Page 94 of The Boss
After Quinn touches the button again, the door opens and
Oh.
My.
Fucking.
Fuck.
This is.
Not a bunker.
It’s…huge.
Like a gleaming underground factory or parking garage or damn shopping mall! Polished stone floors, tons of lighting, screens, vehicles. He’s…I married freaking Bruce Wayne. I look around, half expecting Morgan Freeman to pop out to show us some tankers.
I look at Quinn, he watches me, his face unreadable, then walks out. We only take a few steps and meet a wall of screens on theleft. A workspace with laptops and mounted TVs. So many of them.
They display…everything.
His house, the woods, even the shack. Boston streets, Manhattan, maps, dash cams, back alleys, traffic cameras, it looks like. I look back at his house. It’s in ruins.
Wait.
“Wait. You have no cameras, anywhere. How?” He taps a button and the images zoom out. Way out. Further still. “Satellites?” I inhale. All the blood leaves my face. I have to put a hand on the metal desktop beside me. So…he’s a fed? Skulls Quinn is a nark?
WHAT?
“Quinn? Who….” My voice is trembling so badly I can barely speak. “Who are you?”
“I am Quinn. But not Skulls, not really. Brian was my twin brother’s name. Sully was the first name I remember. Short for my real first name, Sullivan.” He shifts to face me fully. “But now the only people who matter call me Van.”
CHAPTER 42
Quinn
“Van?” she says back, her brows scrunched. Fuck, it sounds good to hear her finally say it. It’ll sound less great when she’s stabbing a knife in my heart, but, oh well. Comms are probably exploding. Command is probably doing everything possible to stop this. Since they stood by and watched my home get destroyed hours ago, I don’t really give a damn.
We have a few minutes, hours. Then I’m probably dead.
At least I get to spend them with her. What a fucking sap.
“You’re a fed?” She asks, her whole body shaking.
“No.”
Her forehead scrunches even more. It’s painfully adorable.
“No? Fuckingno?” she starts to screech but schools her features. Panic is setting in now. Took a little longer than I expected. She’ll mask it as anger and believably so.
She’s such a badass.
I grab two water bottles from a shelf under the desk. I hand her one and we both chug for a second before she wipes her mouth and demands, “Quinn, tell me what the hell is going on or I will take one of the…holy shit one of thethirty-threeguns you have mounted over there and shoot you right now!”
I smirk.
This makes her angrier. Her cheeks flush.
