah, maybe.” Rosie turned to Quinn. “I think I should call my grandma.”

Quinn stopped what he was doing and pulled a chair in front of the TV to sit between the two beds. “In a little while, we’ll call her and tell her everything is OK, but for now we can’t raise any flags. This is what they call a covert mission.”

“Who are you, anyway?” she demanded, not as submissive as she was before.

“I told you, Quinn Sullivan,” he said, with his most dashing smile. H
e’d
told me his last name was Donovan. Aliases, I presumed. “I work with your dad. I look younger than I am.”

I knew he was lying, and I still believed him.

“Oh,” she said. “You do look, you know, pretty young. For an agent or whatever.” She smiled nervously.

The lies seemed like they were doing exactly what they needed to: keep Rosie calm, pliable, and easy to use as bait. We couldn’t have her screaming, attracting attention, or demanding release. We had to make her want to be here with us.

Still, I hated the way it was so easy for Quinn.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked her. “A drink of water? A Coke? A snack?”

“No, thanks.” Rosie shifted to pull her legs up on the bed and tucked them into her chest. She really did look like a little girl, younger than fifteen.

“Are you cold?” he said, rising out of his chair and taking off his jacket to put around her shoulders. “This should help.”

“Thanks.” She smiled again.

“My pleasure, Rosie.

He was good at this. Too good. And it made me sick that
I’d
allowed myself to be charmed just as much as clueless little Rosie.
I’d
been such a fool to think he actually cared about me.

“I need some air,” I said, standing to go outside.

“Ruby,” Silver called out. “Not a good idea. You could be seen.”

“I don’t care. Let me know of any developments. I’ll be right outside.”

The cool air outside swirled around me as I looked across the Pacific Coast Highway to the bare coastline. I focused on the one thing no one could ever take from me—the power of my own imagination.

I could imagine a place where none of these problems existed. I could fantasize about a world where my parents, Jack and Jane Rose, and I walked down the beach at twilight. My dad carrying the picnic basket, my mom the blanket, and me in between, holding both their hands. All alive and healthy. Happy to be together. Waves crashing in the distance, seagulls swooping and diving, and the three of us in our tight formation. Mother, father, daughter.

Then the door opened and closed behind me. I didn’t know who’d dared to come after me until he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me to his chest.

Why didn’t I fight him off? “What are you do—”

With a vigorous rush, he kissed me with such intensity that I couldn’t resist if I wanted to. His salty-sweet taste consumed me, and his strong arms held me close. He took me to a completely different fantasy until he pulled away an inch. “Don’t think for a moment that my feelings for you aren’t real, Ruby Rose.”

I heaved for a breath, for air, for clear thought. Even if he was lying, I wanted to believe. I wanted a hotel room for him and me alone. No Silver, no Rosie, no shadow of Martinez hovering over us.

With my hands on his chest, I opened my eyes to appreciate the full effect. “You’re too good at this,” I said.

“If I die tonight, I want to die with this memory,” he said, his lips whispering over my cheek and close to my ear. It sounded like a straight-up line, but it worked. Like everything this boy did, it all worked.

“Who said we’re going to die?” I asked, as his breath continued to make me weak.

“No one.” He pulled away just enough that I wanted him back. “But in this line of work, it’s always a possibility, and I’ve never found someone
I’d
be so willing to die for.”