Page 91 of The Boss
I pace and pace until my legs ache.
Finally, I collapse against the wall next to Tink. I curl up with her, needing some warmth. If it were the dead of winter I’d die out here, but overnight in the fall won’t kill me. I don’t think. Dehydration might. First thing in the morning I’ll go look for a stream or something.
Right now I need to sleep so I can face whatever fresh horrors tomorrow brings.
CHAPTER 41
Luna
I scream at the sky.
Again.
Tink is annoyed with me.
I barely slept. There were more explosions in the night. It sounded like a war. I can only imagine what Quinn’s front gates look like now…the house…the kennel…
Just keep moving.
Except there’s not a single damn thing out here. I found a clear-ish stream and had one tiny sip of water with who knows what in it. It’s not enough but I can go back for one more tiny sip if I have to.
I’m so freaking confused.
Quinn made peace with the Russians.
Then they attacked.
There’s a Remnant of the Irish, whoever they are and whatever that means, did they attack him? Why? Every Irishman—and woman—that I’ve met is loyal to their bones. They look at Quinn like he’s Superman. And Quinn senior lives at the house and is hand fed by his loving son every day. So why the animosity?
Why send me to a shack?
How long should I stay here and wait?
I haven’t heard any explosions today. After twenty-four hours, maybe forty-eight, surely everyone is dead or captured.
And!
If I was advising someone else I’d tell them to nut up and go back. Listen, watch, see what you can learn.
But he asked me to stay here. His voice…his eyes.
“Guess we’re stuck here for a—”Bark!I run to the big, black dog. “Tink? What is it, girl?”
Bark! Bark!
She moves and I follow her.
It’s him.
“Quinn!” I scream his name.
He’s holding one arm, bloody, dirty, lines down his face, ripped shirt, gun in one hand and…Marlon.
I sob.
He looks huge and broken, and unbroken, and beautiful and angry and he…he saved my dog.
I run into him and he exhales, wrapping himself around me like a human shield. And blanket. And home. Marlon is shaking between us. Or I am. Maybe Quinn is too. His cheek rests on the top of my head and we stand, frozen, for I don’t know how long.
