by Lynda Aicher
It’s what she wanted.
What had to happen.
Yet it still ripped her open and left her truly exposed to all the pain and guilt and self-disgust that she tried so hard to keep buried.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Marcus stared in mixed shock and disbelief at the open door of his loft. She was running. Leaving him and all he’d offered to hide back behind her roles. What the hell? He’d given her everything he had, told her he loved her and it all meant nothing to her.
“Fuck.” He gripped his hair and nailed a kick at the back of the couch. His boot bounced off the softness, leaving nothing but a scuff mark gouging the leather surface. It wasn’t enough. His chest ached liked he’d taken a helmet to his sternum—without padding.
Where’d he screw up? He knew she couldn’t stay here permanently, but he hadn’t expected her to walk away from everything as if it had all been a fun diversion for her. They could’ve worked something out.
They still could.
He wasn’t accepting this. Damn it. He wasn’t letting her run.
He tore out of the loft, heading straight for the stairs. The thunder of his boots hammered down the concrete stairwell to the ground floor. His racing heart wasn’t from the physical exertion, but the desperate flight to catch her.
He charged across the hallway to barge into the kitchen. Heads turned and people froze as he plowed past the cooks and wait staff to bang out the back door. The cold air attacked his heated skin, but he barely registered it. He sprinted down the alley and rounded the corner to bolt toward the main entrance of The Den.
The streetlights cast pale golden halos along the sidewalk and illuminated the mostly quiet street. His breath was displayed in white clouds that quickly disappeared into the night. Through the length of his flight, the only thoughts he had were to stop her. Keep her. Fix this.
He thudded to a panting halt before the startled eyes of the bouncer manning the door. The overhead light gleamed off of Tom’s bald head as he stepped forward to glance up and down the street. “Something wrong, boss?”
He sucked in another gulp of air. “Has she left yet?”
Tom stopped his appraisal of the street to frown at Marcus. “Has who left?”
“Quinn Andrews,” he snarled. “And why the fuck didn’t you tell me when she arrived tonight?”
Tom drew his shoulders back in time with the hardening of his features. “I did text you. It’s not my issue if you don’t check your phone.” At over six and half feet tall and shoulders that filled a doorway, Tom was one intimidating fucker, even when he wasn’t trying to be. Marcus didn’t care. Right now, he was more than ready to take him on.
“Has. She. Left?” He bit out each word through a jaw stiff with suppressed rage.
The beefy lips of the bouncer curled before he lifted his chin in a quick motion. “Here’s her car now.”
Marcus spun around to see the black SUV pulling up to the curb. The driver gave them a wave, and he was finally able to take a deep breath. Marcus had never been so happy to see Adam’s grinning face. He’d recruited him to drive Quinn to and from the club after her first visit. Adam was an employee and submissive who didn’t mind picking up odd jobs and helping out wherever he could. He had an overdeveloped need to please that would someday serve a Dom well.
Adam rolled down the passenger window and leaned across the seat. “Everything all right?”
The club swung door opened, cutting off Marcus’s answer as the inside chatter rolled out, along with Quinn. She was huddled within her long trench coat, looking even smaller than usual. The collar was flipped up to obscure part of her face, her eyes downcast, but her silvery hair streamed down her back, proclaiming her identity. He’d know her anywhere, though.
“Quinn.” Her name seemed to cut through the cold air like a bullet.
She froze, her shoulders rising as she brought her pocketed hands in tighter. The flinch was unmistakable and stung him. He’d never harm her. Ever.
He lowered his voice and stepped forward. “Talk to me, Quinn.”
Her only answer was a brisk shake of her head. She wouldn’t look at him, her gaze glued to the sidewalk. Damn it. This was all wrong.
“Please,” he whispered. He was unaccustomed to being the one begging and very aware of their gawkers. “We can fix this. Figure something out.”
