Brutal Vows

37

I take a few hesitant steps into the kitchen. “Quinn?”

He makes a sharp cutting motion with his hand and growls.

I put my hands up. “Okay.”

Ignoring him, I set the oven to preheat. Then I head to the fridge and start pulling things out. Next, I hit the pantry. I put everything on the counter by the stove, start a pot of coffee, and begin to chop veggies and prep for the meal.

Behind me, Quinn paces back and forth. Every so often, he huffs, sounding like a bull pawing the ground before it charges.

I fight the almost overpowering urge to turn around and give him a hug.

He drops heavily into a chair, exhales in a gust, then groans. The sound is low and full of misery.

When I turn to look at him, he’s got his elbows propped on the kitchen table. His eyes are closed and his head is gripped in his hands, his hair sticking through his fingers.

Without saying a word, I pour coffee into a big mug, add a teaspoon of sugar, and set the mug in front of him. Then I go back to cooking and ignore him again.

After a while, he says in a low voice, “How did you know I take my coffee black with sugar?”

Beating eggs in a mixing bowl, I smile to myself. “You seem like a man who likes a little sweetness, but doesn’t want anyone to know it.”

Grouchy as hell, he snaps, “Aye? Any other witty observations you’d like to share?”

“Drink your coffee. It’s too early to argue.”

For the next ten minutes, we don’t speak. With words, anyway. He sits and throws lightning bolts at my back, which I deflect with a calm that only seems to incense him more.

I can tell he’s spoiling for a fight, but I won’t give it to him.

Twice, he jolts up from the table and refills his mug from the coffeepot, only to return to the table, fling himself into a chair again, and recommence brooding.

After he lets out his third loud grumble in as many minutes, I’ve had enough.

I stop what I’m doing, cross to the table, pull up a chair beside him, and say quietly, “What is it? I’m worried about you.” Stunned, he blinks at me.

“I’m serious, Quinn. I want to know what’s wrong. Please tell me.”

He blinks again. “Did…did you just say please?”

“Cut the bullshit. What’s happened?”

When he only sits there staring at me like I just landed from outer space, I prompt, “Did you argue with Gianni? Did you find out something about those men? Has there been a change of plans?”

“The wedding’s still on, if that’s what you mean,” he says crossly.

I gaze at him for a moment, then sigh. “I’m sorry I’ve been so negative about that. I’m sure you can understand why, but…well, I was thinking that I’ve been really hard on you. Unfairly hard. After what you did yesterday…”

“What did I do?”

He says it as if he really has no recollection that he went full John Wick mode and hunted down and killed the men who blew a hole in the side of the house and wanted to kidnap Lili.

“You protected us. All of us. And you saved my life.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His burning gaze never leaves my face. He says gruffly, “You saved mine.”

“Probably not. I mean, that guy was a terrible shot. You would’ve blown a hole in his forehead before he could’ve gotten off another round. If it were me shooting you in the back, you’d be dead. Not that I would shoot you, because I’ve decided I don’t hate you anymore, but you know what I’m saying.”

When I smile at him, he exhales a small, astonished laugh.

“Just like that, you don’t hate me anymore?”

I make a screwy face. “Let’s say I’ve downgraded it to intense dislike and leave it at that.”

“And all it took was a few murders,” he says, looking dazed. “Had I only known that sooner.”

“Ha. But seriously, all joking aside. Are you okay?”

He stares at me for a long moment in silence, then demands angrily, “Who are you right now? Where’s the swamp witch?”

“Why can’t I be a swamp witch and a sweetheart? Hecate had three forms, and everybody worshipped her. Also, you’re one to talk, Dr. Jekyll.” I stop to think. “Or is it Mr. Hyde? I can never remember which one’s the monster.”

Appearing exhausted, he sags back into his chair and passes a hand over his face. “Every time I have a conversation with you, I feel like I’m going insane.”

“I take it that means you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I can’t!”

That leaves me deflated. “Because you don’t trust me.”

“No, because I don’t want to be telling secrets to the soul eater who replaced Queen Devil b***h with this reasonable person.” He waves a hand at me in irritation. “Whoever she is.”

I raise my brows and stare at him. “Excuse me…Queen Devil b***h?”

“Aye,” he says without missing beat. “No, wait. That’s not it—it’s

Queen Devil b***h of All Existence.”

I’m horrified. “That’s what they call me? How awful!”

He chuckles. “No, that’s what I call you. God only knows what the other lads call you, but whatever it is, I’m damn sure they’d never say it to your face.”

Deeply insulted, I say, “That’s because they’re afraid if they did, their wives would be picking out their caskets. Quinn, a swamp witch is one

thing, but…Queen Devil b***h of All Existence? Seriously?”