Chapter 14 Which Hand
Quinley recognized him instantly—Percy's henchman.
"Damn it, you're really fucking good at hiding!" He grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her flesh as he dragged her toward the parking lot. "Think you can avoid us forever?"
Percy stood waiting, his white suit a stark contrast to his short, stout frame. Leaning against the car hood, he resembled a frosted winter melon in the autumn chill—short, round, and covered in white.
"Avoiding me?" His eyes raked over Quinley with predatory intensity as he approached.
With each step, Percy's presence expanded—aggressive and intimidating, like a pufferfish inflating its spines.
"Mr. Thomas," Quinley said quickly, forcing a placating smile, "you've got it all wrong. Why would I avoid you? I've been working non-stop without sleep. Ask Ms. Davis—she'll vouch for me."
"Bullshit!" Percy spat. "What damn job is more important than my life? Making me wait at the hospital—who the fuck gave you that right?"
His henchman joined in, emboldened by his boss's rage. "Disrespecting my boss? You've got a fucking death wish!"
The man raised his hand, ready to strike. Quinley had no time to dodge—she could only close her eyes and brace for impact.
But the slap never landed.
A dull thud followed by an agonized scream made her eyes fly open.
Percy's henchman was on the ground, blood streaming from his forehead. Beside him lay a phone with a shattered screen.
Everything had happened so fast that neither Percy nor Quinley caught the details.
Percy's mouth hung open in disbelief.
"What the hell?" he muttered.
Quinley wasn't stupid. Someone had intervened to save her. The phone looked familiar...
Scanning the area, she spotted a black Maybach about thirty feet away. Zachary's ride.
The window was half-open, someone sitting inside—she couldn't make out who, but whoever it was could see her clearly.
A wave of humiliation washed over her, like being stripped bare.
Quinley wanted nothing more than to disappear, but she managed a grateful nod toward the car before turning to leave.
Percy reacted with surprising speed, his fingers clamping around her wrist. "Where the fuck do you think you're going? Today I'm settling all accounts with you—old and new, with interest!"
"Can we talk somewhere else?" Quinley pleaded. The last thing she wanted was for Zachary to witness this humiliating scene.
"Trying to play fucking games with me again, huh?" Percy sneered. "You're asking for it!"
His filthy language matched his actions. Right there in the public parking lot, he reached for Quinley's chest.
Another dull thud, another shattered phone hitting the ground.
Quinley recognized it immediately—Zachary's phone. He hadn't shown himself, but his message was clear.
Percy clutched his forehead as crimson blood seeped between his fingers.
"Hey there, asshole! If you've got the guts, come out and face me!" he shouted toward the Maybach. "I swear I'll kill you!"
Before his tirade finished, the Maybach's door swung open.
Lucas Murphy stepped out—tall and powerfully built, a wall of muscle. As Zachary's assistant and bodyguard, every movement screamed professional fighter.
Percy squinted up at him, clearly outmatched despite being twice as wide.
Lacking any self-awareness, he jabbed a finger toward Lucas. "So you're the one who threw—"
He never finished his sentence.
Lucas moved with brutal efficiency. Before Percy could process what was happening, he found himself pinned to the ground, reduced to pathetic whimpering.
His hateful glare remained, but his courage to curse had evaporated.
"Mr. Murphy, thank you," Quinley interjected, her voice tense. "Mr. Thomas and I just have a misunderstanding—we can resolve this ourselves."
Lucas looked at her with confusion. This wasn't the Quinley he knew—standing up for someone who had just tried to assault her.
He kept his foot firmly in place, his gaze shifting toward the Maybach. Waiting for orders.
Quinley bent down to collect both shattered phones and handed them to Lucas. "I'll transfer money for these right away. Sorry to trouble you to buy replacements."
"Are you sure you don't need help?" Lucas asked, accepting the phones.
"Really, I don't." Her smile didn't reach her eyes.
Lucas removed his foot from Percy's chest and gave Quinley a long look filled with disappointment. Without another word, he turned to leave.
The moment Lucas's back was turned, Percy resumed his verbal assault. "I'll make you pay for this in blood!"
He struggled to his feet, one hand on the ground, the other gripping a tire.
When Quinley reached out to help, he shoved her away.
Lucas spun around so quickly that Percy fell back in fear.
"Whick hand of yours touched her?" The bodyguard's voice dropped to a menacing whisper.
Percy tried to maintain his tough façade, but Lucas gave him no chance.
A swift kick connected with Percy's mouth—Quinley only registered a dark blur before two front teeth skittered across the pavement.
Blood streamed down Percy's chin as he howled.
"This one?" Lucas stepped on Percy's right hand.
Percy shook his head frantically.
"This one?" Lucas shifted to the left hand.
More frantic head-shaking.
Lucas's expression hardened. Two brutal kicks later, Percy's wrists hung at unnatural angles, accompanied by sickening cracks.
Quinley hadn't asked for Zachary's help, but his message was unmistakable: Touch his woman? Death wish.
Percy writhed on the ground, his pristine white suit now filthy with blood and dirt.
Quinley's heart plummeted—Zachary had only made things worse.
The more severely Percy was injured, the more suspicious Alicia would become, making Quinley's already precarious situation even more dangerous.
"Mr. Thomas, are you alright?" She crouched beside him, genuinely concerned despite everything.
Lucas delivered his final message, each word precise and cutting, "Ms. Elikin, Mr. Jennings wants to know if you've lost all your pride."
The words stung. When she was still by Zachary's side, no one dared disrespect her. She never flaunted her power, yet no one dared humiliate her like this.
Even the foolish few who tried quickly learned to bow their heads before they could act.
Now she was being cursed at and nearly assaulted, yet showed no anger? Even defended her abuser? What had happened to her?
"Can pride buy me food on the table?" Quinley replied with a hollow laugh, the double meaning clear only to herself.
Lucas, a straightforward man, couldn't grasp the complexity behind her words. "Take care of yourself," he said before walking away.
The Maybach's engine roared to life, then faded as it exited the parking lot.
Quinley stared after it, releasing a long, weary sigh. Her troubles were just beginning.
She helped Percy into the car despite his continued fury. "I won't let this go!" he slurred through his broken teeth.
"Let's go to the hospital first," she coaxed gently, "then we can figure things out, okay?"
"Not okay!" Despite his defiance, he followed her suggestion.
Lucas had been merciless. At the hospital, the doctor cataloged Percy's injuries: multiple bruises, comminuted fractures in both wrists, and front teeth broken beyond repair.
After being fitted with splints and plaster casts, Percy lay in the hospital bed, his heavily bandaged hands raised helplessly. Maybe he should be called Percy Bandagehands.
Unable to curse freely with his damaged mouth, his rage found other outlets.
He tormented Quinley with constant demands—complaining about pain in his waist one moment, his legs the next, ordering her to massage away his aches.
He had mistaken Quinley for an easy target, a sweet heart he could bully at will.
Only now was he discovering she was a tough bone to crack—one that wouldn't break no matter how hard he pushed.