Under the Gun (CEP Book 3) Read online

  Rod walked into the studio just then. “Knock knock.”

  Quinn saw Tilly tense up which she knew was because she didn’t like Rod since she always said she could tell when Quinn had been around him because he screwed with her head usually leaving her a mess. But Quinn didn’t feel that way. She knew he tried to manipulate her, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. All in all, he really wasn’t a bad guy. He just wasn’t the guy.

  “Hey, honey,” Quinn said, going over and looping an arm around his.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “Just went to the bathroom then Tilly was showing me her new photos.”

  Rod looked at Tilly, eyebrow raised, assessing her which made Tilly look irked. “That true, Tilly?” he asked.

  Tilly frowned. “Of course it is. Why would Quinn lie?”

  He shrugged. “No reason, I guess.” He looked down at Quinn. “You ready to blow this joint?”

  Quinn normally would’ve stayed but because of the circumstances, she was more than ready to leave. “Yeah. Let me tell Till goodbye and I’ll meet you at the front door.”

  Rod leaned down and kissed Quinn’s cheek but what she didn’t see was the glare he gave Tilly as he did.

  “Okay.” He looked at his watch then raised an eyebrow at her pausing as he always did. “I’ll give you five minutes. ‘Night, Tilly.”

  After he left, Quinn looked at her friend. “I know. You hate him. I’ve got it under control.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “I do. But I am gonna leave now ‘cause I can’t risk seeing Gunner again.”

  “Be careful, Quinn.”

  “Always.” She smiled and left the room.

  “You fucked him, didn’t you?”

  They were back at Quinn’s apartment and Rod had questioned her nonstop the entire taxi ride back.

  And she’d had it with him.

  “Yes! I did! And you’ve slept with other women! We never said we were exclusive anyway, Rod!” she explained exasperatedly.

  “I don’t mean before. I mean tonight,” …pause… “at the fucking party.”

  She could only look at him in annoyance, so finished with explanations.

  He let out a huff and stomped to the door. Turning, he pointed a finger at her, “You’ll regret this, Quinn. You know you’ll miss me.” He stepped out into the hallway giving her one last look before slamming the door behind him.

  She stood staring at the door for a moment waiting for the tears to come, anything, but actually felt nothing.

  “Huh,” she murmured before locking the door.

  Sunday just before noon, Quinn lay in bed staring at her ceiling thinking about the events of the night before.

  Let’s see: Slept with a man she wanted nothing to do with because she knew he’d break her heart. Check.

  Had another man, who’d been her date, break up with her because she’d slept with the aforementioned man at the party. Check.

  “Batting a thousand, McDonnell,” she grumbled, getting out of bed and heading to her bathroom. Once finished, she pulled on her robe and went to the kitchen to drink her caffeinated water. And that’s when her phone rang.

  “How’d it go last night?” Tilly asked. After being filled in on the details, she let out a, “Wow.”

  “Yep. So now I’m FWB-less too.”

  “Uh, can’t say I’m not thrilled. He was bad for you.”

  “Nothing to worry about now. That ship has sailed.”

  “You don’t need a man,” Tilly reminded.

  “Says the woman with the hunk of burning love in her bed every night. But you’re right. I’ll be fine. Damn. Now I need to go buy batteries.”

  Tilly snorted.

  “And there lies my future, Till. I’ll be burnin’ up a pack of Rayovacs a week.” Quinn sighed.

  “You’ll be fine. Promise.”

  “Yeah? Well, don’t count on it. I hear sometimes batteries leak. So be ready to find me in my bed, vibe in my cooch dead of first degree battery acid burns. It’ll make for a lovely casket viewing.”

  “Oh, lord,” Tilly said with a laugh. “Come over for lunch.”

  “Can’t. Have to run to the office and look over some things for tomorrow.”

  “Okay. You want me to come with?”

  Quinn opened her front door to retrieve her newspaper. “Nope. Gotta pull up some transcriptions from a couple years ago. One of my ex-clients killed himself last week. He was only eighteen. I received an injunction to give copies of the files to the parents.”

