by Dee C. May
Quinn sat drinking and smoking on the deck. The night was foggy and wet, though there were faint traces of the black turning to deep blue.
“Did you hear all that?” I figured he had. He nodded grimly and held out an open beer. I took it and drank deeply, watching the waves pound the shore.
“So, I guess she wasn’t avoiding you because of what you did,” Quinn interjected.
“I guess not.”
“That guy is some piece of work. Can you imagine what he said to her?”
Just the mention of him and I clenched my fists. The bottle burst in my hand, spraying beer all over me. I swore quietly, shaking the excess off my hand.
Quinn stared at me. “Apparently you can. How’s that control going?”
“Barely.”
He asked quietly, calmly, “How far in are you with her?”
I thought of her huddled against that rock, and a fresh surge of anger rose in my gut. “All the way.”
The words, spoken for the first time aloud, seemed to fill the silence of the night. I breathed deeply, pulling in the scents.
Quinn sat silently for a moment. Then, struggling to cover a smile, he replied, “They say the truth can be very liberating. How do you feel?”
“Fuck off.” I answered, moving toward the deck steps leading into the woods.
“Well, if you’re going to channel that anger somewhere, I could use another dirt-bike path.” I ignored him and kept going.
Once inside the preserve, I let my feelings tumble freely, pulling down branches and ripping trees from the earth. I could not control my anger now if I had wanted to; with the barriers down, it wouldn’t subside until it was spent. I could hear the animals cowering in the bushes and running for cover as quickly as their limbs or wings could take them. I left nothing in my path untouched as I cut a swath of destruction through the preserve.
When I was done, when I had upended all the trees and undergrowth I could without raising any suspicions beyond a freak storm, I headed back toward the house. Quinn ambushed me halfway there. It had been a while since we had fought, and I enjoyed the release and the feeling of pain. Finally, when the anger had receded to a manageable level, I slowed and looked up at the sky. The gray was beginning to give way to pink.
Quinn picked up his beer on the way up the stairs, fingering a bloody lip in the process. “You got me good.”
I smiled in response. I knew when I had thrown that punch it was a good one. He was bigger, but I was quicker.
“Did she think screwing that guy was going to fix things?” Quinn asked, taking a draw of beer. I shrugged. I understood her. I understood that. Sometimes, a person made weird choices trying to make up for something else. “Ever think of taking your own advice?”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice.
“Colombia wasn’t your fault.”
“I know that,” I answered, sweeping the glass from my own crushed bottle into a heap.
“Really? I don’t think so.”
I glared at him. “Quinn, the first thing we learn is don’t leave your men behind. I was the leader there. Our crew was decimated. They were my responsibility.”
“We were sent in there, into the hornet’s nest, without all the information. You were not the one responsible. You didn’t leave them. You were chained to a bed and had electric shock current running through you at a level that would have killed a normal person.”
“I was trained for that, but, when it happened, I crumbled. Besides, I didn’t die.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“Drop it.” I cracked open another beer.
“All I’m saying is…” I sent him the nastiest look I could, but he continued anyway. “Well, it’s too bad she doesn’t like bondage.”
“I don’t think it was the tying up that was the problem.” I was thankful to stop talking about me, but I wanted to punch Quinn again. “You heard what happened. She did it because he wanted it, and things snowballed from there. I don’t think she was really a willing participant, but she wasn’t entirely unwilling either, which in and of itself freaked her out. I think she’s realized how far down she’s sunk for this guy, the power she’s given him, and she doesn’t like it.”
“Ah, the dark side. Well I personally think the world of her, bondage and all.”
I stared at him again. “Maggie didn’t ruin that for you?” Maggie was Quinn’s girlfriend before Sara. Insanely smart, dark-haired and beautiful, she had been the result of a secret love affair between a missionary and Indian royalty. We had dated briefly before she and Quinn started up. She had been quite an advocate of bondage.
He shrugged. “Well, I almost chewed my arm off. But I recovered. You forget the bad after so long.”
I admired his ability to dismiss the past. During their last hook up, Maggie had tricked Quinn, chaining him to a wall with unbreakable iron cuffs, and then left him there. I had found him, and not a minute too soon. He was starving, close to being discovered by our bosses. He would have been punished even worse by them.
“Fuck, she was mean,” he added, dragging on his cigarette.
I shook my head, remembering. We had both loved Maggie for a time, as teenagers loved, wholeheartedly and intensely focused. She had encouraged it and played us. She prized mind games, bondage, adoration, and being a bitch most of all. In the end, her desire to pit us against each other had backfired, forging instead a mutual dislike of her and strengthening our friendship. When we refused to fight over her, she had left, disgusted with both of us. I had fallen for Lilly shortly thereafter.
“Anyway, Sara likes to mix it up sometimes. She gets bored with the same old sex—you have to give everything a try.”
That verged on too much information, but I knew what he meant. “Quinn, up until yesterday, I didn’t even know if I could feel anything, and now I’ve got a girl sleeping in my bedroom who doesn’t even know the truth about me. I’ve got a merc taking pictures of us for God knows why. And I’ve been shagging Fiona for years because that’s all that makes sense and it’s the safest thing around. I think I’m about the last person to be judging you or anyone.”
