by Rosie Miles
Beefy fists grabbed Maggie’s shoulders and dragged her to her feet. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she breathed rapidly. Her mind screamed. Deep breaths. Get a grip. If you lose it, he dies.
She didn’t struggle against them. She was back under control.
And they were going down.
“Time for the perimeter check,” Paulie informed Conrad as he and another guard walked toward the exit.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Focus, Maggie, focus.
She stood nose to nose with Conrad. As Cassie, she had done it on numerous occasions, and he hadn’t seen through her. Maggie prayed one more time he’d only see what she wanted.
Expecting Conrad to rail at her, she was more than surprised when Felice stepped between them and led Conrad away. Maggie tried desperately to shrug off the overwhelming need to check Quinn again, to touch him, to feel him breathe, to know he would be okay.
Maggie shook her head. She needed to concentrate on getting help for Quinn. She slid another look at him. He hadn’t moved. Had she imagined the squeeze on her fingers? She blew out a breath.
Don’t leave me, Quinn.
Felice’s voice droned on, setting Maggie’s nerves on edge.
“What did you say?” Maggie asked in a bored tone as she continued scanning the warehouse. Besides Conrad and Felice, who were so close to each other they could have been Siamese twins, Roberts was the only other gang member still inside the warehouse, and he was lurking near the office. Where were the others?
“You know what we were talking about, don’t you?” Felice’s tone rose sharply.
Maggie wanted Felice angry and off balance, so she glared at her, then answered, “Mmmm, no.”
“Smug bitch,” Felice ranted. “You’re being shipped overseas to spend the rest of your days as a paid nothing. If I were you, I’d be begging for mercy from Conrad.”
Maggie huffed. “Not in this lifetime.” Her gaze met Conrad’s over the top of Felice’s head. His cold, black stare made her shiver. She lifted her chin and refused to drop her eyes.
Again Maggie’s gaze skimmed the room. Roberts had moved closer to the action, but he avoided her eyes. She skimmed past him. Still no one else. Her heartbeat picked up its pace as a surge of excitement raced through her. There had to be someone out there, had to be a reason Conrad’s thugs weren’t watching the show. Blanketing her emotion, she met Conrad’s scrutiny.
Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw tiny movements from Quinn. She had to keep all eyes on her, giving him a chance. Her voice was strong when she spoke. “You know you’re finished, don’t you? Your business is over. All your girls have been found and taken into custody.”
“That’s crap. My trade in this backward town may be shut down, but it’s flourishing elsewhere.”
“And do you have cops in your back pocket in every state?”
Conrad shoved his chest against hers. Maggie held her ground, tilting her chin and meeting his gaze. There was no way she’d allow him to bully her. No way.
“I’m giving you nothing, so shut your mouth.” He stepped away from her and placed a hand on Felice’s shoulder. “Where’s Paulie? I want this bitch tied up.”
Maggie drew herself up to her full height. She had to take advantage of being on her own with these two. She glanced in Roberts’s direction. He looked like shit. She didn’t count him as a threat.
Maggie called to him. “Dougie, come over her, then maybe the woman you think is in love with you will unwind herself from Conrad.”
Roberts blanched and gripped the office doorframe.
“Shut the fuck up,” Conrad snarled at Maggie.
“Why? Don’t you like knowing Felice is screwing someone else besides you?” Maggie snorted. “You should ask her how many more lovers she has besides Dougie.”
“Where’s Paulie? I want this bitch gagged.”
“He’s patrolling, remember? We don’t need him. She’ll do exactly what we tell her.” Felice ran her fingers lightly down Conrad’s forearm before looking down at Quinn. “Won’t you, Maggie?” Her threat was obvious.
Maggie’s heart plummeted. They would use Quinn to control her. “I thought we were friends, Felice. What in hell turned you into something you always despised?”
Felice rounded on her. Cruel harshness stamped her features, erasing her usual beauty. “You are so dense. I used you to get what I wanted.”
“I don’t believe you.” Yet looking into Felice’s barren brown eyes, Maggie realized Quinn had been right again.
Felice had never been her friend. She hated Maggie.