  “Did you check the peephole? I don’t know why I’m asking because I know you didn’t. And, aw, honey, that’s so sad. I’m really sorry.”

  “Yeah. Me too. Ben was a good kid. Had a weird older stepbrother, though. Timmy? Tommy? Something like that. Anyway, I remember Ben always talking about how scared he was of him. I talked to the parents then actually to this Tommy kid himself, he was your average prep school asshole punk thinking he was all that, but I could never pinpoint what the issue behind everything was. Mostly jealousy, I’m pretty sure. And I wouldn’t doubt if he had something to do with Ben’s death.”

  “He wasn’t molesting his little brother, was he?”

  “No, I never got that feeling from either of them. I just recall it being very strange. The kid had some kind of hold over Ben.”

  “Hm. Well, I’m sorry it all happened. But call me later to let me know you’re good, okay?” Tilly requested.

  “Will do. Love you. Bye!” Quinn answered then sat at her bar to read the paper. Annnnd her phone rang again. Looking at the screen, she huffed seeing that it was Rod and let it go to voicemail. When her phone beeped, she listened to what he had to say.

  --Baby, I’m sorry about last night. You forgive me? I’d like to have dinner tonight if you’re available. Give me a call back. Bye, sweetheart.

  She texted him back.

  --Have to go to the office to print out some files. Remember the boy who killed himself? Family coming tomorrow. I’ll call you later.

  Quinn stayed longer at her office than she planned. She hadn’t remembered what a troubled young man Ben had been nor how much she’d documented about him and reading over it had her intrigued.

  As she looked through her printed out notes, Ben’s brother Tommy’s name showed up over and over and her gut was screaming at her that he had to have had something to do with Ben’s suicide.

  Ben: I love Tommy. I do. But he’s really intense. He makes me do things.

  QM: What kinds of things?

  Ben: I don’t know.

  QM: How does he make you do things, Ben?

  Ben: He tells me if I don’t do them I’m a coward.

  QM: Are these things illegal?

  Ben: Sometimes.

  QM: Can you tell me something he’s made you do?

  Ben: Some boys had put their skateboards against a tree in the park and Tommy dared me to take one. He said if I didn’t, he wouldn’t let me go to the Justin Timberlake concert with him.

  QM: So you took a skateboard?

  Ben: Yes. Then we pawned it and used the money to get hotdogs from a street vendor.

  As Quinn pulled the most recent files, she remembered how Ben had worn an unusual leather bracelet that had an eye on it. The reason it came to mind is that he used to worry the thing the entire time they’d talked. Twisting, turning, taking it off then putting it back on. When she’d asked him about it once, he’d told her it’d been a gift from Tommy who’d told him it’d help Ben “see” things more clearly.

  Now as she continued reading, she saw that things had only gotten darker as time went by.

  Ben: Tommy told me to bring my girlfriend home and he was going to hide in my bedroom closet and watch us have sex.

  QM: How did this make you feel?

  Ben: I didn’t want to do it. But I did it anyway. Tommy said all the guys did it. That it was a sort of initiation and I’d be part of the cool group if I did.

  Flipping through more pages, she came upo
n a particularly brutal session they’d had.

  Ben: Tommy made me go with him and his friends one night down by the Hudson and there was a dead dog. They all told me I had to cut its heart out. At first I didn’t want to, but Tommy handed me this big knife and told me to do it or they’d leave me there.

  QM: And what happened?

  Ben: I did it. Then they told me I had to eat it. But no way. I threw it at one of the guys and ran for the car. Now way could I do that.

  That particular session had Quinn’s stomach rolling, but she recalled that by the end of their appointments, Ben had seemed more confident. He told her about how he’d stood up to Tommy a few times which she’d praised. But that’s where the sessions had ended. The stepfather’s job had started requiring him to travel out of the country more and Ben’s mother had informed Quinn that she couldn’t keep taking him to the sessions what with having two other children under age ten.

  Quinn had advised they continue, that they were making headway, but she couldn’t convince the mother and that’d been the end of it.

  She sat back in her chair as a strong wave of sadness rolled through her at the poor boy’s fate. She knew the parents had to be devastated and wondered how they’d respond upon reading everything.