He grinned. Apparently, my existence amused him. “So, what now?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea. But the last thing she needs is someone wanting more than friendship, much less me.” I felt my brow to see if it was still bleeding. “You got me one above the eye that’s going to take a while to heal.”
“What are you going to do? Hang around and be a friend?”
“Absolutely, if she wants that.”
“Are you going to see that guy?”
“Yeah right, and rip his throat out. I think that may start a few rumors.”
Quinn laughed, shaking his head in mock frustration. “Vengeance is so much harder in first-world countries.”
“That’s an understatement. I’m going to check on her.”
He chugged the remains of his beer and ground out another cigarette as we stood. “I’m hitting the rack. Let me know how it goes. Oh, Beck?” I heard a hint of laughter tinge his voice.
“Yeah?”
“Remember, while you were worried about hurting that girl, that guy has been using his dead girlfriend to get laid.” I shook my head. Only Quinn could manage to take the last twelve hours and find some humor in it.
I pushed the door open slowly. She lay sleeping on her side, her legs curled up under her. I settled back in the chair and closed my eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Wynter—Recovery
I woke slowly, surfacing like a swimmer in deep waters. The last twenty-four hours were a hellish blur. I tried to open my eyes, but they felt like sandpaper. My teeth ached, and my tongue was swollen. I propped myself up on my elbows and felt sick, the room spinning a bit. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and then opened them again. Beck slept in a chair near the bed. His face didn’t look much better than I felt. I sat up and crawled to the edge of the be
d to get a closer look. He had a big gash above his eye. I didn’t remember that being there last night. He stirred, and I scooted back under the covers just as his eyes opened.
“Hey.” He sounded self-conscious.
“Hi.” My heart thumped in double time.
“How do you feel?”
“Better, but I could stand a long shower and a Diet Coke.” I played with the fringe on the soft comforter, distracting myself; I felt so embarrassed. My confession suddenly seemed so overly dramatic.
He motioned to my clothes folded at the end of the bed. “I dried your clothes, though you’re welcome to keep my t-shirt on. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall. There’s shampoo in the shower and towels in the linen closet in the bathroom. I’ll get you a soda to take in there.”
“Beck?”
“Yeah?” He stopped, hand on the doorknob.
“Thanks.” He walked back to the bed and leaned over me, brushing the hair away from my mouth. I wanted to reach out, but I didn’t know where we stood, especially after last night.
“Wynter, accidents happen, and life has a way of taking things out of your hands. You have to stop beating yourself up. He’s taking advantage of you, using this information you gave him to hold power over you. The thing is, he abused the trust you gave him every time you took your clothes off. Hell, he abused the trust you gave him just as a friend.”
I didn’t know what to say. I gave him a half smile. “And I abused the trust you gave me.”
He cocked his head at me. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you trusted me, but I was with him. I thought you were mad at me, but … then I was kind of using you to get back at him. None of it was nice.”
He shook his head. “Wynter, don’t equate what you did with his actions. There are rarely pure motives for anything. And I’m fine. Go shower and take care of yourself. I’ll be downstairs.” And he was gone. I felt shaky getting out of bed but managed to drag myself to the bathroom. I let the shower run long and hot. When I got out, I spotted the Diet Coke on the bathroom counter.
I slid on my jeans and shirt, and tried to repair my face. My eyes were the size of golf balls, and my skin was red and splotchy. I rummaged through his bathroom drawers coming up with some kind of cream and a blow dryer. When I finished, the result wasn’t too bad, though make- up would have helped a lot. I looked better than last night, at least, but still rough. I inhaled his scent from the t-shirt I’d borrowed—earthy and something else I couldn’t place—then tucked the shirt under the pillow. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, I headed downstairs.
I found him working at the kitchen table, laptop open and some large manila envelopes and folders spread about. He looked older and serious.
“Hey.”
He glanced at me and smiled, gathering some loose papers as he did so. Some of them looked like photos. “You look like you’re feeling better.”
I smiled self-consciously and perched on the corner of one of the chairs.
Outside, the sun started its descent. The sky was gorgeous, all orange and pink. “I guess I slept most of the day.”
He nodded toward the window. “You were up most of the night.”
I stared down at his computer.
He pushed it toward me. “Do you want to check your email?”
I lifted my phone. “I’m okay.” Of course, I had a dozen emails and texts from the girls, all looking for me. I didn’t even know where to start.
He nodded. “I forget you bunch with all your technology.” He had a small cell phone next to him. I swiped it off the table.
“Oh, this one rocks. When did you get this? Last century? It flips open,” I teased.
He grabbed it back, smiling. “Whatever.”
“If you come into the twenty-first century, you can get email, calls, and even take pictures.” My stomach jolted at the thought of pictures. I tried to remember if Jason had used his phone last night. Fuck. I felt sick again. “I’m going to check out your view. Can I have another Diet Coke?”
