Cherry Bomb: A Siobhan Quinn Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

the room’s one window, which appeared to have been painted permanently shut quite some time ago. Out on the sidewalk, I watched a tall, thin man climb into the passenger seat of an idling black SUV with Massachusetts plates.
    “Is it even Selwyn?” I asked her.
    The SUV had already melted into the stream of traffic flowing downtown.
    “Yeah,” she said. “Selwyn Throckmorton, just like I told you. Want to see my passport and driver’s license?”
    “Not especially,” I replied, still watching the street. “But I am having serious second thoughts about stickingaround. Whatever bind you’re in, I’ve got better things to do than get caught up in it myself.”
    “Do you? Do you really, Quinn? What would that be? Lurking around the city, keeping an eye out for the next miserable man or woman willing to provide safe haven in return for the occasional hit off your carcass?”
    I turned towards her. I’d say that I
spun around
, but I’ve always hated that phrase. Makes me think of whirling dervishes. I turned around very quickly. And very angrily. I felt the Beast rising, the
loup
swelling beneath my skin, ready to set my entire body and mind on fire. The Beast in me has a nasty habit of showing up when I’m really, really pissed, full moon or no, and suddenly I was really, really,
really
pissed.
    “Little girl, you do not want to go there,” I said, and the words came out in sort of a half whisper and a half snarl. Every syllable was loaded down with threat. “Whatever the next words out of your mouth are going to be, you’re gonna want to choose them very goddamn carefully.”
    So, there I stood with my back to the window, and there she stood with her back to that locked door. Probably there’s some sort of symbolism in that, but if so, I have no idea what it might be. Selwyn didn’t appear the least bit afraid, only stubbornly defiant, almost daring me, and that made me even more angry. The
loup
writhed and banged at the bars of its cage.
    “I’m not sure just when you got the idea that I’m afraid of dying, Quinn.”
    I took a step towards her, knocking over a stack of books in the process. Maybe she wasn’t afraid, but she jumped at the noise of them tumbling to the floor.
    Don’t do it, you stupid bitch. Get a fucking grip and do not let that dog out to play.
    Something like that went through my mind, again and again and again. The Beast strained at its raggedy leash.
    I said, “Sorta thought you might be smart enough to possess at least a scrap of self-preservation. But maybe you’re only
book
smart.”
    “And maybe,” she said, that sly, wicked smile of hers returning, “you have it all turned around backwards. Maybe, Siobhan Quinn, I just went out last night to find an interesting way to commit suicide. And here you are, unable to control yourself, about to give me exactly what I want.”
    No one calls me Siobhan. Even Mean Mr. B knew better than to call me Siobhan.
    She took a step towards
me.
    “OK,” she said. “If you’re too weak to control yourself, come on.”
    I yanked back so hard on that figurative leash it’s a wonder the damned thing didn’t snap and take whatever was left of my sanity with it. But hell if I was about to give either one of them the satisfaction, my Beast or Selwyn. Maybe she was bluffing, and maybe she wasn’t, but on the off chance she was serious, on the off chance she actually was taunting me into killing her . . . fuck that. I took two steps backwards and bumped against the windowsill. Defeated, the wolf withdrew. It knew from experience there’d be lots of other opportunities.
    “Liar,” I growled. Yeah,
growled
is the most honest and accurate way to describe the way the word came out. “You might be a grifter, but no way you’re in this for theshort con. You wouldn’t have waited this long if that was your angle.”
    “Yeah,” she said. “You’re probably right.”
    How had she even learned my first name? I sure hadn’t told her. I