“Don’t worry about me.”
“You should get a guard dog.”
Quinn has been nagging me to get a dog since we met. She thinks the companionship will do me good. But I don’t do defenseless animals. “Dogs are needy. I’ve got something better.”
Suddenly, she laughs. “Shit V, are you living with them? Those schoolboys?”
She called me V. Not Viola.
A warning.
He’s already here.
The fact that she paired ‘V’ with a probing question about the boys is possibly for Dante’s sake, so it looks like she’s playing ball. It’s also a hint to me that he doesn’t know where I am, and that he suspects I’m with the boys. Good girl.
“Of course not,” I lie. “Would it be a problem if I were?” I add. To be honest, I don’t actually give a shit if Dante knows I’m staying with the boys. I’m sick of running and hiding.
But the look Quinn is giving me is strange. She looks shocked. “They’re eighteen.”
“And?”
“A tad young, even for you.”
“We were eighteen once. Remember Vienna?” I say, to placate the sensitivities I didn’t know she had.
Quinn exhales, pulling a face at the memory. “I guess what they say is true. Trauma and violence accelerates aging”— she studies me for a second or two before adding—“inside if not out. But seriously, three teenage boys? They must be horny all the time.”
I fucking wish.
“It’s not about the sex,” I say quickly.
“Then what is it?”
“People change. Why can’t I?” I add.
“Because I know you. You have needs. And you don’t feel things like the rest of us. You’re acting like you’ve grown a heart and I know you haven’t. Why did you leave? Why did you give everything up for them?”
All this chatter is for show but there’s an underlying honesty to her questions. I don’t know how to reply so I sip the cocktail in front of me. The bitterness reminds me of nights out with Quinn between jobs, when life was much simpler.
Why did I leave?
I was due a change of scenery.
I was getting bored.
My monster was never satisfied towards the end.
None of those answers ring true.
Whatever the real reason is, I need to remain focused.
Keeping my eyes on Quinn, I force myself not to look around. Strategically placing my hand on my chin, covering my lips so the fucker can’t lip read, I mouth silently at Quinn the only question I want to know. “Where is Dante?”
Quinn, eyes solemn, types something on her phone. She then slides it over to me so I can read the screen.
At the entrance, he just took the booth to your left.
Interesting. Is he planning on grabbing me as I walk out? No. Quinn was always going to tell me where he was.