by Monica James
It’s times like these when I wish I could drown my sorrows in a bottle of tequila, but after living the life I’ve lived, I know that’s just a short term solution. In the morning when I’m nursing a nasty hangover, hating myself for having that ‘one last shot,’ all my problems will still be there.
But I guess being a drug dealer at age eight and having a crackhead for a father changes your opinion on addiction. So maybe I’m just biased.
My new combat boots sit in a heap in the corner of the room where I dumped them. I decide to wear them with my black ripped jeans. I slip on my Harley Davidson t-shirt, and although it’s too big, and annoyingly slips off one shoulder, it’s the only thing I have that’s clean. I don’t leave the room without slipping my new blade into my boot, feeling safer with it on me. Giving Lucky a pat between the ears, I head down the stairs, crossing my fingers I don’t trip over Quinn and some random girl along the way.
South Carolina is actually a pretty cool place, and it turns out, wherever the hell we are, has a pretty kicking nightlife. The area we’re staying in has enough bars and nightspots to keep the population happy.
I walk past a pizza place that smells amazing. I know I really should eat something, but I can’t. The thought of eating sends a wave of nausea through me.
As I pass guys and girls on the busy street, I can see they’re dressed to impress, ready to have a good time. I shrug off the feelings of uneasiness as strange men ogle me like I’m fresh meat. Thankfully, I see an old school sign buzzing up ahead announcing The Blizzards are playing in the next fifteen minutes. Maybe Quinn is here. He certainly wouldn’t have to look far for some female company to forget all about me in this seedy place.
Shouldering past a preppy couple making out in front of the small doorway, I make sure not to touch them as I enter.
“Five dollars,” the goth girl on the door barks, extending her hand my way, totally uninterested.
I pull out a five from the back pocket of my jeans, and try not to recoil when she grabs at my arm and stamps my wrist with a happy face, which sits just above my moon tattoo.
There’s no way I’ll be able to see if Quinn is in here. The small place, which looks like a rundown coffee shop, is packed. I’m not short, but standing at 5’5” amongst giant, burly men and girls in mega high heels makes it virtually impossible to see anything. I try not to shove past the patrons who are waiting impatiently at the bar while some God awful Grindcore band are tearing apart my eardrums, but it’s hard not to when my ass is getting smacked by every second male in the venue.
Fortunately, I score a table at the back of the murky room, out of sight of everyone, which suits me just fine. I perch upon the stool and instantly gain three feet. Swiveling the chair from left to right, I attentively look for Quinn, but I still can’t see him.
Damn, where could he be?
The horrible band finishes up, and they go about packing up their gear in no real hurry. Great, this is going to be a long night.
“Are you here all by yourself, sweetheart?”
And my night just got a whole lot longer.
It feels as if a giant is standing near me, as I can feel his overpowering mass standing above me, no doubt looking down my top. Shuffling up in my seat is pointless, as he still has about a hundred feet on me.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his hot breath caressing my neck.
“Nope, all good, thanks,” I reply, looking up at the huge jock standing too close for comfort.
He’s in a gold and blue varsity jacket with the number one printed on the front, right-hand side. I’m thinking that maybe he plays for the local football team. And from the size of him, and he’s overwhelming ego, I’d say he’s the quarterback. No doubt he’s accustomed to most girls swooning over him, dropping their panties before he even says hello. But I’m not most girls.
And I hate jocks.
So, looks like he’s shit outta luck.
“Aw, c’mon, darlin’. One drink ain’t gonna hurt,” he slurs, placing his beer on the dirty table and reaching for a vacant stool, pulling it up next to me.
Oh, your genitals won’t be saying that after I crush them under my new boots.
“I’m good, thanks,” I casually reply, trying to appear occupied while staring up at the stage.
Varsity Jacket moves closer to me while I shift away, repulsed by the smell of beer and his heavy handed cologne, which is assaulting my nostrils. His hand slaps onto my knee, stopping me from moving another inch.
