“It can’t be anything too dangerous,” I mused and glanced at one of the three security operatives in the cabin with us. “Bar looks good,” Quentin said, and the sound of crunching glass told me he was stepping into the room. She dropped from the helicopter and took point, leading four agents—the three from my cabin and one that had joined her from the cockpit—across the yard toward the front door of my grandfather’s vacation home. “I hear we’re brothers.”
I stared down at his hand, a little thrown off by this whole scenario—the drugs, music, and the presence of people I didn’t know ingesting God knew how many different inebriants. She was still wearing a light jacket, a pair of jeans, and a white blouse with no sign of a drawn gun. As we headed down the hall, with Erin, Emily, and Natashya in tow, Quentin asked, “So, that must have been one hell of a thing, finding out about your dad—our dad.”
“Ehhh… you could say that,” I said. Chloe whipped around, her hand disappearing under the light jacket she wore as she eyed the man who had kicked the table. However, taking off and leaving Chloe to die… I don’t know if I could recover from that.