  Hearing something in the office, she got up to see if Daphne had come in for something, but when she opened her door, no one was there. She knew she was creeped out from reading over everything, so going back in her office, she placed the documents in a file to hand over to the parents the next day.

  When she left, she swore a light in the office that she hadn’t turned on was on, but she chalked it up to being on edge from all her reading. So turning it out, she headed back to her apartment, stopping by Saiguette for takeout on the way.

  Chapter 8

  Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow! Pow!

  “Damn, son, letting some aggression out?” Quaid asked Gunner as he took off his earmuffs and shooting glasses.

  It was Monday morning and they were at the shooting range.

  Gunner gave Quaid the side-eye and continued firing away at the paper target hung up ten yards away. When his magazine was spent, he pushed a button that brought the target to him.

  “Fuck,” Quaid said under his breath at seeing the target not only had a fucking smiley face blown into it, but Gunner had also hit the heart in a circular pattern.

  Gunner grinned at him removing his eye and ear equipment. “Yeah, fuck. As in, don’t fuck with me. Son.”

  “Touchy little prick today, aren’t ya?”

  “Just not in the mood.”

  “Why? Women problems?” Quaid asked. He looked at his target then at Gunner’s. “Damn. You’ve gotta teach me how to take off the percentages.”

  “Yeah.” With his toe, Gunner pushed a casing on the floor toward a couple others.

  “Yeah?”

  “Women problems,” Gunner murmured, wadding up his target and tossing it into a trashcan as they walked toward the exit.

  “What’s up?” Quaid asked when they got outside, walking toward their vehicles to put their firearms away.

  Gunner leaned his hip against his Camaro and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and pointer finger. “Don’t know, man. Fucking confused.”

  “About?” Quaid leaned back against his truck, arms and ankles crossed.

  “How do you know?” Quaid shook his head, not understanding. “I mean, fuck, how do you know if she’s someone you want to get real with?” Gunner asked.

  “You’ve had girlfriends before.”

  “Well, yeah, but not really anyone I thought too seriously about. I know that sounds shitty, but I just haven’t looked at them in that way.”

  “And now you’re thinking seriously about a woman. Is this the little redhead that was at Oz’s the other night by any chance?” Quaid asked. Gunner nodded. “Hot little piece, that one.”

  Gunner narrowed his eyes as he looked at his coworker. “She’s not a piece, man.”

  Quaid held up his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down, dude. Wasn’t implying anything.”

  When he realized Quaid was being somewhat sincere, Gunner continued. “Can’t get her out of my head.”

  Quaid chuckled. “I get that. And my experiment just now worked.” When Gunner frowned at him in question, he explained. “‘Hot little piece.’ You jumped all over that shit. Means you got it bad for her, man.” He snorted at Gunner’s pissed off look. “My advice? Fuckin’ go for it.”

  “We’ll see, asshole.”

  Quaid barked out a laugh. “And then some, buddy.”

  “What’s your next job?” Chase asked.

  “Fuckin’ background checks the rest of the week and an insurance scam. Gotta follow some asshole around to see if he really hurt himself lifting shit. Odds are I’ll catch him bench pressing eight thousand pounds with one arm while juggling bowling balls with the other. People are fuckin’ losers.”

  “Damn. Why’re you in a such a pissy mood.”

  “Fuck if I know.”

  “This’ll put you in a better mood, Gunner. You’ll love my mom’s spaghetti sauce,” Julia, Chase’s wife said as she pushed a bowl toward him.

  He was at Chase and Julia’s apartment because Julia had called him that morning inviting him to dinner and who was he to turn down amazing food. After one bite, he felt his friggin’ eyes roll back in his head.

  “Fuckin’ amazing,” he said, still chewing.

  “Mom would smack you in the mouth right now for talking with your mouth full,” Chase said with a big grin, mouth full.

  Julia laughed. “I’ll smack you both if you keep it up.”

  The evening went great until Julia asked him who he was dating and he and Chase shared a look.

  “What?” Julia questioned.