“There’s so much history between us.” Maggie shook her head.
“History sucks. The past’s better left dead.” Felice’s voice was sharp, her eyes wide.
“Tara.” Maggie sighed.
“Damn right, Tara.”
“She died from a drug overdose. You know that.” Maggie reached out her hand to touch Felice.
Felice smacked it away. “Yet you’re alive.”
“Because Tara chose to go back on the streets. I tried…”
“She idolized you,” Felice screamed into Maggie’s face, spittle bubbling in the corners of her mouth. “You could have stopped her.”
“How? Tell me how! My parents found me and dragged me home. Tara came with us, but she wouldn’t stay. It didn’t matter what any of us tried. All Tara cared about was shoving those needles into her veins.”
“She died in your arms, Maggie. Your best friend, my sister.” Felice wrapped her arms around her middle.
“From a drug overdose given to her by scum like him.” Maggie waved her arm in Conrad’s direction. “I can understand you hating me, Felice, but why are you working with him? We always wanted to put the likes of him behind bars. We were going to make the streets safe for other young girls. Remember? Yet here you are, hand in hand with the murdering scum.”
“I have peculiar tastes. He pays me the currency I need.”
“Drugs? Felice. I can help you get clean. Tell me.”
Felice snorted. “As if. You’re way off track. You’re not even warm.”
“What then?”
“It’s about the girls. The little girls.”
Maggie took a step away and shook her head. Felice was crazy. She had to be.
“I give him the information about missing girls,” Felice continued. “He sends his boys out and brings them in. I get to choose who I want to play with.” She smiled. “When we get Angel back, maybe I’ll keep her with me instead of sending you both away. How does that sound?”
“Never going to happen.” Maggie’s brain had trouble keeping up. Felice? With young girls?
Maggie quickly surveyed the room, touching her gaze on Quinn long enough to see his breathing had steadied some. Roberts still stood in the office doorway, close enough he would have heard all his lover had said.
“So, Dougie,” Maggie called in a hard voice. “Was becoming an accessory to sex slave trafficking and murder worth fucking trash like her?” She motioned toward Felice. His shoulders drooped, his face went white, and he clutched his chest. For a fleeting moment, Maggie pitied the man he’d become and shut her eyes. When she looked back, Roberts had disappeared.
A feral smile slithered across Felice’s face. “You’ll be out of the picture soon enough.” She moved toward Quinn, now motionless on the floor, and stopped beside him.
Maggie’s breath hitched. She didn’t trust Felice, and her suspicion proved correct when Felice turned to Conrad.
“Threaten him, and she’ll comply.”
Conrad moved slowly toward Quinn, the smile he gave Maggie chilled her blood.
Maggie moved to intervene. “Don’t you dare touch him,” she hissed.
“Well, well. Looks like you’re right.” Conrad smiled. “Go get the gear. It’s all prepared.”
When Felice left to do his bidding, Conrad watched Maggie. “You’re going to be begging for more by the time you get to where we’re sending you
.”
“Whatever.” Think, Maggie. Think. She had to find a way to deflect Conrad’s attention again.
“If you don’t cooperate, I’ll punish your lover.”
“You dare touch him, you’re dead.” She fisted her hands.
Conrad laughed. “So dramatic. How did you manage to hide all that fire for the past twelve months?” Sarcasm laced his tongue and soured his perfect features.
Maggie stepped right into his space. “Easy when your emotions are iced over.” She looked him up and down. “Easy when you’re lying through your teeth to convince scum like you that all you are is a dumb bimbo who doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“You had me convinced. That you were a bimbo at least. I never trusted you, even after the night I had your lush body on my office desk.”
Maggie shut the image away and stepped back from him. “Yet you gave me the run of the club.”
“So you could be watched at all times.”
Maggie smirked. “Who was watching whom?” She looked around. Still no sign of Conrad’s goons. She turned back to Conrad.
His face darkened, and he took a menacing step toward Maggie, stopping as Felice came back toward them carrying a small dish, a slow, evil smile taking the place of his scowl. Maggie held her breath. She ran her palms down the sides of her jeans before jamming them into her pockets so they wouldn’t see them tremble.
