Resisting Ruby Rose (The Ruby Rose Series) (22 page)

CHAPTER 30

After we all talked shop for several hours, debating locations, tactics, and weaponry, we came to a consensus: Chinese takeout.

I ordered wonton soup, egg rolls, and mochi ice cream. Everyone was far less grouchy after a good meal. Something we hadn’t had in a while and wouldn’t get for a longer while, if all went according to plan.

Good news came from Eva during dessert. Liam was awake and showed no signs of permanent injury. His concussion, lacerations, and bruising would heal soon, and maybe h
e’d
be back to the old Liam. Maybe h
e’d
have forgotten how much he seemed to hate me the last time we saw each other. Maybe his near-death experience would remind him how much he loved his family and how paramount it was that he go back and take care of them. Maybe h
e’d
forgive me.

“You gonna eat that?” Mathews poked my pink gel–encased ice cream with his finger.

“Not anymore,” I said, granting him victory. We always used to make that move on each other’s food. Once the other had touched it, it was forfeited. The trick was to pay attention to your plate, or you might lose what was on it. “How does it feel to beat a girl?” I asked, another common exchange.

“Better than being beat by one,” he said, patting me on the head—just like Jack Rose used to do. Having him here was a luxury I hadn’t appreciated enough until now. “He would be so proud of you.”

A lump formed in my throat. I knew who Mathews was talking about, and I wanted to say something kind to him in return. Something about how my dad would’ve been so grateful to Mathews for stepping in to take care of his famil
y . . .
but I couldn’t. My feelings were too raw in this unguarded moment, too fragile.

All I could muster was “Thank you.” It wasn’t a thank-you just for the compliment, but for his fierce loyalty, his self-sacrifice, and his willingness to put his life on the line for me and my family over and over again.

“Yeah, well, you’re pretty awesome—for a girl.”

And there it was: Mathews’s way of making everything OK.

We sat in silence for a while, both of us filled with lingering thoughts of Jack Rose. When I couldn’t take it anymore, I got up to stretch my legs.

“I think I’ve had too much testosterone-filled company for one night,” I said. Quinn had delivered some food to Rosie’s room, but I doubted she felt like eating much. Something about being kidnapped doesn’t exactly make you hungry. It makes you desperate. I remembered my time in the cage: Filthy Five #2 about to sell u
s . . .
shooting all those me
n . . .
Silver bailing me out in the end, when I was about to be shot in the head. There was nothing I wouldn’t have done or risked, including my life, to save my friends.

“I’ll see if Rosie needs anything,” I said, heading upstairs.

I knocked two times as a courtesy to let her know I was coming in. I didn’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I wasn’t prepared to see her hands in cuffs and tears running down her face. A sleek metal cord connected the cuffs to the headboard so she could at least get comfortable anywhere on the bed, but not beyond.

Shocked, I stood in the doorway for far too long. This was so not cool—and it was all my fault.

“We really need to clean you up,” I said, walking past her to the bathroom. Actively doing something for her seemed like a better choice than staring at her like an idiot, letting her see the sympathy I felt for her.

After getting a wet washcloth, I sat on the bed next to her. The skin on her wrists was raw and swollen. She had tried to pull herself out of the handcuffs. I wished I had some antibiotic and pain-relieving ointment to offer her. Instead, I had only the cloth and my guilty heart.

“Would you like me to do it?” I asked.

“No, I’ll do it,” she said, bravely reaching for the cloth with both hands.

“Can I at least pull your hair back for you and redo your braid?”

“I guess so,” she said, her voice cracking. She was afraid of me, like I was going to hurt her somehow unless she obeyed. “How long am I going to be here?”

“Not that long,” I said, swinging my legs up onto the bed and crawling over to kneel behind her. Smoothing out her dark hair, I fought against my natural instincts to save this girl. From behind, she looked like Alana. All my life,
I’d
been seeking out ways to protect the innocent, picking fights with bullies and more recently taking out murderers. I wanted to help her, uncuff he
r . . .
except she was the only thing that connected Martinez and me.

“What are you guys going to do to me?” she said, obviously thinking the worst.

“Nothing is going to happen to you,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. She jumped and scooted closer to the headboard.

“Then why am I here? Why can’t I go home?” Tears and trembling overcame her.

“You’re only here to keep you safe. It’s a place to rest unti
l . . .
” I trailed off as I considered how much to tell her. Telling Rosie how truly despicable and evil her father was would only hurt her undeservedly. Her father’s sins had nothing to do with her. I remembered Dr. T telling me that sh
e’d
withheld the truth to protect me. Maybe it was time to stop punishing everyone for keeping painful truths from me.

“Until what?” Rosie asked, turning to meet my eyes and pulling me out of my hesitation.

I saw her fear and sadness. I felt her confusion and pain. The poor girl was unlucky enough to be related to the biggest douchebag in California.

“Until we can meet with your father,” I said. I climbed off the bed and headed for the door. I couldn’t handle much more of this.

“So you can kill him for real this time?” she asked, a false courage in her voice.

I absorbed the accusation in stride, only slightly surprised that she had figured me out.

“Something like that.”

I shut the door behind me and drew a deep breath. If it helped her cope, maybe we could be the bad guys so sh
e’d
never have to know what deranged blood ran through her veins. Maybe after this, she could move on and live a normal life. Maybe.

I went into the hall bathroom and scrubbed my face with hot water.
I’d
officially joined the dark side, and it chilled me to the bone. If there was still some goodness left in me, like Quinn said, I didn’t know where it was.

