Noble Prince (Twisted Royals, #4)

by Sidney Bristol

  The guys, then. Someone they could trust who’d come for help.

  Quinn got one foot under her, then the other. Every bit of bodily control was a fight, but one she could win. The adrenaline, the fear, it’d work to her favor. The body was a wondrous thing.

  She slid her other foot under her weight, centered herself, then pulled her upper body mostly onto the counter. She paused to let her head stop swimming, then pushed so she was sort of standing, partially leaning.

  There was no yelling, no shouting from the rest of the house.

  Was Owen already dead?

  She swallowed.

  He couldn’t be.

  He was her reason for finding hope, for wanting to go on.

  Quinn pushed off the counter, her focus on the still open door to the work in progress room. She made it as far as the doorway before she stopped.

  What was that—?

  She sniffed the air.

  The humidity in the bathroom made it hard for her to get a whiff of anything, but—was that smoke?

  Owen.

  She stumbled toward the hall door, but tripped over something. She fell on the carpet that’d been pulled up and piled on one side.

  Get up. Get up. Get up.

  Quinn reached behind her, grasping the long, cold metal bar. A hammer? Some sort of tool? Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn’t too hard to swing.

  I’m coming for you, Owen...

  Owen shook his head. The sense of urgency pushed his conscious mind over the edge into wakefulness.

  Something was wrong.

  He pushed up and breathed in lungfuls of smoke.

  He coughed and opened his eyes, covering his face with his forearm.

  Tongues of flame licked the drapes, the furniture and the walls. It was like some sort of crazy TV set.

  “Detective Owen King.” A man in a long coat and mask walked toward him, a swagger in his step. “You probably don’t recognize me anymore.”

  Where was Quinn? Owen couldn’t make a move until he knew where she was.

  Owen didn’t have the mask. He had to stay low, where the air wasn’t as polluted, even if it left him in a vulnerable position.

  The man got within about six feet of Owen and crouched, going to one knee. He pulled the mask up.

  “How about now? Remember this face?” the man asked.

  “Yes...” No, Owen had no fucking clue who this guy was. Agreeing would hopefully placate him, maybe enough for Owen to...something.

  “I wanted to savor this, but that’s not what I was hired to do. This is...a bonus. Still, watching you freak out over that girl was rather satisfying. She might be the reason I’m here, but you’re why I took this job.” He tilted his head, like a bird of prey studying its target.

  Owen balled his hands into fists.

  Quinn padded into view, a towel around her head, half dragging the demo hammer he’d used to bring down the drywall. He shook his head.

  Not yet.

  Not yet.

  She wasn’t close enough. The guy was too poised to move.

  “Not my best workmanship, but it’ll get the job done.” The guy leaned forward, touching his fingertips on the hardwood floor, shifting his center of gravity. “Just know—I killed her.”

  “You sure about that? Quinn—now!”

  Quinn swung.

  The man whirled.

  Owen dove.

  He got his arms around the guy’s legs in time to feel the impact of the hammer throughout the attacker’s body. They went tumbling to the ground, rolling as the house started to crackle around them. The ceiling near the TV crumbled and fell, raining fire down.

  The man bucked and rolled in Owen’s grasp like a wild thing.

  “Get out of here, Quinn!”

  The guy elbowed Owen in his already-tender head. The room faded in and out of focus.

  A woman—Quinn—screamed. The sound full of rage.

  Owen grappled with the attacker despite his fuzzy vision, only the man jerked and flinched in Owen’s hold.

  “Fucking bitch,” the man spat.

  He wrenched out of Owen’s grasp and kicked out, nailing Owen in the stomach. He lunged again for the man, caught him by the ankle, but didn’t get a good enough grip. Their attacker sprinted down the hall, the back door banging against the grill outside.

  “Owen? Owen—we have to go. Come on. Here.”

  A cool, damp cloth pressed against his face. Quinn slid her hands under his arm, helping him to his feet. He wiped at his eyes, but they stung and hurt badly enough he couldn’t make out more than shapes.