My body recoils, and he’s about two seconds away from being headbutted in the stupid face if he doesn’t move his hand.
“She’s spoken for.”
I would know that voice anywhere. And in this instance, it’s music to my ears.
Raising my eyes, I meet Quinn’s heated gaze, and oh my God, how is it even possible that I have desperately missed him in such a short time apart? He looks, as usual, hotter than all hell, mixed with a dash of devilish rebellion. His lengthy hair is blanketing his large, emerald eyes, but I can see they’re dangerously narrowed, as they have dropped to the meathead’s hand, which is currently pawing at my leg.
I move it away, but his hand is like a magnet and just goes with me.
“If you don’t move your hand,” Quinn snarls, still eyeballing it, “you and I will have a problem.”
But Varsity Jacket is obviously getting off on the exchange as he tightens his hand on my leg, shifting it higher up my thigh.
I’m just about to headbutt him, but Quinn gets there first. He reaches over the small table, yanks on the lapels of his jacket, and connects with his face.
I gasp as the big brute drops to the ground with a thud, tumbling ass over tits as he topples into an ungracious heap on the sticky floor. He doesn’t get back up, as Quinn has knocked him out cold.
My mouth hits the table, and I can’t believe the swiftness and speed of Quinn’s attack. He’s like a ninja, without the outfit.
“Move,” he snarls into my ear, reaching for my elbow, indicating for me to get up.
I happily comply, as we both need to get out of here before Varsity Jacket comes to and identifies us, drawing unwanted attention our way.
The smell of alcohol fans across my face as Quinn exhales angrily when I try and break out of his firm grip. He only tightens his hold on my upper arm and closely guides me through the masses of people. This time around, my ass thankfully remains unmolested.
As we push outside, I try and jerk free, but Quinn stubbornly pulls tighter, not budging an inch. This is getting ridiculous. We have only been on the run for two days, and if the police, or my dad and Phil don’t end up killing Quinn and I first, we’ll end up doing the job for them.
I protest loudly, digging in my heels and cursing for him to let me go, but it all falls on deaf ears as Quinn just quickens his step, charging toward the motel.
The moonlight highlights the hardened set of his jaw and the incensed look in his wild eyes. I know once we get into our room, World War Three just may erupt.
As we round the corner and approach the bottom of the stairs to the motel, I grab onto the railing, holding on for dear life. Quinn jolts forward as he ascends the first step because I won’t budge and am standing my ground. I’m afraid I’ll be torn in two as he attempts to coax me into loosening my grip.
“Red…” he says through clenched teeth, his breath coming out heavily. “Let go, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you up every step, kicking and screaming.”
“No,” I stubbornly insist, leaning back to gain better balance.
He rotates his body, turning to look at me, and because he’s a step above me, he looks all the more menacing.
“Let. Go,” he spits, his hair entirely shrouding his eyes.
“No,” I reply defiantly. “I dare you to try and carry m—”
Before I have a chance to finish my dare, his strong hands wrap around my waist, hauling me off the ground, and I’m seeing the skyline of South Carolina throu
gh Quinn’s legs.
“Put me down!” I screech, kicking out crazily as he climbs the stairs, totally ignoring the fact he has flipped me over his shoulder like a five-year-old.
His hands are strapped over my legs, just under my butt, and as I twist around, trying to crawl up his body, he slaps me on the ass—hard.
“Ouch! You motherfu—”
I don’t get a chance to finish my cuss because he kicks open the door to our room, probably breaking the hinges with the force. He then tosses me onto the bed. I bounce off, as the surface is like a freakin’ bouncing castle. Planting my fists into the mattress to stop myself from falling face first onto the gross carpet, I glare at him something wicked.
Quinn stalks to the bed while I quickly arise and face off with him on the other side. The only thing that separates us is the mattress, which may as well be nonexistent, as Quinn is about to charge.
“You are the most impossible woman I have ever met, and that’s saying a lot, seeing as I have met a lot of impossible women!” he yells, his fists bunching up by his sides.
