Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (29 page)

Guns have so many street names, it’s hard to know which to use, but often when someone wants to use a code for weaponry, so that bystanders don’t overhear, they’ll pick a word starting with the same letter, so only the insiders understand. For example: Roscoe for revolver. Gat for gun, and so on.

The lady’s brown eyes narrow as she sizes me up, and Quinn is instantly flush against me, letting me know he’s got my back if things go south.

“No English,” she says, waving me off and shaking her head, her grey-streaked bun bopping with the momentum.

I know for a fact she’s lying, so I resort to using the universal language that every individual on this planet understands.

The language of money.

Bending slowly with my hand raised in surrender, I use the other to reach into my boot.

“I’m not carrying,” I say, my eyes never leaving hers as I watch her hand dip under the counter, no doubt to reach for a piece.

“Dinero,” is all I say, giving her a small nod.

Bypassing my knife, my fingers twitch for the metal security, but I instead reach for the roll of one hundred dollar notes sitting snugly inside my shoe. Pulling out the cash, I slowly hold it above my head with my hands still raised, indicating I mean no harm.

Taking two cautious steps toward her with Quinn following in hot pursuit, I place the roll of hundreds onto the bench and simply say, “Pistolas.”

Taking a step back and lowering my hands to chest level, I watch as she greedily eyes the money. I can practically see her counting the cash in her head and I know we’re good. With a flick of her head over her left shoulder, she directs me toward the storeroom out back.

“Gracias,” I nod, reaching for Quinn’s hand and walking slowly but confidently toward the back of the room.

“Why do I have a feeling you’ve done that before?” he whispers into my ear, his long hair tickling my cheeks.

I only smile over my shoulder in response, as I don’t care to admit how many times I’ve been involved in a situation like this.

Pushing apart the red and white beaded curtain, I scan over everything, just like I used to when delivering drugs. Old habits die hard, I guess.

The storeroom is a smallish, dark warehouse, with a roller door as our only other exit if things get dicey. There are a few dozen wooden crates stored throughout the warehouse floor, and I glance above me to the second level, scanning the area for hidden men, waiting for an ambush. Thankfully, there isn’t any.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, a man with a curly moustache, taupe flares, and heavy gold chains decorating his thick neck comes strolling out from an office, approaching us with a cocky, shit-eating grin. This dude is obviously stuck in the 70’s and lacks zero balls, as he has six beefy men standing closely behind him with machine guns strapped over their chests like badges of honor.

Douches like this act as if heavy armor makes a man, or gives them the balls to be in this line of work. Little do they know, it’s not the gun that makes the man—instead, it’s his honor. And it’s his heart.

The man standing behind me is the perfect example of what a real man encompasses.

“What you want?” he asks in a thick Spanish accent, twirling the left side of his moustache as he eyes me hungrily.

This dick is making my skin crawl, and the sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can disinfect myself and rid my body of his pollutant scent.

With no hesitation, I rattle off my list, which consists of a colorful selection of pump action shotguns, Glocks, Berettas, my all-time personal favorite—Colts—and just for fun, two AK47s.

He smiles a reptilian smirk, and I nearly gag.

“A girl who knows what she wants. I likie.” He licks his lips, making it more than obvious he’s ogling my boobs.

Quinn growls and I place my hand behind me, stopping his advance, as that’s exactly what this scumbag wants.

I want this Little League hero out of my life, so I’m direct, ensuring I don’t mince my words. “Look, enough with the talking. Do we have a deal or not?”

“Oh, we do.” He chuckles, motioning with his greasy head for his goons to bring the goods.

The whole while, the dickhead eyes me off, attempting to intimidate me. But I just match his stare, crossing my arms over my chest defiantly.

“Senorita, you got some cojones,” he says with a smirk, then flicks his reptilian eyes to Quinn. “Maybe more than your little amigo.”

Before Quinn can react, I laugh. “He’s got enough cojones for the both of us.” I give him a playful wink.

He breaks out into a raspy fit of laughter, and thankfully, there’s no more cojones talk.

