Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78024 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Most of the time when we’ve been talking, Quinn has been carefully looking anywhere but at me. But when she asks about my plans, she turns and watches my face while I figure out what to say.
“I am for as long as you want me to be here, and I fucking mean that. You asked me if it was worth it, Q. And I don’t honestly know if I have a good answer for you. It felt worth it at the time, and I was still a fucking kid when it happened. It didn’t seem like there were any good options, so I made the decision that kept everyone alive. Including me. But three years later? Six? I don’t know exactly when it stopped being something I chose and started being something I was used to.” I stretch gently to the side, careful not to pull at the stitches.
“Everything good over there?” Heath—no, Priest—shouts.
“Yeah!” We both yell at the same time.
Quinn and I look at each other for a moment before laughing.
She hops down from the table and starts rummaging through the cooler. “It has to be warm enough by now, right?”
“I’ve got no fucking clue. It’s fire, isn’t it? Aren’t pretty much all levels of fire hot enough to cook on?” Do I have to turn in my man card for not knowing how to grill? It’s not really a skill I put a lot of thought into alongside killing, threatening, torturing, and running illegal shit around the country.
We lost a lot of time, and I hope to God she never learns half of what I did while she thought I was dead, but in some ways Quinn and I aren’t that different. We both spent a lot of time following someone else’s rules, and now we have to figure out how to be our own people. Her life looked amazing from the outside but was hell behind doors, mine was a violent nightmare most of the time, but it’s amazing what you can get used to. As long as I did my job and followed the rules, I had more freedom.
Neither of us are what I’d call well-adjusted enough to know how to cook a hot dog, but maybe we can get there.
Colt jogs over. “Out of the way. I’ll do that.”
“What’s my job, then?” Quinn asks.
“Keep the drinks stocked, look pretty, and suck my—” He glances at me. “Dick.”
Quinn flushes bright red.
“For a second there I thought you were going to be respectful,” I say dryly. “Seeing as she’s my sister.”
He shrugs. “Put in the work and I’ll think about it.”
“That’s the plan.”
39
Chapter 39 - Quinn
“Can I get you something to drink?” I ask Roger. “Or I could make a pot of coffee if you want.” I put my hand on the fridge handle, still getting a little thrill out of being a person with her own apartment that can say stuff like that.
After Mom was arrested, the guys helped me clean out our old place. We boxed up her personal things and shoved them into a dark corner of a storage room in the Outlaw Sons barracks. Sinner suggested throwing a party and burning it all, but I’m not quite ready for that. Instead I’ll leave them to get musty in the dark, and if a time comes in the future where I’m ready to give them back or throw them in the ocean, well, I know where to find them.
There wasn’t much of my own I wanted to save. Shoeboxes full of little things I saved over the years to remind myself of the happy times. Programs from every theater production I’ve ever been in. Tickets if they had them. A dried flower from the first boy I ever kissed, not knowing exactly how much better things would get in that particular department.
Furniture and the rest of it I listed online for free and gave out to whoever was willing to come pick it up. The mismatched things I got from the girls at the club already have happier memories associated with them than anything from before.
“Sparkling water? Anything diet? I’ve been assigned a physical therapist and a nutritionist. Both of them faint at the mention of sugar and I have to report every drop of alcohol and caffeine like I’m a recovering addict,” he grumbles.
“If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re not getting it here. I’ve had enough changes this summer. I do not want to add looking for a new agent to the list.” I take a diet soda out of the fridge and pour it into a glass for him with some ice. “Besides, I want to keep you around for as long as possible.”
Priest comes out of the bedroom wearing nothing but a towel around his waist as he finger-combs his hair. “Hey, Q? Where’s—Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you were already here. Be right back.” He vanishes, probably to go get dressed.