by Autumn Karr
A familiar, heavy sigh from Devon. “No,” he replies shortly.
I try to move, but it's no use. My head, my arms, everything feels heavy and hurts. I try again, the sticky leather squeaking under me. Dom turns around sharply. I close my eyes quickly, hoping he didn't see.
I risk opening my eyes again after a couple of minutes. He's looking straight ahead.
That's when I register that I just heard Devon's voice. I can barely contain myself from jumping up and throwing my arms around him, even if I know I can’t move. He's alive. The bastards fucking lied to me. And he came here for me, after what I did.
I make an effort to move my arm, careful not to squeak against the leather seats again. Something heavy rests on my hip, and when I bring my hand to touch it, I could squeal from happiness. It's a gun.
I guess it serves him right, after he left me to those bastards to do whatever they wanted with me. I'm about to grab for it, when a hand flies at me, squeezing my wrist. I look up, and Dom looks at me meaningfully, his eyes darting toward Devon.
A warning.
“What are you doing?” Devon asks, glancing back.
It happens in slow motion. One minute he's looking at me, the next Dom grabs for the gun and points it at him. I can see the moment Devon decides to just go for it. He wrestles with Dom for the gun, swerves off the road, and makes my head hit the door. As the car flips over and hits the ground front-first, the airbags pop out from the dashboard, fat and white and violent, hitting them both, hard, and then there's a gunshot. I hold my breath, waiting to see what happens next.
Neither moves.
I reach out with my arm, which still feels heavy. “Devon,” I whisper, shaking him, trying to see if he's breathing.
Dom grabs my wrist, twisting my arm. There’s another gunshot from under his neck, his head blown to pieces right in front of me, spraying blood all over the car.
Devon lifts up his head, looking me over. For a minute we don't say anything, just looking at each other, the only sounds in the car radio static and our heavy breathing.
“Are you okay?” he asks me, bringing his hand to my face and wiping the wetness from it with his light touch. I wince in pain when he touches my cheek.
I can't help it; I start crying. I'm not sure if they're happy tears, or sad tears, or what they are, but I can't keep it in anymore. Everywhere I look there's blood, and Devon looks pale and tired, and like he's about to drop dead, and I feel like there's a truck flat on my chest—I place my hand over his, stopping the wiping motion he makes, and pressing it into my cheek. I close my eyes, but the sobs don't stop.
He's really here.
His hand disappears and I hear the car door open, the seat dipping next to me, and then he cups my face and leans his forehead against mine. “It's okay,” he says, kissing my lips softly, grazing his thumb down my jaw. “We're okay.”
I clamp his shirt into my fist, banging it against his chest. “You're alive.” Another sob escapes me. “They told me I fucking killed you.”
“It's okay,” he says, his voice strained. He puts his hand over my fist and flattens it, bringing it down to his heart, where I can feel it thud-thud-thudding under my palm.
I open my eyes, looking into pools of his green ones, and then I back away, looking further down, making sure he's okay. There's an angry bruise on his neck, probably from the force of the airbag, and aside from the stain on his . . . pajama top, he doesn't look harmed. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Devon.”
“Can you see if he has a phone on him? I—I lost mine.”
I get up and bend over the seat, trying not to look at Dom's blown-up head. My own flesh and blood, turning on me. I rummage through his jacket, his lifeless hand draped over his stomach. I pick it up and move it, bile rising up past my stomach. I fish out the phone from his pant pocket, and turn back to hand it to Devon. He's leaning against the seat, his eyes closed and a frown between his brows.
“Devon.”
He opens his eyes halfway, and then closes them again.
“Devon.” I shake him. “Devon?”
He's not responding. That's when I see it; an angry red stain spreading all over his lower stomach. I press it with my hands, trying to stop the blood, but I don't think it's helping. I take off my shirt and press it there with one hand, my other hand fumbling with the phone. It's fucking turned off. I wipe my bloody hand on my jeans, and turn the phone on, hoping to God it has battery. My shaky fingers scroll down, looking for my dad's number, until I finally just punch it in myself.
His frantic voice comes on the other side. “Dom? Where are you, son?”
It fucking hurts hearing my father call him son, after everything.
“Dad,” I say. “You need to send someone.” I look around, searching for any clue as to where we are, but all I see are trees and a road a couple of feet up.
“Leighton?”
“Yeah, Dad, can you find us by the GPS on Dom's phone? I have no idea where we are, and Devon's—I think he's losing too much blood.”
“Stay on the line,” he says. I drop the phone and press with both of my hands into the shirt.
“Please, please, please,” I chant over and over. He looks pale, lifeless, but every now and again his chest rises, giving me hope.
I don't know how much time passes; seconds, minutes, hours, I hold my hands pressed there, feeling them cramping but holding, not taking my eyes off his face. Eventually, someone moves me away from him, and I start thrashing around, fighting them.
I need to keep him alive.
My dad's face fills my vision and he engulfs me in his warm embrace, covering me with a soft blanket. I watch helplessly as two men are directed to move Devon onto a stretcher, taking him away from me. I look around, searching for the ambulance, but I don't see it. They should have called an ambulance.