He reached out to cup her cheek, and she jerked back so fast she stumbled. Her heel caught in a sidewalk crack, her hand flailing as she scrambled for balance. Marcus lurched forward and grabbed her arm to keep her from falling.
“Hey, Missy!”
The shock of hearing her stage name shouted through the night had Marcus jerking around to stare. The bright flash of light blinded him immediately. “Shit.” Another flash went off before anyone could react.
Two heartbeats were all it took for him to understand. He hauled Quinn to his chest and pointed in the direction of the light. “Stop him,” he yelled. His vision was obscured by yellow halos and flashing stars, but he didn’t need his sight to feel the trembling form of Quinn in his arms.
The high whine of a motorcycle racing away beat out the shouts and thumping boots of Tom and Adam chasing down the asshole with the camera. How in the hell did the guy find her? He’d kill the asshole if he ever got his hands on him. Was this what Quinn had to live with all the damn time? It would drive him insane.
“Sorry, Marcus,” Tom grumbled around a heaving breath. “The bastard got away.”
Marcus glared at the bouncer, his anger coming out at the easiest target. “What was he doing here in the first place? Didn’t you check the area?”
Tom clenched his lips and looked away. With apparent effort, he turned back to Marcus and calmly answered. “The bike was there when I arrived. It was legally parked. No one’s been loitering around, so what exactly did you expect me to do?”
“Let me go.”
Quinn pushed on his chest, and he loosened his arms, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do. His eyes had finally readjusted, the night coming back into focus, along with the distressed look on Quinn’s face. He clutched her elbow and started to move her toward the club door.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I need to leave.”
“So we’re back to that?” Fucking shit.
“Nothing’s changed.” She disentangled her arm from his grip and stepped toward the waiting SUV. “If anything, this only proves I’m right. Our worlds don’t mesh.” She brushed her hair away from her face. “I apologize in advance for whatever damage those pictures cause in your life.”
What the hell? The formal, polite, distant woman was not his Quinn. “I don’t give a shit about the pictures. This isn’t right.”
She took another step, her eyes cold and remote. “Let me go, Marcus. Or do I need to say ‘saffron’ for you to understand?”
The word smacked him upside the head with the truth. His chest constricted until the air refused to move, frozen in disbelief. He stumbled back a step and his knee chose that moment to balk and buckle. He caught himself on the wall and straightened, the understanding slowly turning him numb.
She really was done. They were done.
Adam stood by the open door of the SUV, his gaze averted and respectful. Marcus could order the man to go away and trap Quinn here, but he wasn’t so far gone to be that desperate. He’d already begged her to stay and it’d made no difference.
There was nothing left to save.
She didn’t look at him as she slid into the car. She kept her head turned away until Adam closed the door. The gentle slam pierced him with another dose of finality. Adam paused until Marcus nodded.
The tinted windows hid Quinn from his view. Was she watching him? She wouldn’t see anything if she was. A cold iciness had settled with him, freezing his features and every emotion that had been bubbling so close to the surface. A gust of November wind blew down the street and pushed at his bare chest like it was telling him to back off. Let her go.
He’d been so blind and arrogant. His determination that everything would work out had caused him to do exactly what he strove to never do with any sub. He’d taken her for granted and assumed she’d accept his lifestyle without question. Now she was gone.
The red taillights of the SUV were fading into the dark when the troops finally arrived. Marcus scoffed and shook his head as Vanessa, Jake and Deklan thundered out the door. Great. More people to witness his humiliation.
He turned away and head toward the back entrance.
“Marcus,” Jake barked. “What happened? Where are you going?”
The urge to keep walking, running, ignoring them all was so strong Marcus almost gave in to it. But maturity prevailed. Damn upbringing. He exhaled and faced his business partners. “There was some jerk from the paparazzi out here. He got a shot of Quinn as she was leaving.”
“What?” The shocked anger from Vanessa couldn’t be faked. “How in the hell did they find her?”
