Shadows of Loyalty

Chapter 22

The city lights shimmered outside the windows of the car as they left the brothel behind. Quinn sat beside Sasha in the backseat, Gary up front with Calvin at the wheel. The silence was heavy, broken only by the low hum of the engine and the occasional honk from other cars as they weaved through the narrow Parisian streets.

Sasha shifted beside Quinn, then leaned forward and gracefully climbed over the center console into the cargo area behind the back seats. She reached for a small duffel bag and brought it onto her lap. With swift movements, she unzipped it and pulled out a black, form-fitting thermal shirt and a pair of sleek, stretchy tactical pants, complete with hidden pockets.

She shrugged off Quinn’s jacket, handing it back to him without a word. He caught it and held onto it, his eyes subtly watching her.

Sasha pulled out a small first-aid kit, found the instant ice pack, popped the inner pouch, shook it, and pressed it against her swollen lip. Her expression didn’t flinch at the cold. She leaned back in her seat, eyes closed, completely at ease despite the bruises on her face.

Quinn stole another glance at her. Even injured, she moved with the grace of a dancer, composed, lethal, and beautiful. He looked away quickly when her eyes opened and caught him staring.

They pulled up to a place that looked more like a run-down shack than a restaurant. The sign above the door flickered weakly, and the paint was chipped and peeling. Calvin put the car in park and turned toward the group.

"Okay," Calvin said, eyes serious. "Rule number one: we're not CIA. Rule number two: we're not on the run. Rule number three: we're not the good guys."

He looked at Gary, then Quinn. "Go with the flow. No matter what happens in there, stay close to Sasha. Do what she says. Got it?"

Gary opened his mouth to protest, but Calvin was already out of the car.

Sasha turned toward them and smiled faintly. "Stick with me, and you’ll be okay. For the most part."

They followed Calvin inside. The place reeked of old grease and smoke. Behind the counter, a wiry, skeleton-thin man emerged, his skin pale, his eyes sunken, and jittery fingers tapping against his thigh.

"Calvin!" the man exclaimed, his voice cracked and high. "Back from the grave. Thought you were dead."

"Only on paper," Calvin replied coolly.

The man’s gaze shifted and landed on Sasha. His eyes lit up. "Aleksandra. My little Russian doll. Still as beautiful as ever."

He approached and kissed both her cheeks with a greedy smile. She tolerated it with a stiff nod.

Then his attention turned to Quinn and Gary. He sniffed, like a dog scenting something unfamiliar. "Who are these two?"

Calvin chuckled. "New dealers. Fresh blood. Thought we could talk privately."

The man nodded, waving them toward the back. "Come on."

They passed through a flimsy curtain into the back, and it was like walking into another world. The grimy restaurant front gave way to a maze of dim corridors, each lined with shady characters, whispered deals, and low music. The deeper they went, the worse it smelled—smoke, sweat, something chemical.

Finally, they reached a room that surprised Quinn. It was clean. Luxurious even. A round couch circled a glass table covered in bags and vials of various substances. The lighting was low, red and amber, and music played softly in the background.

They sat down around the table. The skeleton man—Calvin called him Spiro—plopped down across from them and began naming off drugs like they were candy. "You want frostbite? Devil's kiss? Or something classic, like dragon's tongue? Got a new blend called Whisper. It'll knock your socks off and make you see stars."

He took out a small capsule of blue powder and offered it to Calvin. Without hesitation, Calvin dabbed some on his tongue. His eyes lit up. "Delicious."

Spiro offered the same to Sasha. She took it calmly, licked it from her finger, and leaned back with a satisfied hum.

Then Spiro turned to Gary and Quinn, offering the drug with a crooked smile.

Gary hesitated. Quinn looked uncertain. Sasha raised a single eyebrow and gave a subtle nod.

They each took a small dose.

Moments later, it hit.

