Hi:) I'm alive! Insert personal problems that have delayed my writingXD Anywho hope this sorta-filler chapter satisfies! So this may answer some questions or it may give you more;) who knows? Ps. Continuity is a pain:1
-Somewhere in Mexico-6 hours after incident-
Quinn stepped over the whimpering men, pushing a loose strand of hair out of his face. He tucked the two guns he "acquired" off the thugs into the band of his jeans, putting a new clip into the one he was already holding. A forlorn glance at his destroyed burner phone made him hope that the Boston cop got his message. He was lucky that Spencer had a sense of foresight for potential danger, and it only grew when Ford honed that ability. It was what hitter/retrieval specialist/assassins do-make a backup plan. Somehow though, Quinn didn't expect himself to be called so soon-much less it be because a car accident caused by the Russian mob put the Leverage crew in a vulnerable spot.
"Hey!" A voice cut his thoughts off as he fired a shot at the idiot that came around the corner and announced his presence to him. The man didn't even try to shoot him. It was actually insulting how useless the security was for this place.
Quinn approached and stepped over the body, turning the corner and entering a nearby room that held his target.
Bright brown eyes caught his and muffled sobbing quieted as the woman stilled at the sight of him. Holding his gun in a loose and placating way, he started towards her with a slow and non-threatening walk.
"My name is Quinn. Your father sent me to rescue you." He thought through what words to say, knowing 'sent' was better than 'paid' and 'rescue' than 'retrieve'. Experience taught him that hostages tended to react better to sympathetic heroes than mercenaries.
He had to say that he really couldn't blame them.
Shaking off a potential flashback, Quinn knelt in front of the woman and eased the tape off her mouth.
"¿Mi padre?" She whispered with a hoarse voice, then corrected herself to fit her savior's natural tongue instead of her own. "My father?"
"Yes. Let me just come around to undo the rope and we can get you out of here and back home." Quinn softly assured her, more impatient to leave and take care of the next thing on his to-do list.
"Está sangrando."
"What?" He asked lazily, not quite hearing what she said.
"You are bleeding." She responded with wide eyes and he followed her gaze to a crimson stain on his pants.
"Great." Quinn mumbled, throwing a quick glance at his left leg as he finished untying the captive woman.
She immediately tried to stand, shaking on legs that could barely hold her from inactivity for too long.
He hoped the adrenaline rush he was currently experiencing would stay long enough to get them out of here.
"¿Estás bien?" Quinn looked up to worried eyes. Really if he took a moment, he could appreciate how beautiful the woman was with her soft tan skin and dark black hair that frizzed away from her face.
But this was not the time.
"I'm fine. It's just a graze." He lied. Well he didn't actually lie but the graze was a bit more serious than a bandaid could help. However, civilians-much less hostages-freak out easily so he tried to put it in terms that would give him the most compliant and calm tag-along for this scenario.
It was still pathetic how horrible the security was for the building. He got in and out with the woman in under ten minutes with only a slightly serious bullet graze as total damage.
An hour later, he returned the woman home to her family and accepted half the agreed upon money (because he maybe bad but he's not completely heartless). That and kidnapping cases were a softspot for him-not that he'd ever admit it.
Thirty minutes and fifteen homemade stitches later, he was ready to call in some favors for his favor.
"Hey, Mikel. You want a job?"