I rip myself out of my father's embrace and run after Devon, but I'm stopped by his uncle halfway to him.
“I want to go with him,” I say through tears, my eyes on the van where they’ve put Devon.
He glances briefly at my dad, nodding. “Let them do their job now.”
My dad comes over and puts his arm around my shoulders, squeezing me lightly and taking me toward the car. I squint trying to see through the tinted window, sparing one last look at the disappearing van.
My dad’s driver starts the engine and we go in the opposite direction.
They don’t let me near him again.
They don’t even let me say goodbye to Devon Andre.
epilogue
LEIGHTON
Six months later
I wake up that morning with a mission.
I wear a flowery short-sleeved shirt and jeans, and put on a pair of yellow flats. The warm May morning kisses my skin as I walk to the car. Everything is finally coming to life, the cold, harsh winter long forgotten.
I'm going to see him today.
That faithful night, the Andre warehouse—where they kept me—was raided by the feds, but they found nothing. Just four bodies, which they said was a deal gone wrong between George and Stevie.
No mention of Devon’s or my family.
I tried to skim over the things Dom did when I explained what happened to my dad. I could see it hurt him just as much as it hurt me remembering it. He was one of our own, and he betrayed us.
I never found out what happened to his body, but I can imagine it was dealt with.
The Andres and Moores are no longer at war, though it seems to me they never really were. Why they thought it was a smart idea to keep us in the dark is beyond me, but I guess they had their reasons. I’m trying so damn hard to get over that.
Frank Andre is still controlling the warehouses. My dad never mentions them anymore. I guess it’s compensation for everything that happened to both our families. A real truce, finally.
I fought so hard to see Devon after they took him away. I knew with everything I was that he would have wanted me there. Dad sat me down and told me everything—my
family had nothing to do with deaths all those years ago. Devon hated me for no reason. I can’t imagine what that had done to him—when he found out.
And then. . . it didn’t matter anymore.
I needed time to deal with everything I found out, with everything that happened. A couple of days after it all went down, I packed my bags and left to stay with relatives in Ireland.
All I kept thinking was how we’ve lost so much time, been through so much pain. Devon’s hate for me was pointless. All that resisting, when we could have been together—pointless. I betrayed him, and still he put his life on the line for me, and it could have been avoided. Lives were ruined, and for what?
Days turned to weeks, turned to months. In the end, I dreaded facing everything that was waiting for me here. Or everything that wouldn’t be waiting for me.
I turn the radio on, listening to a man drone on about a baseball game the previous night. My fingers tremble as I bring them to my lips, moving away a strand of hair that's stuck to my lip gloss.
I park the car in front of the gate, and get out, slightly wobbly on my feet. My hands are sweating, my heart thumping against my chest. I was going to ask his uncle where he was, he could at least give me that much, but I don’t have to—I spot him all the way across the lawn and every single doubt, every nervous thought I had, it all fades away. I should have come sooner.
I head straight to him with a sure stride. It takes me a few seconds before I speak.
“I'm sorry I shot you,” I tell him softly. He doesn't look at me, his granite face not giving away a thing, but what did I expect? It took me so long, maybe even a little too long at this point, to come here.
“And thank you for saving me,” I try again. “You're my hero.”
Nothing.
I sit down on the grass next to him, not caring that it will probably leave a green smear all over my butt. “I wish you’d say something,” I say, looking down at my fingers playing with the grass on the ground.
“I thought you’d never come back,” he says quietly, looking straight ahead. I don’t miss the hurt in his voice, although he tries to come off as flat. “And I wouldn’t even blame you.”
“I didn’t think you wanted to see me, after everything. Your uncle said you didn’t want me there.”
“I always want to see you,” he says, his voice laced with sadness. I suck in a breath.
I lift up his face and cup it in my palms, my heart breaking that he won’t look me in the eyes. “I know. I missed you, every single second, I missed you. But everything got so out of control and I—I needed to deal with all of that. Maybe we needed that time apart.”
I entwine our fingers, hoping he doesn't pull away. “But I love you, Devon,” I tell him, and it feels like a huge weight has been lifted off my chest. That's how good it feels to say it after all this time. “I know it’s not perfect, and your uncle won’t approve. My dad would kill me if he knew I was here. But I’m willing to risk it if you are. Nothing’s going to keep me away from you if you want me because I don’t want anyone else but you. I love you.”
Finally he looks at me, his green eyes piercing mine. He takes my hands, bringing them to his lips and squeezing his eyes tight. “How can you love me?”
“You didn’t know, Devon. We didn’t know. It wasn’t our fault.”
“I am not a fucking hero.”
“To me, you are.”
Instantly, he's on his feet, dragging me behind him inside the house. I don't fight him or resist.
I came here to stay.
We both know where I belong, and that’s wherever this man is, consequences be damned.
We climb the familiar staircase up to the top floor, and then I'm in his—my—room, our clothes coming off in a blur of kisses and moans. He hovers over me as my back hits the bed, his eyes roaming my face. I kiss the scar on his shoulder, feeling its texture with my lips.