“Absolutely. I’m almost done here, and then I’ll join you.” I grabbed a can from the fridge, pressed it to my forehead, and headed for the deck off the side of the house. It felt like spring, the birds almost as loud as the pounding in my head. I read my messages, searching for clues that my exploits had gone viral. There was nothing besides the girls wondering where I was. I racked my brain to recall last night’s details. I could just imagine Jason taking videos of me all tied up and plastering them on YouTube.
I only hoped he wouldn’t say or do anything because of his girlfriend. After all, he’d done it, too. I answered the girls’ messages, letting them know I was at Beck’s. That would raise eyebrows and probably more texts, but not as bad as the truth. I had no idea what to really tell them, but I was so tired of lying. My head throbbed. I watched the sunset and waited for Beck.
Chapter Forty
Beck—Explorers
I stayed inside, pretending to work but staring at her through the window instead, wondering what to say when I went out. I felt like the last twenty-four hours had put us on a whole different level, but what that was I didn’t know. Her comments about abusing my trust stuck in my head. I had been just as bad, trying to find out what she knew about her unconscious days. I wondered what she would think of that, much less the truth about what I was.
Quinn came up behind me as I stood watching her from the kitchen. “Are you going to tell her?”
I shook my head. It was a reasonable question. I owed her some kind of truth but didn’t know where to start: my heightened physical attributes, my covert job, or that I’d involved her in all this mess. There was no good resolution. Even if we did meet in another place, here we still lived in separate worlds, still two very different beings.
“You should tell her before she figures it out.”
“Do you think she will?” She hadn’t noticed before.
“She’s smart. If she finds out on her own, it could be disastrous.”
“It may be disastrous anyway. I mean, what’s she going to do when she finds out—stick around?”
“I don’t know. It sounds good.”
“Sure, and Frankenstein killed the girl in the end.”
“No sense being so dramatic, or identifying with a monster. Spiderman and Superman had girlfriends.”
“Yes, well, we’re not them. We’re just as likely to kill someone as to save someone.”
“How will you tell her?”
“I don’t know. It’s not the kind of thing you can blurt out over a meal. Hey, guess what, I’m a freak with super strength and can’t control my emotions, but the good news is I have feelings for you.”
Quinn grimaced then smiled, patting me on the shoulder. “Good luck with that.”
I gathered my documents and folders, putting them in a pile on the corner of the counter. “Well, for tonight, we’re just going to get dinner. I’ll tell her tomorrow.”
He raised his eyebrows at me. “Well, I’m going gambling. Have fun.” He was out the back door before I could answer.
I gazed at her a while longer. I could see her silhouette looking out on the ocean, a sad expression on her face. I opened the door, but she didn’t turn. I wondered if she was still embarrassed. I moved next to her, both of us staring straight ahead. She finally glanced at me, a little smile playing with the corners of her mouth but not touching her eyes.
“Do you ever feel lost?”
I laughed inside. If she only knew.
“Yes,” I replied.
“It’s like I started out knowing where I was but totally lost my spot, where I was heading.” Her voice gained momentum and emotion as she talked. “How did I get here? And how do I get back?”
I didn’t know what to say. Her words were touched with sadness. I cleared my throat, trying to buy time. “I don’t know if you can get back.”
“Well, that sucks.”
“All the greatest explorers thought they knew where they were going
then wound up somewhere else, but they did okay in the end. I mean, didn’t Christopher Columbus expect to find the Far East and, instead, discovered a whole new continent? Hell, he even got a holiday named after him, all for going off course.”
She smiled now, a genuine smile. “I guess so.” I wanted to take her hand in mine and tell her I would help her find her way, but I was no guide. This I knew.
She suddenly blew her breath out and turned to me with fire in her eyes. “And you know what really pisses me off? I left all my stuff there.”
“What?” I asked, confused as to where she had jumped.
“I bought a bunch of stuff at the mall. And I left it all there. At Jason’s. I ran out and got sick.” I smiled at her anger and the quick turn of her mind. “It’s not important.” She added self-consciously.
“Well…” I started. I knew how to solve this particular problem.
She waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing. I can replace it, and if he talks, he talks. I can’t do anything about it now.” She shook the phone in her hand. I could see the worry on her face, despite her statement to the contrary.
“Okay. How about dinner?” I asked.
This time she turned her whole body to me and smiled. “That sounds good.”
I took her to The Galleon in downtown Newport—a restaurant almost as old as the town. The floors, stained a dark walnut, sloped with age and creaked as you walked on them, the wooden beams scattered throughout were the same dark color as the floor, giving the entire place a cozy atmosphere. Afterward, we walked through town, and I told her all about Newport, pointing out historic sights and regaling her with information I learned from countless historical books read in the wee hours of the night as I tried to avoid nightmares.
When we got back to the house, she hesitated for the first time since dinner, awkwardly standing in the doorway of the kitchen as I hung up my jacket. I grabbed a glass from the cabinet. She looked worn and tired as she stood watching me.