  “Shit—the door won’t open!”

  Quinn rattled the door in the jamb her coughing starting up.

  “The window.” He dropped the cloth, took a step.

  He grasped a dining room chair and swung at the ancient glass windows. The delicate panes shattered. He’d always known one good blow would do it.

  “Come on.” He held out his hand.

  Quinn put her palm in his. He helped her through the window and then threw himself out, hitting the porch on his side, coughing and gasping for air.

  The gas.

  “Get away—from the—house,” he got out between breathes.

  Owen lurched to his feet, nearly taking Quinn down as he staggered down the stairs and across the lawn.

  Neighbors were already out, staring in slack-jawed horror at the bungalow he’d tried so hard to restore.

  Owen reached the sidewalk and straightened.

  The air seemed to be sucked toward the house before a great boom rattled the night. The blast of heat and flames redoubled until even standing on the sidewalk was nearly too much.

  “Oh, God...” Quinn stared at his house, the light reflected back in her eyes.

  “The neighbors.” He turned, fear clenching his stomach. The flames could leap from roof to roof all too easily. “We need hoses to stop the fire spreading. Hoses? Anyone? George—get your garden hoses. Now! Has anyone called 9-1-1?”

  Owen was still, at his core, a first responder. Just because this was his home and his love on the line didn’t alleviate him of that responsibility, badge or no badge.

  “I’ve got 9-1-1!” someone from the next lawn over called.

  “Hoses—everyone, we need to water the roofs, the sides of those houses, keep the flames contained.”

  At least until the firefighters got there.

  He just had to hold out that long.

  17.

  Owen sat on the curb, sharing a tank of oxygen with Quinn, and watched his house burn to the ground. He’d seen places burn before, but this was his home. He’d put blood, sweat and tears into that place with the hopes that someday, in the not too distant future, he’d raise children there with his wife. They’d make a life there. And now that dream was crumbling before his eyes.

  The firefighters knew it was a lost cause from the moment they’d arrived. They never once attempted to fight the fire. They’d gone immediately into containment mode, ensuring it didn’t spread to the other houses, the ground, the fence, letting the blaze burn itself out. There was no saving the bungalow.

  Morgan and Wu were still doing witness interviews. Owen didn’t expect either to hit on anything of value. The guy who’d done this was a pro. The way the fire was started, around the perimeter, with the gas line to the range cut under the house, it was professional. Plus, hadn’t he said something about this being a job?

  Which led to the question, who wanted him killed?

  Was this something to do with Gabor?

  That didn’t make sense. If it was, then the other guys would be targets, especially Jaxon and Freya. Not just Owen.

  “Hey?” Quinn bumped his shoulder with hers.

  “He wanted me to look at his face. He wanted me to remember him.” And then he’d said Quinn was the job, Owen the bonus. He hadn’t told her that yet. Didn’t know how. This was his fault. Not hers.

  “Can you look at pictures or something?” she asked.

 
; “Yeah, but—tomorrow.”

  Kade wasn’t happy about letting them go. If Kade had his way, they would both spend the night in the hospital, but neither Quinn or Owen were truly injured. Just a little battered. Besides, if they were at a hospital, they were easy to find for a guy looking to finish the job.

  “You look like shit.”

  Blake’s shaggy hair obscured his eyes, but Owen didn’t need to see him to know it was Blake.

  “They released you, yet?” Blake stepped off the curb and in front of them.

  “Yeah, I guess.” Owen shrugged.

  “They find the guy who did this?” Blake frowned at the slowly collapsing house. If it could be called that anymore. The roof had already caved in. The walls didn’t stand a chance.

  “If he got out, no. They won’t be able to look for a body until it burns itself out.” Knowing how this played out didn’t make the pill easier for Owen to swallow.

  “You guys ready to go?” Blake thumbed over his shoulder.

  “Where are we going?” Quinn asked.

  “Best if we don’t say.” Blake glanced over his shoulder at the cluster of onlookers.

