Resisting Ruby Rose (The Ruby Rose Series) (16 page)

CHAPTER 22

I’d
gotten away with so many things for so long,
I’d
almost started taking my freedom for granted.

That was over now. All my mistakes and missteps were finally catching up with me.
I’d
been forced into certain situations by Martinez, my mother, or Skryker, but I could’ve chosen to walk—or run—away. To not pull the trigger. To not fight back. To be smart and rely on the adults and authorized officials to handle all these problems.

But I hadn’t done that.
I’d
used the skills
I’d
been taught and the instincts
I’d
been born with. And this is where it had led.
I’d
let myself be framed good and proper, and the game was over for me. And maybe for Damon Silver as well.

Of course, it was over in an even more final way for Bill Brandon. He didn’t deserve to die. He had two kids, a wife, and several protective dogs that loved him. Yes, he might’ve deserved to be kicked in the gut for playing hardball with my mom, but that was it. I sincerely believed that he cared about justice, and that everything he did, he did for his slain daughter, Whitney. He was a good and decent man—instead of going after his daughter’s murderer himself, he went to law school and worked hard to implement legislation that would protect others like his daughter. H
e’d
been so close to changing the face of politics around here.

Now h
e’d
never get the chance.

Tears ran down my cheeks as I imagined how his family must feel. How did this happen? Who had sacrificed Brandon’s life just to frame me? Had Martinez pulled it off again? All the way from Mexico? Or could Skryker be behind it? After all, he was the one who sent me to Brandon’s house last night. But it didn’t make sense that h
e’d
want to frame someone h
e’d
just hired as an operative. Did it?

“Time to go,” Quinn said from right in front of me. Ever since I pressed end on the phone,
I’d
been sitting here, paralyzed. Quinn had moved around in the periphery of my vision, saying things and doing things, but none of it mattered anymore. Soon Mathews would have the call traced, h
e’d
find me, then h
e’d
go about his duty, taking me in and trying in vain to clear me of the charges.

Game. Set. Match.

“Seriously, Ruby, I’ll carry you out of here if I have to.” Quinn pulled on my hand. I didn’t move, as if I were already trapped behind bars. The last place on Earth I could handle being.
I’d
rather be electrocuted or beheaded than stay in a cell. They’d have to sedate me;
I’d
go crazy.

“Fine,” Quinn said, lifting me out of my chair and carrying me before I came to my senses.

“I’ll walk,” I said, not caring where he was taking me, as long as it didn’t involve bars. Or dead bodies.

I followed him to the garage and got into the passenger seat of his Range Rover. Before we went anywhere, he took my phone from me, removed the battery, and handed the useless thing back.

“Sorry you didn’t get to eat your omelet.” I managed a jab at him. Let him try to underplay the gravity of that newspaper photo now.

“Ruby, I didn’t see this coming.” Quinn sped down the street, swerving around an old lady with a frizzy white perm and an equally frizzy white poodle.

“Yeah, well, did the all-knowing Skryker see this coming?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Quinn said, taking a bump in the road too fast, jarring me out of my seat. “Things with Skryker aren’t always a two-way street.”

“And that’s OK with you?”

“It’s not a question of whether I like it or not. It’s just the way it is. The way it’s always been.”

“And Sofia didn’t like it?” I put some of the pieces together on my own.

“Sofia didn’t like a lot of things.”

We were on the freeway now, and I watched as the world went by. Would I ever see this place again? As of later today, I might either be on the run or locked up.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“To meet Skryker.”

“I thought you said Skryker was a one-way street.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have an interest in protecting us.” Quinn headed north on the 405 toward L.A.

Something about running to Skryker felt wrong, but I didn’t say anything. With no alternatives to offer, I stayed quiet as I tried to make sense of everything.

“Look, I just know that we had to get out of my place,” he said, looking flushed and slightly panicked—which was a first. “Let me think.” Even when we were being shot at, he seemed to enjoy the thrill. But this wasn’t exactly thrilling.

“You might want to slow down,” I said. “If we get pulled over, any cop would recognize me and take us both into custody. And we can’t be pulling an O.J. either.”

“O.J.?” he asked.

“A car chase? Like when O.J. Simpson ‘allegedly’ killed his wife, then ran away in a white Bronco?” He still didn’t seem to get the reference. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care because he was too busy driving 90 mph and checking his messages while in a white Range Rover. Crap, this was bad.

My mind ran through the information
I’d
gotten so far. All the incriminating clues: Fake Big Black parked where the body was found, the boat where my fingerprints would also be found, photographic evidence of me physically assaulting Brando
n . . .
and who knew what else.

Nothing was adding up, though. While it fit Martinez’s MO to set me up again, it seemed unlikely that he could’ve orchestrated this whole thing while he was on the CIA’s Most Wanted watch list. The public may not have known that he was still alive and operating in his circles of international criminal activity, but Skryker did. My mom and Mathews did. And the higher-ups in the police department should have known, too.

Plus, Martinez always liked to rub it in somehow when he manipulated me. With the Filthy Five, he sent me messages and photos, showed up to watch me wriggle. So where was he now? How could he be enjoying this from Mexico? Or was that all a lie?

“Quinn, this isn’t right,” I said, as he weaved in and out of the carpool lane illegally. “I mean, I just don’t trust Skryker.”

Quinn threw his brakes on and fishtailed as he tried to slow down. There must’ve been an accident up ahead.

“Why?” His tone was hard and defensive.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I snarked, “maybe because he’s the one who asked me to deliver the freaking envelope in the first place!”

He shook his head. “Ruby, you don’t understand.”