Quinn's whole body felt light, like his bones were gone and he was floating. Everything looked more vivid—colors popped, shadows danced, and the dim room glowed. The smell of the old wood, the spices from the kitchen, even Sasha’s perfume—everything was sharper.

Sound flooded in. He could hear conversations in the next room, the hum of electricity in the walls, the tiny creak of the couch beneath them.

He turned to Sasha. She was glowing. Her eyes were like burning emeralds, impossibly bright. Her skin, golden and flawless, seemed to radiate warmth. Her short, silver hair shimmered in the red light like a halo.

He reached out, barely thinking, and gently touched her hair. It was impossibly soft, like silk dipped in clouds.

Sasha turned to him with a chuckle, her voice suddenly the most soothing sound he’d ever heard. "You ever done drugs before, soldier boy?"

Quinn shook his head slowly, eyes wide.

Sasha leaned in a little closer, her breath warm on his cheek. "Then here's your first lesson... Think happy thoughts."

And just like that, Quinn smiled.

Everything else—the mission, the vault, the danger—faded into a haze of light and warmth. For now.

Quinn faintly remembered the rest of the night, but it blurred like watercolor in rain. One moment they were at the strange restaurant-turned-drug-den, the next they were back at the chateau. He didn’t remember the car ride, or walking up the path, but now he was stumbling inside with Sasha’s arm slung securely around his waist.

His legs refused to cooperate, making him lean heavily against her. Sasha held firm, her hand resting near his ribs, brushing against a sensitive spot.

Quinn broke into soft giggles.

Sasha looked up at him, one brow quirked. “Did I find a ticklish spot?”

Her fingers gently pressed tighter against his side, and Quinn jerked his body away instinctively with another laugh. “Stop,” he mumbled through a smile, “that’s cheating.”

She smirked. “You’re a lot more fun when you're high.”

Finally, they reached his bedroom. Sasha guided him to the bed, helping him sit down. She gently lowered him onto the mattress, fluffing the pillow behind his head.

“Alright, big guy,” she said softly, “let’s tuck you in. Sleep this off. You’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

Quinn’s head sank into the pillow like it was made of clouds. His eyes fluttered as the room swayed gently, but as Sasha turned toward the door, something sharp pierced the haze.

Loneliness. Panic. A fear he hadn’t expected.

His body shot up before his brain could register.

“Wait,” he said quickly. His voice cracked, a little too desperate. “Could you… stay?”

Sasha paused. Her hand was on the doorknob. She turned slowly and raised an eyebrow.

Quinn cleared his throat, trying to find steadiness in the swirling fog. “Just until I fall asleep,” he said, his voice softer now. “I don’t… I don’t want to be alone.”

For a moment, she didn’t answer. Then a faint smile tugged at her lips.

“Alright,” she said simply.

Sasha crossed the room, stepping out of her boots before pulling back the blanket. She slid in beside him, lying flat on her back, one arm behind her head, relaxed and casual.

Without thinking, Quinn shifted closer. The world tilted, and the only thing grounding him was her warmth. He nuzzled against her, wrapping his arms around her waist, his head resting gently on her stomach.

Sasha stiffened for the briefest second, then relaxed, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

“I think I’m floating,” Quinn murmured sleepily.

“You’re horizontal,” Sasha said dryly.

“I like this,” he whispered. “You smell good.”

“I smell like blood and drugs,” she said.

He chuckled, the sound muffled against her. “Still smells better than the motel Gary booked in Prague.”

Sasha let out a quiet laugh.

Quinn’s grip around her waist tightened slightly, not out of desire, but comfort. “You’re warm,” he said softly.

Sasha didn’t reply.

In the silence, Quinn felt his body sink further into sleep. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, he felt safe.

Just before the dark took him, he felt Sasha’s fingers lightly comb through his hair.

He smiled.

“Don’t leave,” he murmured.

“I won’t,” she whispered.

Sleep claimed him like a tide rolling in. Sasha lay still, watching him breathe, her face unreadable in the dark.