  Too often, perpetrators came back to gawk at their crimes. Since the guy hadn’t finished the job, chances were he’d want another go at them. It was now Owen’s sole goal to prevent that from happening.

  He’d have to tell Quinn soon that these acts, they were all connected somehow, but not here. Not where someone could watch her fall apart again. This time because of him.

  He hadn’t seen that coming.

  All along, he’d just assumed he was involved by choice. If he was the reason the guy was targeting Quinn...

  He took a deep breath from the tank.

  No.

  Thinking like that did nothing to help Quinn, it only invited more problems.

  “Let’s go.” Owen took off his oxygen mask.

  “Here, let me help you up.” Blake offered Owen a hand and then Quinn. “You...have...anything?”

  “Not anymore.” Owen grimaced. He didn’t have so much as a clean change of underwear. He’d brought everything back from Quinn’s.

  “I’ll see if Chloe’s got some stuff. You know how she is.” Blake slapped him on the shoulder, then took the lead.

  Quinn fitted her hand in Owen’s.

  He should probably tell Kade they were going, but he didn’t have it in him right now. All he wanted to do was retreat, review what’d happened, and gather his thoughts. Too many things were changing all too fast.

  They climbed into Blake’s car. Quinn dove into the back seat so Owen took the front passenger. It was almost like old times.

  “Where are we going?” Quinn asked.

  “Trinity Hall,” Blake answered.

  “I’d really like a shower.” Quinn cringed.

  “There’s an apartment over the bar. I think that’s what Blake means.”

  “There is?” Quinn leaned forward. The smell of smoke was stronger on her for whatever reason.

  “Yeah, Erik used to live there, back before the bar took off.” Owen had been to the apartment a few times. Occasionally Erik hosted poker nights, though lately it seemed to be their staging location for either charity events or protecting one of their own.

  “Erik’s expecting us,” Blake said

  Shit.

  That meant the others would likely know what’d happened.

  Owen wasn’t sure he had his head wrapped around what’d gone down enough to field that many questions. He’d barely been able to string together enough sentences for Morgan and Wu. Ian would ask as many—if not more—questions, and that didn’t factor in the sixth sense for trouble many of them had.

  “Want to tell me now, or save it?” Blake always knew when Owen was chewing an idea, trying to find the right angle.

  “Save it.” Owen stared out of the passenger side window.

  “You know a person’s ability to recall events accurately deteriorates at a rate of—”

  “Blake—please? Not right now.”

  “Sorry, just making conversation.” Blake turned on the radio instead.

  Owen had to think. To recall that man’s face.

  What had he said?

  He leaned his head back against the headrest.

  There was something, the shadow of an idea he couldn’t quite grasp.

  They rolled on without speaking.

  What was it?

  Blake was the best person to field his questions. They’d worked together for so long they used to laugh about sharing brain waves. Deep down, the man in the driver’s seat was still his friend. Maybe not the same person—hell, neither of them were—but they still recognized each other.

  “He wanted me to know he’d killed Quinn. Making sure I saw his face was important. Why?” Owen glanced at Blake.

  “Walk me through it. From the beginning.” Blake killed the radio.

  “We came home, Quinn went to take a shower, and I was going to start dinner. I stood there forever waiting for the oven to preheat.” Owen should have seen it then, but he’d been lost in lustful thoughts.

  “I went into the bathroom,” Quinn leaned forward, “turned on the shower, and then that guy came in. He sprayed me in the face again, but I held my breath and fell into the shower. The water washed most of it away so I came to quicker. He must have handcuffed me and dragged me out of the shower. Why?”

  “So you’d burn to death.” Blake’s tone was flat. “If you were in the bathtub, if the firefighters got there in time, you might have survived, had things gone to plan.”

  “He said...” Owen swallowed. “He said Quinn was the job, I was the bonus.”

  “What?” Quinn gasped.

  “Wow.” Blake pulled the car over on the shoulder and twisted to look at Owen. “Did you just remember that?”

