by Monica James
“Heard what?” Quinn asks, his eyes wide, waiting for me to speak.
But when I remain silent, trying to understand how everything has just turned to shit in the span of two minutes, Quinn barks, “You heard what, Red?” He shakes me harder.
“Hey, man, let her go,” Justin says, taking a step forward.
“You take another step, and I’ll make sure it’s your last,” Quinn spits out, never breaking eye contact with me. “What did you hear?” he asks again, nodding in encouragement for me to continue.
“Him,” I reply on a whisper.
That word has never sounded so dirty, and nausea rolls over me once again.
“We have to find Lucky,” I sniffle, not wanting to imagine what has happened to him.
“Fuck,” Quinn curses, grabbing my hand and leading me away from Justin, who looks confused and angry.
I have no time to question why, as Quinn is dragging me toward the front entrance where we left Lucky. He’s gone.
My heart crumbles in my chest and I choke back a sob. “Where is he, Quinn?” I say with a tremor in my voice.
“I don’t know, but we’ll find him, I promise,” Quinn says with sheer determination, as his eyes dart around the courtyard.
I can’t help but think, if and when we do find him, what shape will he be in? The sound of barking alerts both Quinn and me, and we turn to see Lucky limp toward us.
“Lucky!” I scream and run toward him, as his front right paw is hanging at a grotesque angle, hindering his walking.
“Stay, boy!” I yell, as he’s struggling to move.
The moment I reach his side, I drop to both knees, throwing my arms around his neck. The tears I have been holding onto spill free, and I sob into his soft coat as he collapses onto the cold ground.
The relief I feel is overwhelming, and I pass my hands over every inch of his body, making sure he’s real. It isn’t until Quinn gasps that I pull away and see what has him winded. My hand pauses, and I notice Lucky’s black and white coat is covered in smears of red blood.
“Where’s the blood coming from?” Quinn asks, dropping to both knees, frantically examining Lucky’s body with both hands.
“Oh God,” I choke, my hands following Quinn’s desperate search to find the wound.
“It’s not his blood,” Quinn says after a minute of thoroughly examining Lucky, and he turns my left palm over, letting out a tiny gasp.
I hiss in pain. The blood is coming from my hand. I vaguely remember slicing it open in the bathroom, and now that the adrenalin has worn off, it throbs in severe pain. I attempt to pull it toward me, wanting to cradle it to my chest, but Quinn holds on tight as he tears apart a strip of his grey shirt, carefully wrapping it around my hand.
I recoil with the pressure, but allow him to tie it tight so it’ll stop the bleeding. The sticky blood runs down my arm, but because of my long sleeved sweater, it concealed the bleeding.
“Sorry,” Quinn says, flinching with me when he sees I’m in pain. “I didn’t even see you were bleeding before. I just—” but he doesn’t continue. “You’ll need stitches,” he sighs, stroking my wrist once he’s done.
“I’ll be fine,” I reply, nuzzling my face into Lucky’s fur. “Lucky is the one who needs stitches. Did you see his paw?” I ask, looking up at him, frowning.
Quinn nods. “We’ll have to find a vet,” he says. I close my eyes, resting my cheek against Lucky’s chest.
“Want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Quinn asks, but I just can’t speak, not yet.
A thunderclap alerts us that the heavens are about to open up, and I can’t help but think this is just the beginning of a wild storm.
Chapter 23
House Arrest
“What are you doing?” Quinn demands, watching me move madly around the room, collecting my belongings in a whirlwind of panic.
“I have to go,” I reply, dropping to my knees, searching for my missing Chuck under the bed.
“Red, just stop. You’re giving me whiplash with all your buzzing around. Come here,” Quinn demands from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed.
Finding my missing shoe, I back out from under the bed, puffing my hair off my brow.
“We don’t have time.” I sigh, getting to my feet.
As I attempt to move to the dresser, Quinn halts my movements by wrapping a hand around my waist and ensnaring me onto his lap.