“You know what?” I straightened my posture before unleashing my wrath. “You are like the fourth dude within twenty-four hours to tell me that. And I’m getting a little sick of it. So you can either dial your condescension down a notch or I can dial someone else who will help. I’m sure Damon Silver would be interested.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose my temper,” Quinn backtracked. “It’s just that we can’t afford to think like that right now.”

“Why? What’s his hold on you?” I asked, now assuming the condescending role. “Last night you acted like some well-trained lapdog around him. And now I’m not allowed to voice one concern about him?”

“He’s got me in a vise, all right?” Quinn slammed his hands down on the steering wheel. “And now he’s got you, too. It’s how it works, Ruby. Get used to it.”

“What do you mean, he’s
got
me?”

“It means now he has leverage. You either run to him and allow him to save you, or you’re on your own. Which basically means the police will have enough evidence to put you away forever.”

“Are you saying you think Skryker set me up? And you knew he was capable of this, and you still recruited me, and let me go through with everything?”

“I didn’t want to, bu
t . . .
”

“But what? You’re too big of a coward to fight him?”

“Fight Skryker?” Quinn laughed maniacally as he changed lanes like we were on some kind of bumper-car track. “That’s like fighting a ghost with CIA clearance and more money and resources than the Queen.”

“So we’re just going to run to him now?”

“You have a better idea?”

“Yeah, we fight him. Because I would rather die than do his bidding or go to jail.”

“Well, that’s probably what will happen, then. Just like it did to Sofia.” He came to a stop on an open part of the off-ramp’s shoulder.

I gasped, 99 percent sure that Quinn wasn’t referring to jail.

“I can’t be sure,” he continued. “But she would have somehow contacted me by now. She would have found a way. Sofia was my famil
y . . .
” His voice cracked, revealing how he truly felt about her. “She worried Skryker wouldn’t keep his end of the bargain, but she wanted out so badly that she was willing to take the risk. And I let her.”

“None of this is your fault,” I said, suddenly on his side. “Maybe she’s just laying low for a lot longer than you anticipated.”

He shook his head and pinched his eyes shut.

“Look,” I said, “I understand why you might be nervous about going up against a guy like Skryker, but I don’t see what choice we have. I mean, what choice
I
have. I’m going to call Silver, and he’ll have a way to help.” I absolutely hated putting any faith in Silver. The thought alone made me panic. This was the man who had proved himself to be completely unreliable and untrustworthy my entire life—hiding in shadows and threatening my adoptive parents.

“Silver is in Mexico, Ruby,” Quinn said, opening his eyes to reveal a redness I wasn’t expecting. This amount of vulnerability seemed impossible in a guy like Quinn. Could this be another con? “Skryker made sure of that. He sent Liam down there specifically to divide and conquer. You don’t understand: it’s like Skryker is this ultimate chess player. He’s always going to be a few steps ahead of you.”

“Story of my life,” I said, rolling my neck to try and ease the crippling stress building there. “But Silver was there to help me before.”

“Call him, then,” Quinn said, handing me his phone and looking in his rearview mirror before peeling out down a surface street. “Until then, if we’re not going to see Skryker, we need to find cover.”

“Are you sure Chase’s family won’t be coming here anytime soon?” Quinn asked.

I finished inputting the code on the alarm as the garage door descended. “I told you, it’s just another one of Chase’s uncle’s party pads. Chase threw a party here once last year—a party at which Liam, Alana, and I were drugged, kidnapped, and almost sold into the sex trade, which sucked. Anyway, no one other than Liam and me has been here in months.” I felt a larger than usual amount of guilt having mentioned Liam’s name in our secret meeting place with my new “partner”—whatever that meant.

Part of me still refused to give up hope that Liam and I would find our way back to each other, while the heavier part of me knew that he was too far gone. The way he had looked at me, combined with how badly he wanted to seek revenge on his father—and the emotions he must have felt seeing the photo of me in Quinn’s bed—made it impossible to imagine us getting back to the way we once were.

But none of that could ever erase the memories of sneaking away from the world, and the time we had together. The afternoons spent watching movies and getting frisky on the couch. The late nights spent listening to music on the veranda and getting frisky by the fire. The early summer mornings coming in from a surfing session and getting frisky in the hot tub.

“Ruby,” Quinn’s voice cut into my frisky thoughts. “Snap out of it and get in here.”

I was still standing by the door with my fingers near the alarm pad. “Where are you?” I re-entered the code to put the alarm in “stay” mode. That way if anyone came in from the outside, it would sound.

“In the pantry,” he called. “Looks like we have a choice between canned peaches and assorted nuts. Kind of an unpalatable and overtly sexual choice of foods, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. My life was over and hardly anything mattered anymore, but peaches and nuts were funny. “Disgusting, but sort of hilarious. Well played, Mr. Donovan.” After joining him inside, I looked around to make sure there were no lurking threats I hadn’t foreseen.

“I’ve already swept the house,” Quinn assured me. “We’re alone.”

“For now,” I corrected him. “Silver, Liam, and the European bimbo will be here in a while.”

“Eva’s a nice girl,” Quinn said, rummaging through the kitchen drawers for a can opener. “And she’s not European. She’s from Manhattan.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling sheepish for assuming incorrectly, and recalculating how I could hate a non-Viking sex goddess from Manhattan.

“She’ll be good for Liam. Don’t you want him to be happy?” Quinn continued.

“Happy in another girl’s arms?” I snapped.

“Happy in his life, regardless of whose arms he’s in,” Quinn said. “And I’m sure that’s what he wants for you, too.”

I shot him a sour look as I sat at the kitchen island, readjusting the handgun h
e’d
given me in the back of my waistline.