Page 49 of Dirty Quinn
“What? Fancy pants? Why? That’s what you are, isn’t it? Some gazillionaire, high-falooting, custom suit wearing, tea drinking, muckety-muck?” I grin big. In part to show that I’m kidding, even though I’m not. And in part to take the edge of since I’m serious. Because this guy? Ronan Sinclair? He is all those things and more.
It didn’t take me long after I first met him to realize he was the same guy from the hospital that I was checking out when we went to visit Daria. The one who’d been wiping his hands on a handkerchief, trying to be subtle about it. As though hospitals hold nothing but the dregs of society.
I mean, I guess they are germ-filled cesspools of sickness and death now that I think about it, so maybe the hand wiping thing wasn’t such a bad idea. But it still made him look like a complete pussy.
A sexy as hell complete pussy.
So, imagine my surprise when he was also the guy who came grunting his way up over that rock and debris wall in Andrei’s basement to help us get out. We’d moved as much as we could from our side of the pile to try to escape, and thought we had a space large enough. But it turned out to be too difficult to circumvent without risk of injury by way of sharp concrete edges.
He and his guys moved a lot from the opposite side that we couldn’t get to budge because of the way the chunks had wedged themselves in. And that was the only way we were getting out. Even though before that, none of us wanted to admit it to ourselves. With Mack injured and Quinn unconscious, anything we tried to do was slow going anyway at best.
Then they laid cover against Viktor’s men as we made our way across the compound and over the wall to where Daria was waiting. I’ve known forever that girl was over the moon for Mack, but when I saw her face once she realized he was out, it became crystal fucking clear.
She didn’t even realize Reed had unintentionally shot Mack until minutes later, giving her reason to fuss about him all over again. An odd sight to see since she is normally so cool and collected.
Which about brings us to now—the hospital admitted Quinn, and Daria is staying with her. Jen and Alyssa took off to where I have no idea. Some nurse patched Mack up, and he was out again, against doctor’s orders.
He and Reed left to track down Andrei.
Because word on the street is that Andrei escaped.
Which is the same thing that fancy-pants and I plan to do. We’re going one way, Mack and Reed are going the other, and with any luck at all, we’ll all meet in the middle, hopefully with Andrei stuck in between.
“Wealth does not make a person falooting high or muckety,” Ronan says drily.
I’d almost forgotten we were talking.
“High-falooting and muckety-muck,” I correct.
He waves his hand dismissively at me and continues fiddling with the controls in front of him. His accent is strong, like Daria’s, so I can understand him. But his voice is deep, which makes everything he says sound suggestive somehow.
It could also be how he looks still dressed in his tactical gear. Tight black T-shirt showing off every nook and cranny in the muscles of his abs. Triceps and biceps piled on top of one another, begging to break free from the confines of his cotton sleeves each time he reaches for some knob or lever.
At least I think it’s cotton. Who knows? Maybe super-rich guys have some sort of crazy-exotic cloth they use instead.
I reach out to touch the shoulder closest to me. His skin twitches under my fingers. He turns to me and raises a brow. “What are you doing?”
“I was just seeing if it was cotton.” I shrug, fixing my headphones as my shoulder knocks the mic slightly out of place.
“It’s a T-shirt,” he returns.
“I know.”
“Of course it’s cotton,” he says.
“It could be some fancy rich-guy material I’ve never heard of.”
“Are you going to focus on my wealth through this entire trip?” he asks.
“Um, hello?” I gesture to our surroundings. “We’re about to take off in this fancy-pants private plane.”
“It’s a jet.”
“Fancy-pants private jet,” I amend.
He stops his ministrations and turns my way. “This is a Dassault Falcon seven X. It’s one of the fastest private jets a person can own with a maximum speed of Mach point nine. Not to mention a range of six thousand nautical miles. We can go almost anywhere without refueling and in about half the time as commercial travel.”
“And?” I pretend I’m not impressed. But really, I’m excited as hell to feelMachanything.
“And hold on to your fancy-panties, red, we’re about to take off.” The jet starts to move, picking up speed rapidly as we go.
“I’m not wearing any.” I smirk right before my head pins against the seat and my stomach drops. Ronan manipulates something else, and before I know it, the ground is falling away beneath us, and all I see are clouds.
“You never told me where we’re going,” I say.
“Where all the deceived go hunting for Judas.” He pauses before continuing, “To the ninth circle of hell.”