“Damn it. We don’t need that kind of publicity.” Jake glared at Marcus.
Marcus glared right back. “Like I don’t know that?”
“Is she okay?”
Deklan’s calm question seemed to knock some sense into the rest of them. Marcus consciously broke down his defenses and focused on the immediate needs of the club. “Yes. She’s fine. Adam’s taking her home.”
“Can we block the photos somehow?”
Vanessa shook her head at Jake. “Unlikely. We have no clue who the jerk is.”
“I’ll bet Rock can find out.” Deklan pulled out his phone and started typing. “In fact, I’ll bet he’s already on it.”
Marcus had forgotten about the outside surveillance cameras. If they caught anything, Rock could definitely track the asshole down. And then what? “What can we do? The damage is done.”
He didn’t relish the thought of everyone analyzing his last encounter with Quinn on the video playback. It was bad enough that Tom and Adam had witnessed it. The thought of his new partners watching his blazing trail of failure was too much. It’d be just like having every one of his dropped passes replayed over and over for the thousands of television fans to analyze and criticize. God, was that how Quinn felt every time her picture appeared in a magazine?
“He’s right,” Vanessa agreed. “Bribes are always possible, but I’m sure it would be out of our budget.” Goose bumps stood out on her exposed skin and she wrapped her arms around herself as a shivered raced through her. “Can we take this inside? We’re starting to draw attention.”
Marcus looked past them to see a number of members slowing down at the entrance to gape. Yeah, they didn’t need that. He trailed the others back inside as the coldness finally penetrated his numbness.
He tugged his phone from his pocket and cringed at the missed text message from earlier. He owed Tom an apology. Nine o’clock. It was still early by club standards, yet he was drained enough to believe it was three in the morning.
Quinn was gone. That was all he seemed able to register.
* * *
Quinn listened to the boarding announcement for her flight with mixed emotions. The rushed change and packing job she’d done at the condo ensured that she’d left things behind. It didn’t matter though. The cleaning company could either forward them on or she’d live without them. This was the last flight out of Minneapolis that night and thankfully she’d made it on. She didn’t trust herself to spend another day in the city. Not if she wanted to stay away from Marcus.
She slipped her dark sunglass to the top of her head and resisted the urge to scratch under the wig. The red, chin-length bob was one of her best disguises. Add in the absence of makeup, high tops and earbuds, and she easily passed for a disgruntled teenager. Funny that when she’d arrived there, that was the exact image she was trying to shake. Now she embraced it. Somehow, it was all fitting.
The jet doors were finally closing when Quinn took her first real breath in hours. It was one that held both relief and sadness. She blinked rapidly and dropped the sunglasses back in place. The pillow was tiny and the economy class seat smaller than she was used to, but since she didn’t require much space it didn’t bother her.
She cuddled under the blanket and rested her head on the airplane wall as it started to taxi. He hadn’t come after her. Then again, she told him not to. She couldn’t have it both ways, but it didn’t stop her from creating visions of him charging down the runway, demanding the airplane stop like some low-budget romantic movie. That kind of stuff never happened in real life. She should know after all her years of learning how fake everything really was.
How fake she was.
The shiver was sudden and quick. She tucked the blanket closer under her chin and curled her feet beneath her. Was that her big lesson from her time in Minneapolis? After everything she’d experienced and done, her single enlightening moment was she was one big fake? No, it wasn’t. She’d pretty much known that before she’d arrived.
Maybe that was the reason for the distance between her and her dad and brother. They were too real. It was probably a good thing she hadn’t called her dad and accepted his dinner offer. This way she couldn’t disappoint him when she didn’t show up.
The force of the takeoff pushed her back in her seat, and she stared out the window as the lights sped by. The wheels had just lifted when she noticed the snowflakes slashing over the wing. A faint smile curled her lips as she chuckled at the timing. If she’d stuck to her original plan and stayed through the weekend, she would’ve gotten to play in the snow with Marcus.