“Stop,” he says, inches from my face, his breath fanning my cheeks. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
After we left the gallery, I pretty much remained mute, patting Lucky, lost in my own world. I grunted out bits and pieces of what happened to Quinn, so he had an idea of what went down. But I had to be careful because I knew Justin was listening.
We found a vet who took one look at Lucky and confirmed that his front paw was broken by force. He would need to operate, and estimated Lucky would be at the clinic for two days after the surgery to recover.
Two fucking days meant Quinn and I were stuck here with my dad and Phil biting at our heels.
The thought that my father was breathing the same air as me is a thought I cannot process without feeling sick to my stomach. But what’s worse is that he had the chance to end this, all of it, and catch me unaware, but he didn’t. Instead, he opted to toy with me, alerting me to the fact that he’s onto me, and can strike at any time.
Leaving Lucky’s collar was his way of playing with me, leaving a message that he’s always two steps ahead of me. No matter how far I run, he’ll always catch up to me. No matter who I bring into my life: Hank, Tabitha, Tristan, Quinn, Lucky… he’ll hurt and destroy.
And I can’t live with that on my conscience.
Sitting side saddle on Quinn’s lap, I wrap my arms around his taut neck, ready to break his heart.
“I’m leaving you,” I whisper, my lips tremble as the words leave my mouth.
Quinn laughs in response, which is not the reaction I was expecting.
“I’m serious,” I say, cocking an eyebrow.
Quinn nods, his messy hair slipping into his eyes. “I know.”
“And you’re laughing?” I ask, confused by his bipolar.
“It’s just funny that you think that’s even an option,” he replies as he reaches for a roll of gauze sitting on the nightstand.
He uncoils my injured hand from around his neck and unties the bloodied mess of his grey shirt off my palm, which acted as a makeshift bandage.
As I watch his gentle fingers pass over the cut lightly, examining the damage, I ask, “What do you mean?” But I know exactly what he means, because he’s right. Leaving Quinn will hurt me more than being captured by my dad. “What do you expect me to do?” I question softly, sagging in defeat. “Lucky will be at the vet for at least two days. I can’t just stay here. We’re sitting ducks, and it’s only a matter of time until my dad will get sick of waiting. He’ll hurt everyone I love,” I say, lowering my eyes.
“Hey,” Quinn soothes, lifting my chin with the tips of his fingers. “I won’t let him hurt you ever again, okay?”
“You can’t promise me that, and I don’t want you to. This isn’t your problem. It’s mine.” I hiss when Quinn begins wiping my cut with a damp cloth.
Quinn sighs, the frustration showing in his clenched jaw. We’re silent for a few moments, and I watch as Quinn tends to my wound with such care.
His sharp voice breaks the hypnotic stillness of his gentle fingers, tending to my aching, swollen flesh. “Your problems are my problems. I wish you’d get that.”
I appreciate his chivalry, but how can I live with myself if anything happened to him? Today was the wakeup call I needed.
“How do you expect me to just sit by and allow you to endanger yourself, Quinn? I can’t.”
“I’m a big boy. I know what I’m doing,” he retorts, rubbing a white ointment into my palm, and then begins unraveling the length of gauze around my hand.
“I’m sick of running,” I confess so
ftly. “It doesn’t matter where we go; my dad is always going to find me.”
I’m barely holding back my tears now, as the reality of the situation sets in.
Quinn nods, his eyes focused on treating my injured hand. “I know you are. And so am I,” he sighs softly.
“You are?” I ask, wiping away a stowaway tear which has escaped the corner of my eye.
“Of course I am. This is no life for you,” he barks, his jaw clenching in anger.
“You either,” I add, because this is not just about me.
Quinn nods, and his hair slips over his brow, blanketing his narrowed eyes. “No more running then,” he declares.
“What?” I gasp, because surely I haven’t heard him correctly.