  “No, I told the cops, I just...” Owen twisted. “I didn’t know how to... I’m sorry Quinn.”

  Quinn stared at him, jaw slack, eyes wide, her hair a mess.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” Quinn blurted. “This is because of me...”

  “No. This guy clearly had it out for me.”

  “But he was sent after me.”

  “Holy shit.” Blake shook his head and gassed it. “You’re both targets. The question is why.”

  “Let’s get to Trinity Hall and discuss it there. Is Zach coming?”

  “I don’t know, but I can call him.”

  “Make sure he’s there,” Owen said.

  Whatever Zach had found, it was bigger than they’d anticipated. Much bigger.

  Quinn trudged up the hidden staircase to the apartment she’d never known about above the bar. She could hardly hear anything from the bar downstairs. Not the talking, laughing or loud music. There was surprisingly little bleed-through with the noise levels. The voices coming from upstairs, however, those she could make out clearly.

  Sounded like the whole gang had shown up.

  Awesome.

  Owen held the door at the top for her.

  “Quinn!” Chloe squealed her name and the next thing Quinn knew she had a face full of red hair and the air was squeezed out of her. “Oh, Quinn, we just heard. Are you okay?”

  “Give her some space,” Taylor barked.

  “Yeah, go easy on her. This girl saved my life tonight.” Owen kissed the top of her head.

  “What happened?” Chloe demanded again.

  “Is there any chance you brought some clothes?” The scent of smoke was starting to make her skin crawl and her stomach do dangerous lurches. The memories were too fresh to deal with.

  “Yes.” Chloe hefted a large, carry-on sized suitcase. “We brought you both clothes, toiletries, charging cables. Aunt Liv should have food up soon, too.”

  “Great. Bathroom?”

  “This way.” Taylor turned, leading the through what passed as the kitchen, through the small bedroom and into a spacious bathroom. Chloe wrapped her arm around Quinn’s waist, ushering her a
long.

  Taylor closed the bathroom door behind them, shutting out much of the man-talk going on.

  Quinn blew out a breath.

  Being around Owen and Blake in cop-mode was exhausting. Intense. They’d begun finishing each other’s sentences, jumping to conclusions without fully fledged ideas being spoken, but they obviously understood each other. She could see why they’d worked so well together in the past.

  “They are beating their chests, ready to go after someone.” Chloe shook her head. “How are you? Really? Are you okay?”

  “I’ll be okay. Probably later. Right now—is smoke sickness a thing? Like my stomach and head?” Quinn pressed her hand to her lower ribs.

  “You’ve always been sensitive to odor.” Chloe gestured to the glass walled shower. The bathroom lacked a tub, but made up for it in square footage. “Jump in the shower. We can hold the boys at bay for you.”

  Quinn swallowed.

  Something about the sound of water pinging against the shower floor set her teeth on edge. She rubbed her bruised wrists and drew in a deep breath of the humid air.

  Taylor hooked her arm around Chloe’s waist, dragging her toward the door.

  “Would you guys—stay? It’s just...I was trying to take a shower earlier when...everything...happened.”

  “Oh, god, whatever you need,” Chloe blurted.

  “Of course.” Taylor let go of the door handle. “Just assumed you’d want some privacy.”

  “Owen thinks whoever did this is after me.” Quinn wrapped her arms around herself. “He said—I’m the job, but Owen’s the bonus.”

  “What?”

  “No way...”

  She swallowed, but the lump wasn’t going away.

  Quinn was putting the two people she loved at risk. Kierra. And Owen. How did she stop this? What could she do?

  “Quinn?” Chloe gripped her by the shoulders. “First, you’re going to take a shower. It’ll make you feel better. Then, we’ll figure out whose ass it is we’re kicking, because no one is going to threaten you and get away with it. Understand?”

  Quinn nodded and sucked in a deep breath.

  She stripped out of her clothes, glad to be rid of them. The shyness she might have felt a few hours ago about her nudity was gone. Right now, she wanted that shower, to wash away the last traces of this nightmare and get to figuring shit out.