Resisting Ruby Rose (The Ruby Rose Series) (12 page)

At a loss for words, I pulled into the driveway and threw the gear into park a little too forcefully. What did I care? This wasn’t Big Black, and this boy wasn’t Liam.

Quinn got out of the car and walked to the garage keypad to put in a code. The garage door opened, and he waved at me to follow after him. I took my cell phone out of my pocket and shot Mathews a quick text:
Just checking in. How’s my mom?

At a minimum, if I never came out of this mansion alive, Mathews would be able to trace my phone back to this location. Not that I was really worried about Quinn wanting to kill me, but you know, just in case I tried to kill him and things went badly.

I slammed Fake Big Black’s door so hard, a yappy little dog from a nearby mansion started barking like a car alarm. I muttered some of my favorite small-dog profanities as I walked through a four-car garage with only three cars: a white Range Rover, a red Porsche, and a silver Audi.

“Please don’t tell me that this is your house?” My voice echoed off the flying buttresses above as I walked through the foyer. Following Quinn into the vast living room, I took in the view of the ocean through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“This is my house,” he said. “Don’t shoot me.”

“You know I’m not carrying a weapon, Mr. I Know You So Well That I Watch You Sleep. But you might also know I don’t need one to hurt you.”

“Right,” Quinn said, raising his eyebrows and licking his lips as if he couldn’t have been more turned on. I shook my head at him as he motioned from the kitchen for me to take a seat on one of the bar stools. “I think I can handle myself, but that might be fun.” One minute threats, the next minute insults, the next banter. I put my head between my hands in exhaustion.

He began rummaging through his fridge, pulling out limes, lemons, sprigs of green leaves, ice, and fancy-looking bottles, then took a large knife from a knife block.

“You look like you need a picker-upper as much as I do,” he said, slicing through a lime.

“I thought we were going to get chocolate shakes and you were going to tell me what Liam was planning on doing?”

“Yeah, well, chocolate goes better on strawberries,” he said, opening the fridge again and pulling out a platter of dark-, milk-, and white-chocolate-dipped strawberries. He presented the plate to me, and I took it without blinking. “And I’m afraid that I can’t share classified information on Agent Slater with you
unless
and
until
you accept certain terms.”

“Of course,” I said spitefully, knowing what terms he wanted me to accept. It was like making a deal with the devil, and the devil knew chocolate-covered strawberries and desperation were a good start. I had to get the information about Liam out of Quinn one way or another.

I watched as he squeezed, smashed, crushed, and shook all the ingredients together before pouring the concoction into two tall, skinny glasses with elaborate designs on the bottom.

“Would you care to join me on the veranda?” he asked as he put both drinks and the plate of strawberries on a tray. He pressed a few buttons on a remote, and the glass walls began sliding on their tracks to transform the entire living area into an indoor-outdoor space. A pony wall filled with glass rocks lit up with flames, and speakers began playing low-volume house music.

I followed Quinn outside to a row of couches overlooking an infinity pool. The pinks and oranges of the setting sun highlighted the aquamarine pool and hot tub.

I joined him on the plush red couch and folded my legs underneath me.

“OK, now that we’re alone, safe, and comfortable,” Quinn said, taking a long sip of his drink, “let me tell you what your life is going to be like when you accept Skryker’s offer.”

CHAPTER 17

I sat patiently, all ears as Quinn told stories of a luxurious lifestyle, spontaneous trips, all-night parties, ultimate freedom, and very little adult supervision. I tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible, because every time I met his gaze, I couldn’t deny the effect he had on me. And it was wrong. I was here to fight for Liam. To find a way to use this information to my advantage.

So the beads of condensation that repeatedly formed and drizzled down my drink seemed like a good place to focus my attention as Quinn described properties he owned in Milan, London, and Paris.

And the seagull drinking out of a fountain at the very end of the backyard warranted my attention as he told a story of a Fashion Week in New York City with unlimited shopping sprees and a personal shopper who was friends with Marc Jacobs.

And, of course, the dipping sun called out for my awareness as Quinn explained how money was no object when it came to theater tickets, sporting events, and big-name concerts in any city in any part of the world.

It was all too much. If he thought he was impressing me, he was wrong. It was more like overwhelming. It was all very fabulous and interesting, especially since I hadn’t been able to shop in months, but it struck me as excessive and indulgent—and that’s saying a lot from a girl who had a shoe closet worth thousands of dollars. But I listened, because this sales pitch had obviously worked on Liam, and I had to know what I was up against.

“Were you the one who recruited Liam?” I asked.

“No, why?”

“So it was Sofia, then?”

“I doubt it,” Quinn said, chewing on a piece of ice. “It was either Skryker himself, like it was for me, or one of his other agents. There are at least a dozen of us. Skryker is rather cerebral about the recruitment process, and he sends the person with whom the recruit will most easily
bond.
”

I looked at Quinn as he took the last sip of his drink and rattled the ice cubes around the glass. The combination of his accent, his confidence, and his shoes all made for a very “bonding” setup.