“Oh, I’m sure you have!” I scream back at him. “I’m sure you have probably fucked most of them! Oh hang on, I take that back, you only go for the easy ones with the I.Q. of a pea!”
I am shaking in rage, eyeing him, wishing I had something pointy handy to throw at his arrogant face.
“Easy ones? Ha! You really want to go there!?” Quinn chuckles angrily, interlacing his hands on the top of his head. “If that were true, then what the hell am I doing with you?” he asks, his cheeks flushed in rage.
I take a step back, because hearing him say something aloud that I have thought over and over for the past two days feels like a stab wound slicing through my heart.
My anger and frustration comes exploding out of me, and I’m afraid I won’t ever stop. “No one is keeping you here! Leave!” I scream, pointing to the door. “Do us both a favor and leave! Do you think I want you here? Do you think I want you caught up in all my fucking mess? Do you?”
My body begins shaking in fury, but also, in fear that he will leave me, because I have done nothing but made his life hell.
Quinn’s hardened features soften when he sees I’m on the verge of hysteria. “Red, I didn’t mean—”
But I stop him.
Storming over to where he stands, I shove him as hard as I can with both hands, burying my fingers into his solid chest.
“Leave!” I bellow. “Go on! Leave!” Again I push him, but he doesn’t move, his tenacious stance not budging.
The tears I have been holding onto for so long break free, streaming down my cheeks, burning my eyes. I can no longer see Quinn, as my vision is drowning in endless tears. What right do I have to cry when Hank lies in a morgue somewhere, dead? What right do I have to cry when Tristan is lying in a hospital bed, healing from a wound I may as well have inflicted myself?
None.
I don’t realize I’m slumped onto the floor, sobbing hysterically, until I feel Quinn’s soft lips pass over my face, hair, mouth, whatever piece of me he can reach to try and calm me down.
But I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve comfort. I push at him wildly, but his strong arms never let me go as they enfold me into his chest.
“No,” I croak weakly, trying to shove him away, but still, he won’t shift.
“I don’t deserve this,” I sob, my tears tasting salty as they slip into my parted lips. “I don’t deserve you,” I declare on a howl. “I deserve to be in a hospital, not Tristan. I deserve to be dead, not Hank. And only I deserve to be on the run, not you.”
My fears, my guilt has coming pouring out of me, and now, I can’t stop.
“Quinn, I killed Hank,” I weep uncontrollably. “I did nothing to help him! I just stood there while they shot him. I may as well have pulled the trigger!” I scream.
“Red, that’s not true,” Quinn says quietly, but I can hear the catch in his voice, trying to remain calm.
“Yes, it is! All of this is my fault. I’m riddled with a grief so deep, I don’t know how I’m going to go on. How can I live with myself after all this, Quinn? How?” I pull back, my bottom lip trembling, tears clouding my view of him.
“You’ll go on,” he pauses as he corrects, “we’ll go on, because those motherfuckers are going to pay for what they did to Hank, to Tristan, and to you. And I’m here every step of the way, Red. Every step. I won’t leave you, I promise you. No matter how hard you push me away, I will push back twice as hard, because I know you feel it.” He reaches for my trembling hand, placing it over his heart, locking his hand over mine. “I know you feel every slice of pain, every sliver of regret, every piece of anger I feel, and together, we will fight it. We will get through this because once it’s over, we’re going to be… free.”
Just the word itself sounds like my redemption, and even though I don’t know Quinn’s secrets, I do know he has his own cross to bear. Together, we will get past our demons, and just… live.
I know, Plan A and B were just weak excuses to push Quinn away, hoping he would be like everyone else I have ever met and disappoint me. But he hasn’t. Quinn Berkeley is unlike anyone I have ever met.
He is the eighth wonder of the world. Scrap that—he is my first and only wonder of the world.
“I’m sorry.” I sniff. “I was only trying to protect you,” I explain, referring to my Grade A, asshole behavior over the past two days.