Waiting while this lowlife checks me out to the sound of Richie Valens singing “La Bamba,” is as clichéd as it sounds, so when the henchman come back out bearing arms, my heart beats in excitement. This is the first step toward taking my life back.

This is the first step toward avenging Hank.

“You know how to handle these?” asks a beefy goon cockily, while handing me a Glock 19.

Scoffing, I pull back the hammer, cock the gun, and let off a round into the far corner of the warehouse, narrowing missing the goon’s head. All the men jump, startled, not anticipating me to shoot the gun, but hey, a girl’s gotta feel comfortable with her piece.

“I’ve handled bigger,” I joke, slipping the pistol into the back of my jeans, resting it in the small of my back.

All the men, excluding Quinn, chuckle, and I roll my eyes.

Men—tell them a dick joke and they’re putty in your hands.

The henchmen pass Quinn the rest of the guns and he quickly places them into his backpack, never meeting my eyes. I pull out a wad of bills from my boot and walk confidently toward the hero, handing him the roll of cash.

“We good?” I ask, watching him greedily count the cash.

“Si, Senorita. You need anything else, you come see me.” He gives me a greasy wink before he whistles to his guards. They come running like the good dogs they are.

Quinn straps his backpack on his shoulders, and by the way his jaw is clenching tightly, I know he’s attempting to rein in his temper. Reaching for his hand and giving it a light, reassuring squeeze, we cautiously walk backward toward the exit, not stupid enough to turn our backs on these criminals. Only when we walk through the beaded curtain do we turn around.

“Gracias,” I tell the store clerk, who is openly counting her cash.

She barely registers our presence, which suits us just fine.

The moment we exit, Quinn yanks on my hand and spins me around, forcing me up against a wall, his huge body shrouding mine.

Stunned, I gasp, “What the fu—” but before I can finish, his lips smash onto mine, almost suffocating me with his fierce passion.

I’m left breathless with his fury, but I match everything he gives me, fisting his long hair between my fingers, yanking it to match the insane rhythm of our lips.

We’re almost one as we press chest to chest and I have no room to move, but I welcome it and lead one hand down his back, cupping his firm ass cheek, squeezing tight.

He moans in his throat with the forceful contact, and I bite his lip, sucking his piercing into my mouth, pulling with force. He melts underneath me and I feel powerful; I feel alive.

We paw at one another, and if we don’t stop, I may just lose the big V in this gross alley. Quinn senses my apprehension and pulls away, but not before biting my lower lip. It pops as he lets it go.

“What was that for?” I ask once I catch my breath.

Quinn’s eyes are absorbed in black, heated pools of desire, expressing how turned on he is.

He runs a finger down my cheek while toying with his lip ring. “Because I knew you were a bad ass, but seeing you in action—fuck, Red, that was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

I bite my lip, flushed by his comment and the impassioned kiss.

I guess life or death situations prioritize what’s important, and what’s important to me is Quinn.

“Let’s get our small arsenal back to the hotel,” he says, his eyes hypnotized on my mouth.

Shaking my head of wicked, naked Quinn images, I reach for his hand, as that’s a very good idea.

As we walk down the alley, silent and lost in thought, Quinn smirks, “So, you’ve handled bigger, huh?”

I roll my eyes, but can’t help the smile that spreads from cheek to cheek.

See, I told you—putty in my hands.

Chapter 26

You Belong to Me

As we hide our weapons in the closet, the front door closes, announcing Justin’s arrival.

“You still want to find out what his deal is?” Quinn whispers, jutting his chin out toward the living room.

“You bet,” I reply with a firm nod.

Quinn sits on the end of our unmade bed, his legs spread out wide.

“If we get nothing out of him, we call it a day with him, okay? We’ve got enough to deal with, and some old boyfriend sporting serious wood for you is low on our priority list.”

“Okay,” I reply, trying not to cringe at the gross analogy.

“Now, before you start defending him—” Quinn stops, stunned. “What did you say?”

“Okay,” I repeat with a smile.