And like that, the prospect of the mild Southern California weather lost its appeal.
She closed her eyes and buried her nose in the stiff blanket. The detachment that she’d functioned under since walking out of Marcus’s loft was fading to leave behind a gaping emptiness. Hollow, that was how she felt. Where she’d always been filled with identities of some kind, now she seemed to have none. She was just Quinn.
She had two plane flights and one long night to figure exactly who Quinn was before she had to go back to being Missy. If that was even possible.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The photos mocked Quinn from the front page of the gossip magazine. Two of them, side by side. One cropped close to show her shocked face and open mouth that could be mistaken for a scream. The second was a wide angle with both of them shown. Marcus had one hand gripping her arm, the other raised as if he was going to strike her.
And it was only the top one on a stack of many.
Her stomach rolled and she breathed through her nose to keep her expression neutral. The photos had finally hit. Two and a half weeks of waiting, worrying and stressing and they’d finally arrived.
The pictures weren’t that bad in comparison to the “actresses on the beach” photos next to them. Wait—did she really just think it was better to be mistaken for an abused girlfriend than to have a roll of fat shown on a magazine cover? She shook her head in self-disgust. A month ago she might not have stopped to realize the thought was wrong.
“What do you think?” Her mother flicked her finger at the stack of magazines before resuming her dedication to preparing her breakfast, a task that was too regimented to be trusted to the cook. The scrape of the butter knife over the toast grated against Quinn’s eardrums with each pass.
“About what?” Quinn suppressed her sigh and took a sip of her coffee. The expertly made cappuccino smoothed down her throat, leaving a clean rush in her mouth only to land hard in her stomach. Funny how she missed the brew she’d been able to make in her own little pot back in Minneapolis.
Her mother rolled her eyes before scowling, something she rarely did as the lines marred her smooth forehead. “The pictures, of course. They’re great, don’t you think?”
“That’s not the word I would use.” Revolting would be better, but she couldn’t say that.
“Oh, come on.” Mary set down her knife and dusted her fingers off on her napkin before flicking a section of hair
away from her eyes. The dyed-blond locks were cut in the latest chin-length style that matched the sleek lines of her always impeccable outfits. “You couldn’t have staged a better shot. You didn’t, did you? Oh, never mind. It’s perfect in any respect. Now are you going to tell me who that handsome man is who’s about to hit you?”
Quinn was used to the barrage of questions. The nice thing about it was she got to choose which one she answered. “No. I didn’t stage it. But it’s definitely misconstrued.”
“Whatever.” Mary fluffed her fingers at Quinn. “Perception is everything, and that man looks like he’s going to beat you senseless. His harness gives me the chills every time I look at him. The sympathy will be pouring in. Have you checked your social sites yet?”
She couldn’t keep her gaze for holding on to the picture of Marcus. Even caught surprised, he was gorgeous. She had to fist her hand to keep from running her fingers over his image.
“What if it was real, Mother?” She stared down the woman who’d managed Quinn’s life since the day she was born. She knew her mother cared for her, yet many times it seemed like her mother had more concern for Quinn’s career than her happiness. “What if he truly did hit or beat me? Would you care?”
“Of course I’d care.” Her mother took a dainty bite of her barely buttered toast and shook her head. She carefully chewed the small piece before continuing. “But I know it didn’t happen because there’s not a mark on you.”
Quinn had to hold back her chuckle, but her smile couldn’t be stopped. Thankfully, mock turtleneck tank tops were still fashionable, and her closet held a large collection of them. There was only so much standard makeup could do to hide Marcus’s bite marks.
She’d gotten the collar off after taking a trip to a West Hollywood locksmith. The man had picked the lock, allowing her to remove the collar without ruining it. She couldn’t bring herself to cut it off, no matter what she’d threatened. She might never see Marcus again, but the collar held too many memories to destroy.