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When she pulls away, she lightly punches my arm. “Hope you stick around, whether you actually want to or not.”
As I laugh, it briefly crosses my mind that my world is so twisted, I’m literally brushing off my own kidnapping like a crappy joke. I now know what Orna means by seeing enough crazy.
She checks her watch and swears. “Jesus, time flies when you’re having a heart-to-heart. Chop, chop, the car will be waiting for you outside.”
We walk to the car together, chatting excitedly, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like I’m being escorted from one ivory tower to another. I’m actually thankful for the henchman that falls in step with us as we round the front of the manor, and for the bulletproof SUV he guides me in to. I feel safe. Protected. A feeling I never had growing up, I guess.
“Let me know how it goes!”
Orna waves from the driveway until I can’t see her in the rearview window anymore.
I’m nervous.
A good kind of nervous. First date, butterflies fluttering in your stomach and your teeth chattering kind of nervous.
I realize I never had it with Sam, and the thought makes me smile at my reflection in the window.Lorcan Quinn is really taking all my firsts.
The sun is setting over Boston and the rush-hour traffic is heavy, but it seems like every car moves to let us pass. Within twenty minutes, we pull up outsideGatsby’s.
And when we do, my heart sinks.
Armed guards litter the entrance to the restaurant. At least ten in the signature all-black-everything, bulletproof uniforms that the Quinn henchmen wear. Then there’s a handful of others, dressed in Camo and sporting different guns across their chest.
It’s clear that this war isn’t over. But then a little niggle of hope tugs at my chest.He went to all this trouble, with all this security, all to have dinner with me?
One of the Quinn guards opens the door and helps me out. Three others form a human shield around me as he guides me into the restaurant, their backs to me and their guns pointing outwards.Jesus, this is all a little excessive, isn’t it?
I can’t wait to go inside and laugh about it. Tease Lorcan about how paranoid he is.
But when I pass through the doorway, I stop in my tracks.
Immediately, I know there’ll be no laughing or teasing tonight.
Because Lorcan isn’t alone.
Poppy
Among the throng of guards, there’s a round table in the middle ofGatsby’sand nothing else. I recognize both the Tiffany lamp in the middle of it, and almost all of the men around it. Bar the two who have their backs to me.
But there’s only one man I zone in on.
“Lorcan? What’s going on?”
The hard lines of his face as he brings a large whiskey to his mouth and drains the glass in three gulps.
The way his chest sags a fraction. It makes mine explode.
Then he’s strong-jawed, back straight, hands clasped together. Staring through me.
“Lorcan— Hey!” A cold, hard shove in the small of my back makes me stumble forward. I turn around and see the henchman who escorted me from the car withdrawing the butt of his gun. Suddenly Lorcan’s on his feet, a growl ripping from his throat. Next to him, Antoin also rises with him. Not to say anything to the asshole who justhit me in the back with his gun!but to whisper something in Lorcan’s ear, all while pouring Lorcan another glass. He nods at whatever he tells him, and sinks back to his chair and gulps the drink. Then returns to staring at somewhere on the other side of my soul.
Then, Antoin turns to me. “Miss Murphy,” he says in that cool, eerie tone that he always has. It sends a shiver up my spine. “Please, take a seat.”
He gestures to the chair opposite but my legs won’t move, even if I wanted them to. What I want is for Lorcan to meet my gaze and nod. Smile—anything.Anything to reassure me that everything is okay.
I’m met with nothing but a blank stare.
The man to the right of the empty seat finally twists his body around, pinning me with a cruel smile. My heart leaps into my throat, and my legs threaten to give way. He’s old, ugly and scarred. Set deep under his wrinkled brow is a pair of haunting black eyes. Adding in the twisted grin stretched across his lips, he’s the face of nightmares. “Miss Murphy,” he rasps in a heavy accent. Immediately, I realizehe’sthe Russian Nova told me about. “Be a good girl and sit.”