Another quick glance around the warehouse then down at Quinn, who was motionless now. Had she misread the movements? Was he still with her? She looked at Felice and Conrad hovering over the bowl Felice had brought. Still just the two of them. Maggie could handle those odds. Her confidence spiked. Sink or swim time.
With sick fascination, Maggie watched as Felice turned, a syringe in her hand.
Playing up the sense of the macabre, Felice tested the syringe by squirting fluid into the air, meeting Maggie’s gaze with a rapturous glint in her eyes. “Time for your voyage into another world.”
Maggie sucked in a deep breath. All the nerves gnawing at her insides had subsided. Her breathing steadied, and her vision cleared. She was ready to finish this.
“Give me your arm,” Felice demanded.
Maggie pulled her hands from her pockets and shoved them behind her back. “I can tell you where you can shove that needle, and it won’t be in my arm.”
The look that passed between Conrad and Felice was almost intimate. When he smiled at Felice, the goose bumps on Maggie’s arms doubled in size.
Conrad moved closer to Quinn with deliberate slowness. Maggie mirrored his movements. Felice just stood where she was, watching, smiling.
Maggie was in control. There was no plan, but she prayed Quinn was conscious, and she hoped the minute Conrad laid a hand on him, all hell would break loose.
She had to be ready.
Maggie didn’t consider the outcome of what would happen next, but she was fit and strong, and she could give Conrad a run for his money. She bounced on the balls of her feet, relishing the prospect of a physical confrontation.
He loomed over Quinn. “Doesn’t look that big curled up like a baby, does he?”
Keep your mouth shut. But she couldn’t. “He’s a bigger man than you’ll ever be.”
“Choose. You or your lover?”
“Neither.”
“Wrong choice.” In that split second, he drew back his foot and kicked Quinn hard in the side. The dull thud echoed in Maggie’s brain as a scream of pure rage erupted from her.
Quinn didn’t budge as he lay on the cold, concrete floor. Tingling sensations from the effects of the Taser had worn off ages ago. He sucked in a breath and almost groaned as fire flared though his chest. Could be a couple of broken ribs. He concentrated on taking small breaths and strained to open his eyes. Easier said than done.
He was aware of what was going down and knew he’d do what he could to keep Maggie safe. When the foot connected with his ribs a second time, Quinn reacted as fast as his broken body allowed. He grabbed Conrad’s foot as it hammered into his side and refused to let go. With every ounce of strength left in him, Quinn surged onto his knees, twisted his body and slammed Conrad onto the floor. He grimaced as a punch landed against his injured ribs. Pain lanced through his chest, and he could hardly grab a breath as he pinned Conrad.
Quinn landed a punch to the side of Conrad’s head. He couldn’t lose this fight. He couldn’t lose Maggie. Not this way. He loved her. He’d loved her a year ago. He loved her still. He’d been an overprotective jerk, expecting her to put limits on her career to suit him. Quinn belted his forehead against Conrad’s nose and heard the crunch. That should slow him down. Wrong. Conrad swung punches, wild and heavy, connecting with Quinn’s ribs more than once. Quinn smothered the groans. He wouldn’t let the bastard know he was broken.
Quinn heard Maggie trying to talk Felice down. Strong, gorgeous Maggie had more guts than most men. She’d needed him to believe in her, had pleaded her case, but he hadn’t been able to get his head around it. She didn’t need him to protect her. But one more time, he would keep her safe, and the only way to do that was to keep Conrad on the ground.
Another wild swing connected with Quinn’s chin so hard he had to shake his head to clear the haze clouding his vision. Conrad bucked violently beneath him. Quinn sucked a breath into his fire-filled chest, dragged his weight farther onto Conrad, and kept scrambling forward until he sat astride Conrad’s chest.
Quinn pictured the animal beneath him entwined with Maggie, and his blood boiled. Quinn realized his anger was with Conrad, with himself, not Maggie. He’d let her down. He’d taken away her safety net, the one person she needed. Himself. With determination fueled by a desperate need to tell Maggie he loved her, to tell her Conrad didn’t matter, and an intense hope she would forgive him, Quinn raised his fist and smashed it down into Conrad’s face and didn’t stop until the mongrel stopped moving.