“Sshh,” he whispers, wiping away my tears with the back of his knuckles. “I know. It just took me a little while to figure it out. But no more, okay?” he says seriously, his eyes searching mine.
I nod, tears spilling over my wet lashes and onto his fingers.
“We do this together. I’m here because I want to be here. Because I want you,” he says, and before I have a chance to reprimand him, he seals his lips over mine, kissing me with a ferocious passion which engulfs me from head to toe.
My body melts as he bites my lower lip and plunges his tongue into my mouth, claiming my lips as his own. I know in this moment I belong to Quinn, and all plans of pushing him away have been rendered null and void.
So no more plans, and no more schemes. This is raw and this is real. And this is the first time in two days I have felt alive.
Chapter 7
Freedom
I wake after the most peaceful sleep I’ve had in two days. And I know the reason behind that is Quinn.
How is it possible I’ve grown to depend on him in such a short amount of time? I feel safe with him, as he seems to be my equilibrium. If we’re off, then so am I. But if we’re balanced, then everything is, well, steady.
“Mornin’.”
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and sitting up, I look around the room, which is only illuminated by the gentle glow of the small TV.
“What time is it?” I ask, clearing my throat when I see Quinn sitting on the two seater brown sofa, channel surfing, the volume muted.
“A little after four,” he replies, his eyes fixated on the TV.
His bare feet are propped up on the coffee table in front of him, and his tangled hair is cascading into his intense eyes as he focuses on the TV, in deep concentration. The hard set of his jaw reveals something is wrong.
“Come here,” he says when I just sit and stare, my foggy brain playing catch up.
It’s freezing, so I reach out and snatch up one of Quinn’s zip up sweaters, which sits on the end of the bed. Wrapping myself into it, as it’s about five sizes too big, Quinn’s eyes flick up to meet mine and a small smile tugs at the corner of his beautiful lips.
“That look suits you,” he teases, opening his arm out to the side for me to cuddle into him.
“Whatcha watching?” I ask as I sit near him, tucking my legs underneath me, his sweater covering my cold legs.
He pulls me into his side, wrapping an arm protectively around my waist. “Just checking out the news,” he replies, but not before I hear him inhale deeply.
“Quinn, I
think we’ve discussed that sniffing people is considered creepy,” I joke, but silently I relish in the feeling.
A deep chuckle resonates through him and vibrates into my body, spreading goose pimples like wild fire throughout my entire frame.
“I can’t help it. You smell so good. Consider yourself lucky I’m not sniffing other things.” He laughs when I slap him lightly on his hardened abs.
“Anything?” I ask, gesturing toward the TV with my head.
“Nope,” he says, relieved.
I know he’s been checking to see if our faces have been plastered on the local news as wanted fugitives—so far so good.
“I was thinking,” I yawn, still tired after my marathon sleep.
“Uh oh,” he cuts me off, turning me in his arms to face him. “I hope you haven’t come up with yet another plan, 'cause Red, they kinda suck.”
I slap him again, harder this time, and he laughs.
“I’m serious,” I say, pouting.
“Okay, what’s up?” he replies, putting on his serious face.
I begin fidgeting with the zipper, zipping it up and down a few times before I speak.
“What if we called the police and put in our own anonymous tip? We can say we saw two men, matching my dad and Phil’s description, leaving Night Cats on the night—” but I can’t finish that sentence without wanting to hurl. “It’s worth a shot,” I opt for instead. “Shake it up a bit, so we’re not the only ones the police want to speak to.”
Quinn shrugs, my tiny frame jiggling with the movement. “It might be worth a shot,” he says, disheartened, and I realize it’s a stupid idea.
“I’m—”
“Zip it, Red,” he says, before I have a chance to finish my sentence. “I don’t want your apologies. So quit giving them to me.”
I give him a small smile, as it’s nice to hear he doesn’t hate me.
“So what do you think?” I ask, peering up at him.
“I think anything is better than nothing. Even if it falls on deaf ears, it might help take some heat off of us.”