“What? That’s it? No fighting me on this?” Quinn asks, arching a brow, watching me as I kick off my boots.

“Nope,” I reply, because Quinn is right.

With our plan of attack set in motion, finding out what, or if Justin knows anything does fall low on the priority list, but I’ll give it one last go. If tonight nosedives, then so be it. Justin is the least of our worries.

Lost in thought, Quinn leans forward, catching me off guard and scooping me up into his arms. I yelp in surprise as he settles me onto his lap, turning my face from side to side, his eyebrows furrowing.

“What are you doing?” I ask with a chuckle, convinced he’s gone insane.

“You’re so obedient and it’s freaking me out. I wanted to make sure it was you and not a doppelganger,” he confesses with a heart-stopping smile.

This is the only man who would make light of this fucked up situation.

“Well, I can always argue if that would make you feel more comfortable.” I chuckle, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He runs his fingertips along my cheek, the gentle movement causing goosebumps from head to toe.

“I kind of like you submissive,” he confesses softly, playing with his lip ring.

My face heats as my mind conjures up how submissive I could be. This really needs to stop, as surely this can’t be good for my heart.

“Oh, Red,” Quinn whispers, his face inches from mine. “You’re a bad, bad girl.” He claims my mouth as his.

***

Our plan to get Justin drunk still stands, but first of all, I want to pay Lucky a visit. It’s on the way to the bar, and I figure if my dad is watching me, then he’d be watching this vet like a hawk.

The tension can be cut with a knife between us three, and I really can’t wait to get tonight over with and cut ties with Justin asap, who begrudgingly agreed to come out with us.

As we enter the clinic, the smell of antiseptic burns my nostrils and I can’t wait to get Lucky out of this sterile environment. The vet nurse, who is a young student, offers to bring Lucky out because he needs a toilet break. I don’t realize I’m bouncing on the spot until Quinn reaches for my hand, chuckling.

The door swings open and out comes a groggy-looking Lucky with a bandaged paw, which extends all the way up to his armpit. But he’s alive, and that’s all that matters. As he catches sight of me and Quinn, his three good legs skid on the linoleum floor, frantically trying to get to us.

The sight warms my heart and I drop to one knee, opening my arms. “C’mon, boy,” I coo, waving him forward, but he stops midway, his hackles raising as he drops low and snarls, looking over my shoulder.

“Lucky?” I ask, looking up at Quinn.

Quinn shrugs, appearing just as confused as I.

Lucky takes a step back as he raises his lips, showing teeth, and as he commences barking, I notice he’s backing away from… Justin.

Justin shuffles uncomfortably behind me. I don’t understand.

“Is this normal?” I ask the nurse. “I mean, he’s never done this before.”

“I’m not sure, it could be the meds have worn off and he’s a bit grumpy. I’ll take him out back,” she says apologetically, yanking on Lucky’s lead.

“I’ll just wait outside,” Justin says and turns quickly, leaving me and Quinn staring at one another, baffled.

I don’t want to express the thought churning through my brain, because it’s too hard to digest without wanting to be sick.

“Those drinks can’t come fast enough,” Quinn says against my forehead as he wraps me into a tight embrace.

I couldn’t agree more.

***

The random bar we’ve chosen serves cheap beer, which suits us just fine, as I’m planning on getting Justin toasted so he spills the beans.

Quinn is at the bar getting drinks, but he’s done this so I can milk some information out of Justin, who is nursing his sixth beer.

“So, you never told me what you did for work.” I playfully smile, hoping my ruse won’t be detected.

There is
definitely
something up with Justin. After Lucky’s reaction to him today, I’m starting to think he may have had something to do with Lucky being hurt. If I find out that’s true, then I’ll return the favor and break
his
leg.

“Oh, it’s boring,” he says, waving me off, taking a long sip of beer.

“C’mon, try me,” I tease, trying my best to appear flirty without gagging.

Justin laughs, totally buying it. “You could say I’m into repossession,” he replies with a smirk.

“Huh? Like cars?” I question, raising an eyebrow.

Justin smiles at me creepily. “Something like that.”