“If I had to guess, Skryker would have sent Natalia or Eva. No one says no to Eva,” Quinn said, undoubtedly aware of how insanely jealous a girl named Eva would make me. Immediately the image of a beautiful, sophisticated European girl appeared in my mind, wrapping herself around Liam, offering him the very thing
I’d
been depriving him of for months. Suddenly, I was pissed. Maybe the real reason Liam broke up with me was because
he
was the one who cheated.

Perhaps noticing my changed demeanor, Quinn put down his icy glass and moved in closer. He knew what he was doing—whether it was a tactical mission or a more intimate one, he seemed to have the experience to pull it off. And at the moment, with my anger toward Liam coupled with my loneliness of losing everyone I cared about and not knowing what to do about it, I appeared to be an easy target. I could pretend to give him what he wanted: my compliance. Then h
e’d
tell me everything, and maybe help me save Liam and bring down Martinez once and for all.

When he ran his hand over the skin on my shoulder, I didn’t block him. Instead I embraced the goose bumps his warm touch induced.

When he moved a finger over the edge of my lip, presumably to help me out with some excess chocolate, I didn’t jerk away in embarrassment. Instead I licked the place his finger touched and caught a hint of spearmint from his drink.

When he positioned his face closer to mine, stopping only to assess my comfort level, I didn’t pull back. Instead I doubled down and inched even closer to him, breathing him in.

Technically, I wasn’t cheating on Liam. Not only had he had officially broken up with me—and maybe even cheated on me beforehand—but I was technically doing this for him. Not just to get him out of Skryker’s clutches, but to bring Martinez to justice for everyone involved. A mix of irrational jilted sadness about Liam and rational physical attraction to Quinn swirled inside me, confusing everything.

The simple facts came rising to the surface in bullet points:

Quinn wanted me, and Liam didn’t.

Martinez was going to kill me eventually, if I didn’t get him first.

Relying on Mathews and my vague biological father figure to protect me as I pretended to lead a normal life didn’t sit right with me anymore.

Continuing to mooch off Dr. T, promising to pay her back with money I may never have while knowing in my heart sh
e’d
be better off without the Rose soap opera and danger, wasn’t going to fly anymore.

“Fine,” I said, unemotional. Unenthusiastic. Unmoving. “I accept.”

“You accept what?” Quinn asked, smiling in victory and flirtation. He waited, up close and personal, until I said the exact words.

“I’ll join Skryker’s team. Now tell me what Liam is about to do.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting, exactly. Balloons to fall from the ceiling? A bottle of champagne to pop open in the distance? A cheesy TV host to appear and ask me, “And what are you going to do now? Go to Disneyland?”

Well, none of that happened. In fact, even the tension that seemed to be building between Quinn and me suddenly lost pressure when he got on his phone to call someone, probably Skryker. He left the outdoor couch and went back inside, leaving me with the uneasy realization that I had just changed the trajectory of my entire life. I didn’t exactly regret my decision, because I knew it was the strongest option based on an extreme set of circumstances. But I mourned the life
I’d
never get to lead. The life of innocence I had before Martinez stripped it from me: valedictorian, Stanford, a family.

Now I had a job (the description of which I still wasn’t sure of), a partner (who I wasn’t sure how to feel about), and several adults (Jane Rose, Dr. T, Damon Silver, Sergeant Mathews, and now Skryker) who all liked to think they could protect or control me. Not to mention the ever increasing notches on my bedpost (tallying kills, of course, not kisses).

After a few minutes of being alone, I lifted my eyes to catch my reflection in one of the sliding doors. My shoulders were slumped, my posture abysmal. Jane would have been so disappointed. I could almost hear her voice lecturing me on attitude, ladylike grit, and never allowing defeat. Then again, Jack Rose’s voice would have swept in afterward, encouraging and challenging me, but always believing in me.

Maybe it was time to bury my feelings of being trapped and manipulated. Maybe it was time to sit up and accept—or even embrace—the cards
I’d
been dealt. I never wanted to be a murderer, paid or unpaid.
I’d
never dreamed about seeking justice outside the bounds of law enforcement or legal procedure.
I’d
never pictured a future filled with honing my lethal skills, as opposed to weaning myself off them. But hell,
I’d
never envisioned a life traveling the world with millions of dollars of my own money, with a boy who seemed to completely understand what
I’d
been through. Maybe it was time to let go of what I thought I wanted: normalcy, Liam, a clean conscience.

I had to believe I was capable of saving us all. My mother, from a future crushed by an ex-lover who wouldn’t stop until she was dead. My friends—Alana, Chase, Dr. T, Mathews—from the dangerous existence of just knowing me. My ex-boyfriend, from getting himself in over his head and ruining himself forever. If I were part of the team, at least I could protect him. Although that’s the exact kind of thinking that made him break up with me in the first place.