“We stop running, and we figure out another plan. We’ll call Abi tomorrow and get her to talk to her dad. This is just too dangerous for you. Today was too close. If anything had happened to you—” He pauses before he confesses, his eyes swimming in regret, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”
“Stop it,” I say, pressing my pointer finger over his lips. “This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”
Turning his face, he spits, “I should have been there.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have let my guard down,” I snap. “There’s no point playing the blame game,” I finish, hoping he’ll see reason.
Quinn thankfully nods and lets it go.
“So, what do we do now?” I ask, watching as his fingers clasp the bandage together with some tape.
Quinn draws his piercing into his mouth, deep in thought. “Well, we have no other choice. We have to keep a low profile till Lucky recovers.”
“So what do you propose we do till then?” I ask, suddenly heating all over.
Quinn’s sinful mouth tips up into a lopsided smile as he traces over my moon tattoo, which is peeking out from underneath the bandage.
“I can think of a few things,” he replies, his eyes lifting to meet my bashful ones, and my pulse quickens.
“Oh, Red, you make this too easy,” he says, wetting his bottom lip.
“What do I make easy?” I ask, curious to know what has him undressing me with those wicked eyes.
“Fantasizing about you in all compromising… positions,” he simply replies, a dimple hugging his cheek.
I almost jet off his lap at his confession and he chuckles, dipping his head and drawing my lower lip into the warm cavern of his mouth. I moan at the contact. He pulls away all too quickly and I pout.
This is going to be a long couple of days.
***
I can’t sleep.
My hand is throbbing and Quinn is right, I think I need stitches. The bandage has turned red with blood.
There are Advil's in the bathroom, and I decide to take a couple, hoping to numb the pain so I can catch a few hours’ sleep.
Not wanting to wake a snoring Quinn, I tip-toe to the door so I can grab a bottle of water from the fridge. With my hand poised on the door, I hear a muffled voice out in the hallway. I know it’s Justin, and I know spying on someone isn’t polite, but my body acts before my brain can tell me otherwise.
I close the door softly behind me and creep out into the hallway, shrouding myself in the shadows. Justin is standing in the living area with his back turned to me, whispering to someone on his cell.
“I know, sorry. I fucked up.”
The person on the other end is chewing Justin out, and he rubs the back of his neck in frustration.
“Yeah, well, I’m trying. It’s not as easy as you think. Okay, fine. Just hurry the hell up.”
I have no idea what Justin is talking about, but I have a sneaking suspicion it can’t be good.
The look he gave me today was one of anger, and I don’t know why. Yes, Quinn spoke to him a little harshly, but considering the circumstances, surely Justin can understand. But Justin is hiding something. His conversation with me at the bar, when he confessed he is hell bent on revenge, is one I haven’t forgotten. And one I haven’t mentioned to Quinn, either.
“Consider it done. Just make sure you bring what I need. Yes, I’m sure. She means nothing,” Justin says, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I shiver with the callousness behind his tone, and feel for whomever he’s speaking about. Suddenly feeling a chill, I creep back into my room. Suddenly I’m not very thirsty.
Silently slipping back under the covers, I can’t kick this feeling of dread. Deep down, I can’t help but think my father could have killed me and no one would have known it was him. But I’m alive, and as strange as it may sound, that thought is more troubling than him wanting me dead.
Chapter 24
Bait
My entire body is on fire.
From the crown of my head, to the soles of me feet, my body is alight. And the reason for that inferno is Quinn Berkeley.
The sting of his tongue ring as he licks every inch of my skin hits me straight between the legs, and the pain throbbing in my heated valley has my back bowing off the bed, fisting handfuls of pressed linen sheets.
But he’s relentless, and each moan which escapes through my parted lips encourages him to heighten the exploration of my entire being.
“Do you like it?” Quinn asks breathlessly, swirling his wicked tongue around my navel.
“Yes, God, yes,” I moan.
“Do you want me to go lower?” he asks, his green eyes rendering me a hopeless pile of gooey Quinn goo.
“Yes, please,” I reply on the verge of begging.
Quinn’s dimple appears briefly as he gives me his trademark lopsided smile, then he slowly slides down my body, his lips leading the way. As I feel the first wet lick sweep up my entrance, I know I’m done for and I am his prisoner till the end.
