Page 53 of Home Coming

Sunset was early this time of year, for which he was enormously grateful. He was most comfortable operating at night. And even with the lights of Manhattan fighting off the dark, there were still pockets of pitch blackness if one sought them out.

The front door and sidewalk in front of the restaurant was bathed in neon and light but the back, that was a different story.

A dark alley led to open patio seating—currently empty due to the chill this time of year—and the back entrance to the restaurant.

Quinn didn’t know Axel, but he knew his type. And he knew what would appeal to him.

He scribbled a note on the back of one of the flyers a street hawker had shoved in his hand. A promise that he had incriminating dirt and photos of Bailey Knowles that he’d be willing to share for a price. All Axel had to do was walk out the back door and follow the alley to where he’d meet him on the street behind the restaurant. Alone.

He folded the note then printed in big block letters Axel’s name.

Spotting a kid handing out menus for a neighboring restaurant, Quinn held a twenty-dollar bill up for him to see. “Wanna earn a quick twenty?”

The boy looked at him suspiciously. “What would I have to do?”

“Hand this note to the hostess right inside that restaurant.”

“Inside Emilio’s? That’s it?” he asked, still looking wary.

“That’s it.”

After a quick glance over his shoulder at the neighboring restaurant, where no doubt the guy who’d hired him to pass out flyers was, the kid reached for the twenty and the note. “All right.”

Quinn watched just long enough to see the kid open Emilio’s door, then he took off at a sprint, which got him around the corner and to the alley behind the restaurant in more than enough time to see his prey emerge from the back door.

Hook, line and sinker.

Axel was alone, as requested, and looking very eager to acquire this supposed dirt about Bailey.

Asshole.

Time to teach this spoiled brat a lesson.

The move was quick, practiced over countless hours of training and real world experience over the past thirteen years.

Clad in black, Quinn was invisible. To Axel, it would seem like the attack came out of nowhere.

One moment the skinny rocker sporting an over abundance of jewelry was walking while staring down at his cell phone—the next he was in a chokehold from behind. His face pressed against the rough cold brick of the alley wall. One arm twisted—hopefully painfully—behind his back.

“Man, just t-take whatever you want. Cash. Gold. This is the new iPhone. It’s worth like a grand. You can have it. Just don’t hurt me.”

Quinn let out a snort. “I don’t want your shit,” he said in a low whisper behind Axel’s ear.

The amount of body spray the guy had layered on was so strong Quinn had to fight the cough tickling his throat. At least his choking on Axel’s stench would help disguise his voice.

“Then wh—what do you want?”

Quinn had to be fast. In a city teeming with people day and night, he couldn’t count on no one stumbling upon them. Time to get to the point.

“You’re going to stop this bullshit smear campaign you’ve got going against Bailey Knowles. No more anonymously leaking photos. No more songs about her. No more riling up your so-calledfansto go after her. Nothing. I see or hear that you’ve said anything other thanno commentabout her and I’ll find you. I promise you won’t like what happens to you when I do.”

To emphasize his point, Quinn pressed Axel harder against the wall while shoving his arm up, knowing the added pressure on the awkwardly bent joints would feel like his bones were close to breaking, his tendons tearing.

Axel’s whimpering was punctuated by begging. “Please. No. Don’t break my arm. I play guitar, man. It’s my life.”

He played, but not well in Quinn’s opinion. But mediocre musician or not, he needn’t have worried. Quinn knew exactly how much pressure it took to break an arm—or a neck—and this wasn’t nearly it.

“Give me your phone,” Quinn demanded.

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