“Let’s celebrate,” Quinn said, pulling my attention back to the falling night and blinking stars. “I’ve been saving this one for a special occasion, and I think this qualifies.”

He shook the very expensive bottle of something French until the cork exploded out into the pool—the popping of champagne
I’d
been expecting. Quinn was nothing if not good.

“That’s a lovely sentiment, but in case you haven’t noticed,” I said, gesturing to the untouched glass on the tray in front of me, “I don’t drink.”

“Well, I think you might change your mind for this limited-edition bottle of Perrier-Jouët. Trust me: one taste feels like falling in love.”

He poured it into two elegant long-stemmed glasses. I took one out of curiosity. Falling in love, eh?

“
I’d
like to make a toast,” Quinn said, sitting to face me. “May your future be blessed with success, and may your life be filled with purpose.”

“Wow, that was quite poignant,” I said, impressed by the appearance of sincerity in his words.

“I mean it.” He stared at me, his hand extended to clink our glasses together. “I promise to do whatever I can to achieve both those ideals. Joining our team is only the first step.”

He took a sip. And so did I. Maybe I was falling in love!

Not with Quinn, of course—but with this feeling of letting myself go.

Against all odds and perhaps the darkest of circumstances, I felt a crisp bubbling inside. An effervescent lightness springing up from some deep core. As if a pocket of energy and power that had been building up pressure for so long had finally popped open. What if I was meant for this life? What if Martinez was right all along? That Jack and Jane Rose knew what I was, and what I was meant to do, and their effort to bottle me up was the greatest mistake of their life. That I was just like my biological father, Damon Silver, and that one day I would follow in his footsteps.

As Quinn took sips and closed his eyes in pleasure, I felt the push-pull of knowing how disappointed my parents would be that their nightmare had come true, at the same time feeling set free by my choice. With Quinn, I would never have to hide who I was again. No more endless shimmying into the costumes of normalcy that never fit. No more self-reproach for not fitting into Alana’s cliques or Liam’s large circle of friends.

I could breathe. Finally inhale long, deep lungfuls of free air.

“You look beautiful without the façade,” Quinn said, as if he could read my mind.

“Excuse me?” I tried to play dumb.

“I remember the moment Skryker set me free,” Quinn said, taking a sip and savoring the taste. “
I’d
been punishing myself for so long that I didn’t know what life could be without guilt and shame. He told me then what I’m telling you now: embrace the knowledge that you are special. Not weird. Not bad. Not evil. Special in almost every way.” He had a strange look in his eye that I hadn’t seen before. Like he had let down his guard, too, and I was finally seeing the real Quinn. Not the over-the-top charmer who’d just convinced me to change the whole course of my life, but a boy with a past, with a vulnerability, with a soul.

“What’s your story, anyway?” I asked, knowing the question would most likely be answered like all the others—with graceful redirection.

“You mean, why did Skryker recruit me?” he said. “You mean, do I have a biological father who I didn’t know existed until recently who used to work with Skryker?” He cocked his head at me, as if ascertaining whether I could stand the joke.

I smiled weakly, pretending to be offended. “Actually, I meant how many people did you have to kill due to your adoptive mother’s vengeful ex-lover’s game of setups before Skryker noticed you were effective at it?”

A surprised laugh escaped his mouth. “See, this is why I like you so much, Ruby Rose. You’re enchanting.”

“Enchanting?” I shook my head, amused and annoyed at the same time. H
e’d
done it again—deflected my question by entertaining the pants right off me. Not really, though. At least not yet. “No one has ever called me
enchanting
.”

He took another taste of his champagne, and I considered doing the same. There was something about the way the gold liquid never tired of sparkling that was so appealing. Bringing the glass flute nearer to my lips, I could smell the sweetness.

“Just one.”

“Just one what?” I asked.

He stared at me in a way that disarmed me. If I thought the curtain was down a few moments ago, I was wrong. His eyes were so raw and unguarded now that it was almost like I was sitting with a stranger.

“I only had to kill one person before Skryker knew
I’d
be good at it.” He was still staring, as if hanging on what my reaction would be. I didn’t know what to give him to assure him that it was safe to tell me more.

“One?” I repeated, breaking eye contact and refocusing on the dark horizon. “Only one.” There had to be a huge amount of significance in the one, but I knew better than to ask about it directly.
I’d
have to wait. Try reverse psychology and pretend like I didn’t care, when in reality I cared more than I wanted to admit. I cared about Quinn. I wanted to know more than anything at this very moment what had happened to him that made him like me—a killer.

“Four years ago, my mum and nine-year-old sister, Lucy, were at home having dinner. Two men broke in and tied them up, forced unimaginable torture on both of them, then lit the house on fire.”

I gasped in horror. None of my dark thoughts could have conjured up anything worse. Quinn’s eyes glazed over as if he were reliving the scene.