Page 16 of Wraith’s Promise

She hands me one of the mugs.

"Sleep okay?" she asks.

"Fine. You?"

"Pretty good, actually. Your guest bed is comfortable."

We stand there drinking our coffee in silence, and it should be awkward. Two near-strangers in a kitchen at six-thirty in the morning, but it's not. It's easy. Natural. Like we've done this before.

"What's your plan for today?" Quinn asks.

"Clubhouse by eight. Need to finalize new security protocols, coordinate with Phoenix and Judge about patrol schedules. Probably be there until early afternoon." I take another sip of coffee. "You good with Mariah until then?"

"Absolutely. I was thinking maybe we could do some baking if she's interested. Cookies or something."

The image of Quinn and Mariah in my kitchen covered in flour, laughing over cookie dough, hits me harder than it should. "She'd love that. Fair warning, she'll want to eat all the dough before it makes it to the oven."

Quinn smiles. "I was the same way at her age."

"Ranger let you get away with that?"

"Ranger participated. We were a team." Her expression softens with the memory. "He was always good at making things fun, even when everything else was falling apart."

I want to know more about the childhood she and Ranger escaped, but before I can form the question, a sound cuts through the quiet morning air. Motorcycle engines. Multiple of them. Close and getting closer.

Chapter 7 - Quinn

The engines cut off simultaneously, which is somehow worse than the noise. The sudden silence means they've arrived, that whatever's about to happen is happening now.

I move to the window without thinking, years of training overriding every other instinct. Stay low, quick glance, assess the threat, calculate response time. I pull the curtain back just an inch, just enough to see.

Five men.

All wearing Vipers cuts, the snake patch visible even from here. They've dismounted their bikes and they're walking toward the house with the kind of confidence that comes from thinking you've already won. One of them spits on Dean's lawn. Another's swinging a baseball bat, letting it tap against his leg with each step like a metronome counting down to violence.

My brain registers everything in the span of three seconds: two are armed with bats, one has what looks like a crowbar, the other two have their cuts sitting wrong, weighted on one side, which means guns tucked into waistbands or shoulder holsters. They're not trying to be subtle. This is a message delivery, and the message is written in intimidation and threat.

"Quinn?" Dean's voice is tight behind me. "What is it?"

"Vipers," I say quietly, letting the curtain fall back into place. "Five of them. Armed. Coming to the front door."

I turn to look at him and watch his entire body go rigid, watch every muscle lock down as his brain shifts from morning coffee to combat mode. His hand moves automatically toward his hip where his gun would be if he were wearing it, finds nothing, and his jaw clenches hard enough I can see the muscle jump.

"Go to Mariah," I say, keeping my voice level, calm, the same voice I used overseas when things were about to go sideways, and panic would get people killed. "Go to her room and stay there. Lock the door."

He looks at me like I've just spoken a foreign language. "What?"

"You heard me. Go to your daughter. Lock the door. Let me handle this."

"You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm letting you face five Vipers alone." He's already moving toward the window, taking his own look, and I watch his expression darken as he sees the same things I did: bats, crowbar, weighted cuts, hostile intent written in every step they take.

"Dean—"

"No." He cuts me off, sharp and absolute. "That's five grown men with weapons, Quinn. I don't care how good you are—"

"They're here for Mariah," I interrupt, and that stops him cold. "Think about it. Why else would they show up at your house this early, this aggressive? They're not here to negotiate. They're here to take her, use her as leverage, a bargaining chip to get whatever they want from Phoenix or the club."

His face goes completely white, then floods with color as rage replaces shock. "They're not getting anywhere near her."