  “Nothing,” Gunner stated at the same time Chase said, “He’s having woman problems.”

  It was all Gunner could do to keep from reaching across the table and strangling his brother.

  “Oh, yeah?” Julia asked sympathetically. “What’s going on?”

  Gunner sighed. Fuck. “Nothing’s going on.”

  “You like her,” Julia decided.

  Gunner threw his napkin on the table. “Thanks for having me. The spaghetti was amazing. I’m out.”

  As he got up from the table, he saw Chase start to get up but Julia shook her head at him and put her hand over his stopping him. Well, thank God that someone had a fucking brain. He took the elevator to the parking garage and pulled his phone out while he hailed a cab.

  “Yo. You got Boone.”

  “No fucking shit,” Gunner muttered, hearing loud music and people talking in the background. Perfect.

  “Damn. What’s got your panties in a twist?”

  Pissed that everyone was commenting on his attitude these days, Gunner clenched his teeth before asking, “Where are you?”

  “Clancy’s. Come have a bourbon or six.”

  “On my way,” he answered, getting into a taxi.

  Sitting in the back seat trying to ignore the staticky pop music coming from the cab’s speakers, he wondered what the hell was up with him lately. Did Quinn really have his head wound up that tightly? What he knew was that he hated the feeling and, by fucking God, he was going to do something about it.

  “Look at that chick’s ass in those fucking yoga pants,” Brock said, nodding toward a woman who was bent over a pool table ready to take her shot.

  “Fuckin’ nice,” Boone remarked, staring.

  Brock pulled a fifty out of his wallet and slammed it on the table. “Yours if you take her home,” he said, looking at Gunner and grinning.

  Gunner picked up what he believed to be his eighth shot—he’d lost count early on—moved it up in a “cheers” motion, downed it then said, “You’re on.”

  Getting up from the table and heading toward the woman with a great ass, he noticed that she was blond. Would’ve been so much better had she been a redhead, damn it. He looked back at the table
to see Brock and Boone watching him, both grinning, which made him annoyed. He turned back and when he was almost to the table, something clicked in his head making him do a one-eighty, and he quickly turned and headed to the restroom.

  Fuck.

  In the bathroom, he relieved himself then at the sink took a good long look in the mirror. “You’re fucked,” he mumbled, turning on the water and splashing it on his face. Grabbing a paper towel, he noticed a man looking at him. “You got a problem, man?”

  The guy shook his head indifferently.

  “Fuck you,” Gunner said and walked out.

  “What the fuck’s your deal, Gun?” Boone asked when Gunner made it back.

  “She’s blonde.” Gunner picked up a shot of bourbon and downed it.

  “And that’s a problem because?” Brock queried.

  “Because it fucking is.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I take a shot at her?” Boone inquired, standing from the table.

  “Fuck no. Go for it,” Gunner holding a finger up at the waitress passing by.

  “Three?” she asked as she gathered the empty glasses from their table.

  “Yep.”

  Brock watched her ass as she walked away then turned his attention back to Gunner. “What’s going on?”

  “Why the fuck’s everyone so goddamned interested in me all of a sudden?”

  Brock shrugged and took a drink of Jack from his tumbler.

  Gunner pulled out his wallet then threw a hundred on the table. “I’m out.”

  Outside the bar, he got into a cab giving the driver his address pulling his phone out at the same time.

  “Hullo?” Oz answered.

  “Gimme Quinn’s number.” No preludes for him. He was drunk, he wanted what he wanted and he was going to get it.

  “Hang on.”

  Shit. It was almost as if Oz had been waiting on this call.

  Gunner listened for a second then Tilly came on the line. Fucking hell.

  “Hey, Gunner. You ready?” she asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Tilly recited the numbers as Gunner mentally stored them then he thanked her and hung up. It wasn’t until he went to put them in his phone that he noticed it was after ten. No wonder Oz hadn’t given him shit and had also sounded like he’d been half asleep. But he knew better than to think Oz would let it go. No, he’d wait until just the right time to obtain maximum humiliation then he’d unleash the fucking beast and make Gunner look like an ass.