He stared, judging how much to tell her and what to leave out. “They approached me because they believe there is a mole in the vice department at my precinct, someone feeding Rudnikov intel on drug raids the two departments are coordinating together.”
“So there is a dirty cop? Just not you.”
“Yes.” And didn’t that just bite his ass? The fact that another cop had gotten into bed with Rudnikov made Quinten question his allegiance to the profession. He’d become an officer because that was what his family did. Everyone on his dad’s side were all cops. His mom’s side were all firefighters. They didn’t buck the system, because it was the way it had been done for generations now. He believed in law and order, in the need for rules and those who help ensure they are enforced. But this case was making him take a hard look at his life, at his dissatisfaction with his work.
“Okay, so what’s next?” Becca asked, wiping up the wine she’d spilled on the counter with a paper towel.
“I need you to pack a bag. We’re going to go stay at the club tonight in my private room. Then, in the morning, I’m going to talk to the captain and get you moved to a safe house.”
“What? No.” She finished cleaning and poured more wine into her glass with an exasperated huff.
“I’m not letting you out of my sight until I can get you to a safe house, Becca—”
“The moment I do that, Rudnikov will go after my family. You know that. There’s no way I’m putting them in the line of fire.”
“They already are, pet. Look, I will advise the DEA of the threat against your family. They will put agents on them to make sure nothing happens to them. And you are going to a safe house.”
“No. I won’t do it. Go hide like a—”
Quinten prowled around the kitchen island and gripped both her biceps. He had to make her understand the serious nature of the mess they were in. “This isn’t up for debate. This is how things are going to play out. Ram would kill me if I let something happen to you. Let’s get your bag packed and head out. Here, we’re sitting ducks. At least at the club, we have layers of security they would have to get through. No more arguing.”
“You’re hurting me, Quinten,” she said and he released her arms.
“I’m sorry, but Becca, I cannot stress enough the enormity of the danger you are in. I’m not trying to scare you, I’m trying to save your damn life, and I need you to trust that in this situation, I know what’s best.”
She rubbed her arms where he’d touched her. “How long will I be gone?”
He wiped a frustrated hand over his face. “I don’t know. Plan for a month. Essentials only. The rest we can have the DEA supply you.” That was a low-ball estimate too. It could be longer. Cases like these were intricate and if they didn’t have all the elements needed to put the nail in Rudnikov’s coffin, things could go sideways, and fast.
“A month? Are you serious?”
“Yes. It could take that long to finish this case.” He left out that it could take infinitely longer than that. A tremor shook her. Quinten went on instinct and pulled her fully into his arms. She wasn’t used to high stakes danger like he was in his line of work. He couldn’t forget that this was all new to her. “It will be okay, Becca. I won’t let anything happen to you or your family. I know you’re scared. Trust me, and we will make it out of this, all right?”
He glanced down at the woman in his arms, stunned at the pleasure suffusing him at holding her again. At Ram and Sadie’s wedding, he’d thought his feelings had been due to the frivolity and jovial mood in the air. That the atmosphere had spurred his desire and enjoyment of holding her close while they danced. But here and now, this moment, proved that had been a lie he’d told himself to maintain a maximum safe emotional distance. She fit, like she had been molded for him alone.
His dick stirred. And the Dom in him demanded he claim his woman.
It was the stress of the evening. It had to be. She wasn’t, nor would she ever be his woman.
Becca lifted her face, those big, storm cloud eyes packed with uncertainty and fear. He could smell the hint of wine on her breath and couldn’t stop his gaze from glancing at her succulent mouth—that same mouth he’d tasted tonight.
When Rudnikov had goaded him, urged him to give her a real kiss after Father Vincent declared them husband and wife, he’d done it to throw off any suspicion by the mob boss.
Yet he’d not expected her taste to explode on his tongue like the sweetest elixir that shot straight to his cock. For a moment, he’d forgotten where they were and slid fully into the kiss, into the woman in his arms. And he wondered now, if he closed the small distance and kissed her again, would she stop him, or would she surrender and cling to him for more?
Fuck—he could not, in no uncertain terms, have sex with Ram’s sister. No way. No how.
Quinten released Becca, desperate to maintain control. “Let’s go get that bag packed and get out of here. The longer we delay, the more chance Rudnikov has of striking. I wouldn’t put it past him to pull a fast one and eliminate us.”
“Okay. For what’s it worth, I’m glad you were there tonight. When I first arrived, I didn’t think I would leave that house alive, so thank you.”
“Becca, it’s my job to keep you safe. No thanks are needed, but they are appreciated. Let’s get your things. I want to be out the door in thirty minutes or less.”
Becca’s eyes widened, she took a long draught of her wine and finished what was in her glass. “Follow me.”
Quinten struggled to wrestle the onslaught of lust back under lock and key. Where the hell was his stalwart control? What he prided himself on as a Master of Club Underworld? Taking a damn vacation apparently. He couldn’t entertain the idea of fucking Becca.
Because guys don’t fuck their best friend’s sister.
Chapter 5
Becca remained silent as Quinten pulled his Mustang into the enclosed parking garage for Club Underworld. The club was situated a few blocks away from the French Quarter. She knew what this place was, the type of club. It was a BDSM lifestyle club; one she was infinitely curious about exploring. Then again, she was interested in the whole freaking lifestyle. Her brother, Ram, was a Dominant and member of the club. She’d pestered him for years when she’d discovered his secret by accident. Ram being Ram had deflected her interest—or tried to, at least, for all the good it did.
In truth, she was fascinated by the thought of submission; it made things low in her belly stir and ignite. She was a self-avowed independent woman, and her captivation with the lifestyle confounded her. It seemed to go against the grain. She loved being independent and knowing she had the tenacity and drive to fill her own cup from the well of life. She prided herself on her ability to support herself and do a job that she adored.
And yet the thought of being bound, of the loss of control, of being in the hands of a Master caused her body to light up as if she were in the midst of the Mardi Gras parade in the Quarter.
Then there were times when she wished there was someone else, someone capable and confident enough, who could take the reins of her life from time to time, so all she had to focus on was her next masterpiece.