I had to believe it wasn’t gone. But if I was ready to kill when I had to, put lives at risk when the situation demanded it, and imprison an innocent child when it served a greater purpose, then the shoreline that Jack Rose worked so hard to instill in me might be lost forever.

As I stared at the flushed girl in the mirror, I vowed to make sure Rosie came out of this in one piece, and that her life wouldn’t be ruined. Even if I had to send her to college personally with the millions this life had earned me.

Tomorrow we would leave and try to pull off a mission unlike any
I’d
ever seen, and I had to be ready.

I sat at the kitchen table looking over the blueprints of the J. Paul Getty Museum in L.A. The council had spoken—the Getty was the ideal location for drawing Martinez into a weak position. Apparently, after one call from Skryker, the director of the museum had closed it for several days due to a “gas leak.” Not only was the Getty ideally located on top of a hill, isolated from the general population, but it had a new wing still under construction, which lent itself nicely to tactical strategy. No quick getaways, no unforeseen booby trap
s . . .
the cards were finally stacked in our favor.

Working with Skryker in this way made me doubt that anyone could go up against his power and expertise and win. So it made me happy, for now, to have him on my team. Silver was more muscle and guns—attributes not to be trifled with, either—but Skryker had a cunning mind when it came to the entirety of a mission. I couldn’t help admiring the way the two of them united their strengths instead of bickering over their differences. I liked to think the same maturity and diplomacy would be retained later, when I told Skryker he could take his leverage over me and shove it.

Which made me think about Bill Brandon. I still knew little to nothing about his death.
I’d
asked Skryker point-blank several times what happened, but all I got was a series of curt responses (from looks of condescension to silencing words) and nothing to give away that he was really behind it.

Maybe
I’d
get the chance to ask Martinez if he had anything to do with Brandon’s death when I saw him tomorrow. Before one of us took him out, that is.

“You should get some rest,” Quinn said from the couch. “Come have a pre-mission nightcap with me.” He held up his flask as if it were at all alluring.

“That stuff smells like an old Scottish man’s butt,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “I don’t know how you drink it.”

“One day I’ll teach you to appreciate the finer things in life, like single-barrel scotch.” Quinn sank deeper into the couch and started playing with his phone.

“I’ll stick with good ol’ Diet Coke, thanks,” I said, envying his ability to relax in these circumstances. And to use a phone. It had been only a day and a half since Quinn disabled my preciously bedazzled cell, but I missed it like it had been much longer.

“Now
that
stuff tastes like an old fat American’s arse,” he teased.

“I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.” I hid my smile by dipping my head back down to memorize the exit and entry points.
I’d
been to the Getty several times but had never realized what a maze it was. Alana and I visited our sophomore year as an extra-credit assignment for our World History class. All I remembered were a bunch of old European paintings.

If only I could call Alana now. I wondered if she was worried about my being on the run from the police. If she had been to see Chase, and if they were both being harassed endlessly about their involvement with me. I hoped she was recovering from the trauma as quickly as possible.

“When are they supposed to be back?” I asked Quinn.

“You don’t need to wait up for them,” Quinn assured me without taking his eyes off his phone. “They’re big boys.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not worried about their safety. I just think that we should go over the plan a few more times based on possible scenarios.”

“Believe me,” Quinn said, looking up for a brief second. “Those guys don’t need to go over more scenarios. It’s simple—we put the bait down and wait for Martinez from a superior position. Skryker and his tech team monitor surveillance through the Getty’s state-of-the-art security system, while Silver and a few of Mathews’s men respond.”

“I think you’re taking this too lightly, Quinn. It’s not simple at all. A hundred things could go wrong. Martinez isn’t going to do what we ask. He isn’t going to come alone and unarmed.”

“Silver did when Martinez used you as bait, because he had to,” Quinn countered, turning off his phone and joining me at the table. “Fathers do desperate things when they love their daughters.”

“You’re assuming Silver came to Grissom Island because he loved me,” I argued.

“What other reason could he possibly have had? He had a coupon for unrefined oil and it was about to expire?”

“Maybe he felt guilty. Or acted out of a sense of duty. Or maybe he just wanted to see my mom suffer for what she did. Who knows?” I stared down at the table. I wanted to believe he came because he loved me, but I honestly wasn’t sure.

“I know,” Quinn said, running his fingertips along my jawline. It never got easy for me to be touched in this way, by Liam or Quinn, and I flushed. “He loves you. Skryker had been recruiting him for more than ten years, and it’s only because of you that he accepted. He’ll do anything, including give his life, to save you. He’s not as bad as you want him to be.”

My eyes narrowed after that last psychological assessment. “What’s that supposed to mean? I don’t
want
him to be bad.”

“Come on, Ruby. Ever since you met the bloke, you’ve been punishing him for a mistake he made seventeen years ago.”

Suddenly, I felt exhausted. I wasn’t in the mood for this conversation right now. I needed to focus, not falter with keeping my heart protected from a father I still knew so little about.

Quinn continued. “I’m just saying that if you only had one night to get to know your real father before something might happen to him, you might want to take that chance.” He grabbed a fortune cookie off the counter and returned to his scotch on the couch.

Maybe he was right. What if something happened to either Silver or me tomorrow, and I never even asked where he was born? Or if he had a family. Or why he chose to become an assassin.

I leaned back and grabbed a fortune cookie, hoping that fate would point me in the right direction. I cracked it open, and the paper fell out on the blueprints.
If you dare to take risks, love will find you.

“What’s it say? That a dashing gent will steal your heart?” Quinn said. When I didn’t answer, he read his aloud: “
You are quite the entrepreneu
r
. . .
in bed.”