Hellooooo, this is short, but it's coming. two chapters left? I think so. Thanks for the reviews as always.
x-leanmean
"Quinn! What a pleasant surprise!" Vince says, chuckling as he throws his arms in the air. "Do come in! May I get you something to drink?"
"Stop talking."
Feigning the zipping of his lips with his finger, Vince grins and settles into his chair, folding his hands on his stomach.
"My someone is testy today."
Quinn can practically feel the smoke coming out of her ears as she walks from the doorway to his desk, Maroney's men moving out of the way as she approaches. In the chair next to the desk she stops suddenly, her breath stealing from her chest as her eyes widen. The man from the coffee shop was chatting away with other guys over cigars like he hadn't spent the afternoon putting bullets in someone's chest.
"Ah," Vince says, gesturing to the man. "I see some introductions are in order. Miss Fabray this is my right hand man Leo. Always dependable that Leo, always. I see you've met."
Leo turns at his name and notices Quinn, standing to shake her hand.
"Pleasure."
Quinn turns back to Maroney and explodes.
"How dare you, Vincent Maroney. To... murder someone, so young, and so talented... how dare you steal her away from the rest of the world. She was special. She was so special. And now she's gone."
Vince nods then sighs, his lips tight.
"I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about, Quinn."
Slamming both hands down on his desk, Quinn leans towards him as the men in the room reach for their hand guns.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about, Vince, don't play with me. The rising Broadway star? The burlesque extraordinaire?" She digs her index finger into his chest. "The lynch pin in your court case? My wife, Vince? None of these ring a bell?"
Raising an eyebrow, he wraps his hand around Quinn's finger and curls it back into her fist.
"Those are some awfully large accusations you're throwing around there, Miss Fabray. Surely, a reporter knows she needs to check her facts first."
"You killed my future, Maroney. Do you really think I'm here on the job right now."
Standing slowly, Vince looks down on Quinn as she leans over his desk.
"No one comes into my home and attacks me, no matter who-"
"YOU SAY HER NAME!" Quinn screams, knocking the books off his desk. Lowering her voice, she seethes, staring him down. "Say her name, Maroney."
"What happened to Rachel Berry is not my fault."
The loud crack of Quinn's palm meeting his cheek is the last straw. Her arms are yanked behind her and she's fairly certain her shoulder is out of place as she's dragged from the room by three men, Vincent Maroney's focused glare following her, the slight purple swell of a hand print already starting to show on his face.
"You'll get yours, Maroney." She screams, struggling against the men. "I swear on her grave yours is coming."
"STOP!" Maroney screams, the room falling silent. He takes a slow breath, then motions someone forward from the corner.
Quinn's mouth drops open.
Her boss steps up to him, handing him a drink as he wraps an arm around her shoulder.
"Nicole?"
She nods, watching Quinn evenly.
"Family takes care of each other, Q."
Quinn shakes her head as the woman stares her down cooly, completely emotionless.
"...You make me sick."
As Nicole raises an eyebrow Vince clears his throat.
"I'm sorry that you have lost your family, Quinn, as it seems you are the one who has brought mine back to me. For that, I will let you go today." Smiling lovingly down at his daughter, he then turns back to Quinn, fixed between the three men in the doorway. "But consider us even. If you put your nose in my business again, you'll be meeting your wife for dinner. Are we clear?"
"Crystal."
The rough texture of the bricks adds injury to insult as she's thrown on her ass on the steps, the front doors slamming shut behind her. Picking herself up, she pulls out her cell phone and hits end.
Game on.
"So she was there? That bitch."
"Santana."
"Sorry Brit. That witch."
The recording muffles as voices raise.
"Do you think it's enough?" Santana says, pulling her knees to her chest.
"It'll be enough for the jury to take Quinn's point of view seriously." Dexter says, hitting the stop button on the recorder. Quinn sighs as she leans back, squeaking on the leather of the safe house couch. "With this, Quinn's testimony, the interviews with Rachel on tape, the bloody clothes, if we can get those guys to turn... it could be enough to put Maroney away." Pushing his glasses up on top of his head, he rubs his eyes. "It's really too close to call, girls."
Quinn rolls her head onto Santana's shoulder, watching the light as it flickers over the desktop.
"Why don't you try to get some sleep?" Dexter says, pulling out the case file to review. "The morning will be here before we know it. There's still a lot to prepare in the few days we have left."
As he took the file and left the room, the girls cuddled into each other on the couch, but there was no comfort to be had; no matter how they turned, something was always missing.