Maggie heard the grunts and thuds and did her best to ignore them as again she tried to reason with Felice. “Don’t do this. We’re friends, remember? I can help you. Give yourself up, and turn evidence for a lighter sentence. Just don’t do this. Please.” Maggie stood, hands raised, palms spread, almost in surrender.
Felice rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath. “Doing time isn’t an option. I have plans.”
“You’re not getting out of here,” Maggie insisted.
“Like you can stop me? You’re too nice. ‘Felice we’re friends. I can help you,’” she mimicked Maggie.
“Maybe I am, but you’re still not getting out of here.”
An almighty crash behind her grabbed Maggie’s attention, and her gaze slid to Quinn. Felice took advantage of her blink in attention and charged. Maggie sidestepped her, but Felice wheeled around, her lips drawn back into a feral snarl and eyes blazing. Maggie knew she would have to fight and moved to intercept Felice. Maggie didn’t see the syringe until it was pressed against her throat.
“Enjoy the trip, Maggie.” Felice’s cold voice echoed through the still warehouse.
The needle tore a hole in Maggie’s skin stinging as it penetrated the flesh. Fear, thick and suffocating, swamped Maggie. Had Felice pushed the plunger? With strength born of desperation, Maggie chopped down hard on Felice’s arms forcing her hand off the syringe. The needle ripped through her skin and dislodged. Wincing, Maggie watched it fall to the floor, hoping like hell none of the contents would get to her brain as she stepped forward to crush it beneath her shoe.
With her weapon shattered, a demented scream spewed from Felice, and she latched onto Maggie’s throat like a human garrote.
Maggie stared into the face of the devil with icy determination. Felice squeezed Maggie’s windpipe so hard, breathing hurt. Maggie closed her eyes and focused on getting another fiery breath past her swollen throat. She clawed at Felice’s fingers and kicked out at Felice’s knees as her vision blurred and her ears buzzed. As dizziness consumed her, Maggie swayed.
“Bye-bye, Maggie,” Felice taunt
ed.
That smug, satisfied tone spiked Maggie’s fight mode. She forced her eyes open, prepared to battle for her life. Her gaze drifted to a battered and bloodied Quinn who stood swaying behind Felice, one arm wrapped around his ribs and his other clutching a piece of timber.
Maggie concentrated on staying upright as the grip around her throat tightened. As Maggie squeezed in another breath, Felice’s demented laughter rang in her ears.
Maggie continued to pry at the choking fingers, but her gaze remained fixed on Quinn. He’d fought to save her. She had to live.
He straightened and lifted his arm, then brought the club down hard against the back of Felice’s head. “Bye-bye, bitch,” he muttered as Felice buckled to the floor.
Maggie collapsed to her knees, sucking in air and coughing past her damaged throat. Thunderous sounds filled the warehouse. Maggie thought it was the blood pumping back into her brain, but then she looked up.
Police in tactical response uniforms rappelled through the skylights toward the floor at great speed. Others in standard-issue bulletproof vests kicked in side doors and swarmed the room, guns drawn. Maggie hoped and prayed they’d come to help, but her distrust of cops was now so ingrained, she expected to feel a bullet tear into her flesh.
“Drop your weapon. Put your hands above your head.”
Maggie looked at Quinn, who still held the piece of timber. All color drained from his face.
The call came again. “Drop your weapon!”
Maggie reached for him, grating out hoarse words, hoping he could hear her. “Quinn. Put it down.”
It fell from his boneless fingers two seconds before he crashed to the floor.
Maggie crawled to his side. “Quinn.” She traced the outline of his bruised face before moving her fingers down his throat to his thready pulse. “Oh my God, Quinn. Wake up. Wake up. Officer down. Officer down,” she screamed past the searing pain in her throat. “Get an ambulance.” With infinite tenderness, she laid her head on his chest and choked back a sob as the thud of his heart beat in her ear.