Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 21

Sasha led the man through the darkened hallway, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor as he followed like a dog on a leash. The moment they stepped into the private room, she gave it a once-over with a calculated gaze.

Red-tinted lights bathed the space in a sultry glow. A king-size bed sat in the center, draped in blood-red silk sheets that shimmered in the low light. Along the walls were racks adorned with handcuffs, ropes, toys of every variety, bottles of massage oils, lubricants, blindfolds, and other devices meant for pleasure or punishment.

The man licked his lips as he stepped in, his eyes drinking in the room before locking onto Sasha. He shut the door behind him with a loud click and twisted the lock in place.

Sasha turned slowly, her expression was coy, her body relaxed. The man closed in, grabbing her waist, pulling her in for a kiss. She let him, parting her lips just enough to keep him distracted.

His hands roamed her body hungrily, lips crashing against hers with feral desire. She waited—counted the seconds—then shifted her weight and moved. In a blur, she swung her arm up and drove her elbow into the side of his head.

The man grunted but didn’t fall. Instead, he laughed, shaking it off.

"Oh, baby likes it rough?" he growled.

Sasha spun low, aiming a kick at his knee. He staggered back, but instead of going down, he lunged at her like a bull.

She ducked, twisted, landed a punch to his ribs—but he caught her arm and flung her hard against the wall. Her back hit the surface with a dull thud. She cursed under her breath.

He came at her again, fists swinging wildly. She deflected one, then another, before landing a sharp strike to his solar plexus. He gasped but still didn’t fall.

She wasn’t expecting him to be this tough.

He tackled her, slamming her to the bed. The frame creaked violently. Sasha rolled, grabbing a bottle from the nightstand and smashing it across his face. Shards flew.

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Ten minutes passed. Quinn checked his watch and nodded to Gary and Calvin.

They moved behind the red velvet curtain and walked down the hallway. Doors lined both sides, each one identical, making it impossible to tell which was the right one.

"How do we know which room they went into?" Gary asked, his voice low.

As if on cue, the sound of glass shattering echoed from the far end.

Thud. Crash. Another grunt.

Calvin arched a brow. "Sounds like that one."

Quinn was already moving, storming down the hallway. He reached the last door, grabbed the handle. Locked.

"Dammit," he growled.

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Sasha wiped blood from her lip with the back of her hand. Her mouth stung, split from a hard punch. She spit to the side, red staining the silk sheets. Then she smiled, eyes gleaming.

"I do like it rough."

The man lunged again.

They collided, fists and limbs clashing. Sasha slammed her knee into his stomach, but he grabbed her by the throat and slammed her hard into the wall. Her vision blurred for a moment, ears ringing.

She could hear something—voices, maybe. Quinn’s voice, on the other side of the door.

She gritted her teeth, gathered what strength she had left. Her legs shot up, locking around the man’s neck. She twisted, rolled her hips, and pulled.

The man lost balance and crashed to the floor.

Sasha scrambled on top of him, her hands moving fast. She grabbed a half-broken handcuff from the nightstand and locked his wrist behind his back. He roared in protest.

She grabbed a length of rope from the rack and looped it around his neck, twisting hard, her muscles burning. He thrashed beneath her, kicking and gasping.

But she didn’t let go.

"You should've stayed down," she whispered.

His movements slowed. Then stopped.

She released the rope, panting hard, sweat slicking her skin. She sat back against the bed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Her lip throbbed, and blood trickled down her chin.

Then the door burst open, kicked off its hinges.

Quinn’s eyes scanned the room the second the door splintered open under his boot. The crimson glow cast eerie shadows across the walls, catching on the shards of broken glass and the sheen of sweat and blood.

Sasha was sitting against the side of the bed, her knees bent, one arm draped lazily across them as she caught her breath. Her black lace lingerie, soaked in sweat and stained in places with dark, drying blood. A thin gash sat just above her left eyebrow, a deeper split along her bottom lip, and a few crimson streaks trailed from her nose. Her hair clung to her face in damp strands, and yet—even battered—she looked more dangerous than ever.

Gary appeared behind Quinn, peeking over his shoulder. His eyes widened as he took in the lifeless body on the floor, face twisted at an odd angle, a faint line of rope burn etched around the throat. “Jesus,” Gary muttered. “Is he… dead?”

Sasha tilted her head, cool and casual, and nudged the man’s side with her foot. “I don’t know,” she said flatly. “Maybe sleeping.”

She gave another nudge with her toes. The body rocked slightly, but didn’t respond.

“Nope. He’s dead,” she confirmed.

Calvin stepped inside next, taking in the scene with a smirk. “I told you,” he said, looking at Quinn. “It’s never simple with her.”

Quinn ignored him, his focus solely on Sasha. She looked up at him, blood-smeared but steady, still breathing hard.

He stepped closer, kneeling beside her. He reached for a cloth on the nightstand—likely left for far more carnal purposes—and began gently dabbing at the blood on her face. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low, careful.

Sasha gave a half-shrug. “I’ve never been one for foreplay. Gets messy.”

Quinn let out a quiet scoff, a breath of a laugh escaping his nose as he carefully wiped along the cut on her lip. His fingers brushed against her skin, and his eyes drifted to her mouth—red, swollen, and still beautiful. The memory of their kiss in the supply closet back at the warehouse surged forward, uninvited and impossible to ignore. He could still remember how she tasted—sweet and wild, like fire and ash.

He lingered.

Sasha noticed. Her brow arched slightly. “Is my lip really that f****d up?”

Quinn blinked, snapping out of it. “No… your lips are…” He cleared his throat. “Fine.”

She studied him for a moment, but said nothing.

He stood, then bent to help her up. She took his hand without hesitation, letting him pull her to her feet. He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. She slipped it on over her lingerie without comment, the fabric hanging loose around her battered form.

Calvin stepped over to the corpse and crouched, reaching into the man’s inner jacket pocket. A moment later, he held up a small, silver key. He turned it in the light, inspecting it. “Found it,” he said casually.

Gary grimaced as he stared down at the body. “So what do we do with him? Someone’s gonna come looking. Someone’s gonna find this.”

“Then let’s leave before they do,” Calvin said, already heading toward the door. “I’m hungry. All this murder and intrigue has made me crave shellfish.”

Gary looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Shellfish?”

Calvin turned back, grinning as he lit a cigar. “There’s this place on the water—just outside the city. They’ve got the best lobster tails in France. Trust me. You haven’t lived until you’ve eaten one with blood on your hands.”

He took a long drag and exhaled, smoke curling around his smirk. “Let’s go, gentlemen.”

Sasha adjusted the jacket around her shoulders, letting the scent of Quinn linger faintly in the fabric. Her lips twitched, just barely, into a smirk. Quinn noticed, but didn’t say a word.

As they left the room, the shadows swallowed the body behind them.