His large hands splay out across my ribs lightly, holding my body in place, as I’m about to rocket off the bed, and I fear I will never come back down.
“You taste fucking delicious. Does it feel good?” Quinn asks from between my legs, his warm breath tickling my drenched, swollen flesh.
“Yes, Quinn, it feels amazing. Don’t stop, please don’t ever stop.”
I’m almost there, I can taste it, but suddenly, Quinn’s mouth is nibbling the crease in my neck.
How did he get up there so quickly?
“Wake up, Red. You’re dreaming,” I hear faintly, a suckling echoing in my ear.
“No,” I groan. “Let me finish.”
I’m so close; to stop now would just be damn cruel.
But the warm chuckle is like a cold bucket of water dousing my raging hormones, and my eyes snap open, only to realize I was dreaming. I’m panting incredibly loudly, and my cheeks feel inflamed. As I turn my eyes toward Quinn, the blush spreads over my whole body.
How embarrassing. I just had a sex dream, and the man smiling smugly at me was the star in my very public show.
Groaning, I throw the blanket over my head, hoping to hide away until my embarrassment fades, which should be in about fifty years.
“Red,” Quinn chuckles, attempting to shift the blanket off my face.
I fight him and hold onto the fleecy material, with no intention of ever letting go. This only has Quinn laughing louder and yanking harder, but still, I won’t budge.
“Please let me wallow alone in my humiliation,” I squeak.
“And miss all the fun?” he replies, slipping under the sheets with me when it becomes clear I’m not letting the blanket go. “If you’re not coming out, then I’m coming in,” he breaths, inches from my face.
“You’re invading my personal space.” I huff, moving back an inch, but Quinn stops my escape, his hand ensnaring my waist.
“Five minutes ago, you didn’t seem to mind me invading your personal space. I think you even begged me not to stop,” he chuckles. I punch him on the arm, mortified.
“Oh, fuck you,” I say, poking my tongue out at him.
My comment has Quinn raising his eyebrow, and I kick my ass for leaving myself open with s
uch a statement.
“Don’t,” I caution, pointing my finger at him, warning him not to go there.
With palms raised in surrender, Quinn smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Although, you might,” and he breaks into fits of laughter when my mouth drops open in mortification.
“I’m never going to live this down,” I groan, tossing my arm over my eyes.
Being cocooned in this tight space with Quinn has flashes of my dream taunting me with visual images I’m ashamed to be reliving. This has never happened to me before. I mean, I know boys have wet dreams, but do girls? I mean, is that even possible? My achy flesh is telling me that it’s very possible.
“Let me see those pretty eyes,” Quinn says softly, reaching for my wrist and sliding my arm off my face.
“Better.” He smiles when I meet his bright emerald jewels.
I still don’t know what to say, as I have no doubt Quinn heard me panting his name out in wanton need. There really is no way to deny it, so I decide to remain quiet.
“So, how are you feeling?” he asks.
Mortified, humiliated, and horny my brain screams. Instead, I reply, “I’m okay.”
“Your hand all right?” he asks, softly reaching for my palm.
There is limited light underneath the heavy mass of blankets, so he can’t see the bandage is stained a bright red.
“I’m fine.” I smile at his concern.
“My tough girl,” he replies, the affection clear in his tone.
We remain quiet, still underneath the blankets, breathing in the same air. And it’s perfect.
“Did you still want to call Abi?” I ask, uncertain if he thinks the idea of not running is still wise.
Rubbing his hand over his stubbled jaw, he replies, “Yeah. Do you?”
I nod in response.
“Good.”
He surprises me by rolling gently on top of me, ensnaring my hands above my head so they are peeking out above the sheets.
“First, let’s get something to eat.” He kisses my neck delicately. “Then we’ll call her. Although…” He kisses a path from my neck, over my chin, to my eager lips, sucking my bottom lip in a long pull. “…I could just eat you,” he adds with a cheeky gleam in his eyes.