“That bullet barely grazed me,” he lies through his teeth, leaning his forehead against mine and wiping away a tear that slides down my cheek. I smile as he places a soft kiss on my forehead, trailing his lips down my cheek and finally sucking on my bottom lip. “You can shoot me whenever you want, just don’t leave me again.”
“So what happens now?” I ask him, needing to know the answer before I let myself off this cliff with him again.
“Anything you want.”
“We could run . . . ”
“We could.”
Quintessentially Q
by
Pepper Winters
(available now)
prologue
I ache to see your flesh bleed, scream for me, give me what I need,
let the rivers run, the monster inside has won…
I thought I would be her nightmare—her terror and darkness. I wanted to be. I needed her more than food or sunlight. Only when she came into my life did I start to live—intoxicated by her taste, screams, and joy.
But our fucked-up-fairy-tale didn’t exactly have a happy ending.
Tess.
My Tess.
My esclave—so strong and fierce and sexually feral—wasn’t strong enough for what happened.
Her cage wasn’t me anymore.
It was them.
chapter one
Naked and restrained, this darkness cannot be contained,
you, my esclave, have been claimed…
All I could think was—she’s dead. She had to be. All that blood, so bright with a coppery tang, almost sweet.
Her snowy skin was extra frosty, grey-blue eyes closed to me.
Rage and terror strangled me as I fell to my knees in the warm puddle of crimson. The whip in my hands grew slippery with sweat, and I hurled it away in disgust. I did this. I let myself go and showed my true self. The monster inside ruined the only brightness in my life.
“Tess?” I pulled her into my arms, dragging her cold, lifeless form closer. Blood smeared over us. Her red-welted body oozed with damnation.
“Wake up, esclave,” I growled, hoping an order would force those dove-blue eyes open.
No response.
I bent, pressing my cheek against her mouth, waiting endlessly for a small puff of breath, a signal I hadn’t gone too far.
Nothing.
Fear stopped my heart, and all I wanted to do was reverse time. Rewind to a simpler place where I lived with needs and urges, but never let myself believe I could be free. Rewind to the day when Tess arrived and I promptly sent her back to her stupid boyfriend Brax. At least if I did she would be safe, and my life wouldn’t have ended.
At least then, Tess would be alive.
My demons killed her.
I killed her.
I threw my head back and howled.
* * * *
“Q. Q!”
Something sharp bit my shoulder, and I flinched. Rolling away, I tried to ignore the call. I deserved to stay in this nightmarish hell. The hell I created for killing the one woman who stole my life and showed me an emotion I never dared dream of. A dream I never knew I wanted until Tess came into my life.
My cheek smarted as if someone slapped me, blazing through the darkness with a bite of pain.
I wrenched my eyes open to find a wild-eyed, blonde goddess on top of me. The debilitating terror wouldn’t leave, even though she was alive and glaring with passion I grew to know so well.
“What the hell, Q? That’s the third time this week. You going to tell me what you’re dreaming about to warrant howling like a werewolf?” Tess pinned my shoulders to the mattress, and I couldn’t stop muscles from tensing. I liked her on top, but I didn’t like her holding me as if she was in control. It wasn’t how I worked.
“None of your business.” I rolled, grabbing her hips to pin her beneath me. I risked a small smile. With her under me, my world righted again. I ran hands over her waist, up her throat, to her lips. Her breath fluttered, coming faster; the rest of my panic receded.
She was still breathing.
I hadn’t
killed her.
Yet.
Tess ran her hand softly over my cheek, tickling. “You should tell me what you’re afraid of. Brax used to—”
I froze, grinding my teeth. “If you know what’s good for you, you won’t finish that sentence.” Goddammit, why did she have to bring the ghost of her idiot boyfriend who treated her like a fragile princess into our bed?
Tess squeezed her eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to…it’s just—I’m concerned. If you’re having bad dreams because of me, give me the opportunity to make them go away.”
It was too early in the morning to suffer an inquisition.
Four days had passed since Tess appeared on my doorstep and gave me no choice but to accept her. Accept her fire, spirit, and sharp tenacity. I may be a controlling bastard, but the moment Tess stalked into my life I lost my balls to her.
I hoped she didn’t know just how much she affected me, because I was shit terrified of what the future meant for us.
The promises she made of being strong enough for me; the blood oath that linked us together for as long as that blood pumped in our veins.
Four days since my life changed forever and I’d been in constant, excruciating pain ever since.
“Leave it alone,” I grumbled. This woman was an icy glacier to my unmovable mountain of a vow. My solemn vow that I’d never accept the fucking darkness or be a sadistic asshole like my father. The same vow that stopped me from stringing up helpless women like he did. But the glacier was winning—millimetre by millimetre, centimetre by centimetre. Her ice slithered between the hairline fractures of my will, making them larger, making the cracks harder to ignore.
For four days, I’d successfully ignored her advances for sex. Memories of taking her over the bar in the gaming room were still too raw. Tess couldn’t sit without wincing. I knew she hurt—not that she ever complained. I watched her every movement like a vulture studying the weakness of his prey. She thought she’d convinced me that she was fine, that the bruises didn’t affect her. Me. A man who smelled pain and fear as if it were a heady perfume— I knew the truth.