My Pulse

Chapter 6: Quinn Keane

What the fuck am I going to do? Cian isn't bluffing—I know that deep in my bones. He'll kill them, and it won't even register. It wouldn't be a blip on his radar. I burst into my apartment in a panic, but I remember I have guests. To my relief, they've already gone to bed.

I step into the shower, and the tears come almost immediately. The warm water rushes over me as I let myself cry, swallowed by the sheer weight of the situation. There's no way out. I have to meet him tomorrow. There's no other option. My head pounds from the tension as I turn off the water, dry off, and crawl into bed. But no matter how hard I try, sleep doesn't come. Frustrated, I reach for the bedside lamp and turn it on.

Sliding open the bottom drawer of my nightstand, I grab my emergency whiskey. I unscrew the cap and take a big swig, letting the burn soothe my raw nerves. Turning off the light again, I lean back against the headboard, cradling the bottle on my chest. "Well, fuck," I mutter, cursing the situation under my breath.

If I can't sleep, I might as well work. I pull my laptop onto my lap and open my email, determined to focus on my article for Monday. But the moment I scan my inbox, my breath catches. There, sitting bold and unread, is a subject line: **"About Tonight."**

I freeze. My stomach churns as I click it open.

**"I am not bluffing. See you tomorrow. Sleep well, my Mo Cuishle xx."**

My jaw tightens, my hands shaking. The nerve of him. He sent me a fucking kiss. Pushing the laptop aside, I fling myself out of bed, pacing the room as panic and fury swirl together in my chest. I need to tell Rory. I need to tell someone. But I remember he has company. I hover at his door, my hand poised to knock. Then I shake my head and turn away.

Instead, I head to the fridge, grab a Guinness, and pop some popcorn. It's settled then—I'll meet Cian tomorrow. I have no choice. Flopping onto the couch, I swig my beer and turn on *What Happens in Vegas*. Anything to distract me.

"Quinn, wake up," Rory says, jolting me awake.

"What?" I groan, barely conscious. "Let me sleep." I don't even remember passing out last night.

"I have to know what the hell was up with that guy last night," Rory presses, his tone insistent. He's not letting this go. "Was that the guy? The one who confronted you outside the Clover Café?"

"No!" I say too quickly, then immediately try to calm myself.

"Who was he then?" Rory demands.

"Who are you, my father now?" I snap, glaring up at him. Guilt washes over me the second the words leave my mouth. Rory's only trying to protect me, just like I asked him to. His expression softens, and I hate myself for not being able to tell him the truth. Cian's warning rings in my ears—anyone could be a target.

"No, I met him at the bar a month ago with Jillian," I lie smoothly.

"Right..." Rory says, his skepticism clear.

"Ask her yourself," I challenge.

"I probably will," he mutters, crossing his arms. "I mean, you can take care of yourself, but he seemed like bad news, Quinn."

I force a smile, though my insides twist. "You're right. I can take care of myself. And I like him, Rory. Trust me, I'll let you know if I need help getting rid of him."

"Okay, just be careful, Quinn. Like I said, he seems dangerous," Rory says, his concern still evident.

"I will," I assure him.

His grin returns as he asks, "So, what's for breakfast?"

I should've known that was his angle all along. "Pancakes?" I suggest, and he nods eagerly.