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“What does it mean?”
I slowly turn my head toward him. “It’s Branko. It has to be.”
“Like some symbol for his organization?”
“My dad found out the men who snatched me and Charly were part of Branko’s crew. They all have symbolic markings, After I saw the pitchfork, I did some research. It haunted me for so long until I was able to make sense of it. Four is a perfect number. It has a lot of symbolism, but the thing that always struck me the most is that in the Tarot, the number four is the card of the Emperor, who represents material goods and worldly authority. Whoever holds the Emperor’s card can control everything and everyone around him or her.”
“Except he’s really the serpent.” Quinn lets out a deep sigh, then winces. He holds a hand to his side. “And closing in fast if these schmucks work for him. By the way, I’d like to not bleed out on this roof.”
I shake my head. “Since I haven’t seen this tattoo in so long, maybe I haven’t been as close to Branko as I thought. I’ve been deluding myself.”
“I guarantee you’re gonna get real close real soon if we don’t get the hell out of here now. And I’m not just talking about getting off the roof. I’m talking about getting the fuck out of Vegas.”
My throat tightens. Getting out of Vegas means we need to get out of the hotel first. “He could have guys staked out at every entrance and exit. We’re not safe here. But they know we haven’t left. We can’t go to the Montepremi or the Xcelsior. If someone is tracking us by your fake name, we’re fucked. Everyone wants identification at check-in. They scan that shit and cross-reference it.”
“Babe, I’m starting to feel a little dizzy, and you’re making my head spin way too fast.” Quinn struggles to drag himself off the ground. “Before it pops off my neck, let’s call Sev. Maybe he can get us out of here.”
I gasp. “The safehouse. Alek had it built years ago. It’s on the edge of the city. If we can make it there, it’s completely armored. I have the codes to get inside.”
“Great, now we just need to slip out the front door of the hotel, hop in a cab, and zip over there. Before I pass out from blood loss.”
A sudden jolt makes my pulse jab at the side of my throat. I choke on a gasp and clutch the sides of my hair, the panicked realization smacking me across the face like a cement glove.
I stared at that pitchfork tattoo, gave Quinn a whole earful about the symbolism, and never made the damn connection.
Quinn, Heaven, Aisling, and Matteo aren’t the targets. They never were.
I am.
Chapter22
Quinn
“Ican’t call Alek. If we go back to the suite for our phones, who knows what will be waiting for us there? The guy who got away might be there now.” Val tugs at her ponytail, something she seems to do a lot when her ideas dry up like the fucking Mojave.
We took a gamble and walked around until we found an entirely different set of service stairs. Well,shewalked. I hobbled against her. Without phones, we have no ability to call for help or an Uber. And looking down at my bloody side, I don’t know how the hell anyone’s gonna let me slide into a cab and bleed all over the seat.
I hang on to Val tight, wincing with every step while trying not to look like a complete pussy because my side fucking burns like I’ve been dipped in the flames of Hell. We take flight after flight of stairs until we find a service elevator. It stinks of old garbage, but I’d gladly inhale that stench if it means I can stand still for a few minutes. I hunch over, holding an arm over my wound. Val paces the elevator car.
“Okay, all we need to do is get to a cab. Then we can head to the safehouse and can call Alek. He’ll get a doctor.”
“If I make it that long.” I let out a weak snicker, but there’s a hair of truth in my words. My leg’s already starting to numb from blood loss, and I keep having to blink fast to clear my blurred vision. I’ve been shot plenty, but this time feels different. I really hope it’s not because I’m dying, because I need to fuck my fake wife at least once more before that happens.
She turns to look at me with actual concern in her eyes.
I knew she liked me.
“You’re going to make it. And we’re going to come up with a new plan.” The elevator stops on the parking deck level. The doors creak open. She loops an arm around my waist and leads me into the concrete space. There are a few lights along the ceiling for us to follow toward what I hope is an underground cab stand.
It’s still too bright.
Anyone waiting for a cab will see the blood.
“Val, what the hell are we doing? There’s no way people don’t see me and call the cops,” I grunt, sucking air through my teeth.
“Relax, I’ve got it.” She looks forward and backward, and I try not to fall over. She drags me the last few steps toward a bunch of parked cars.
Fuck me.
