“I told you not to make me do this, Quilla ...”
He grabbed his knife and she felt the cold steel against her belly.
“Goodbye, beautiful Quilla ...”
Quilla kicked and fought but then … pain. Unimaginable pain.
Gregor drove his knife into her belly mercilessly, over and over, quick, deep stabs and Quilla groaned in agony. No … no … this is not the way this ends. She plunged her thumbs into his eyes, deep, and Gregor screamed, dropping the knife. She kicked him away and scrambled, bleeding heavily, towards the gun. She flicked the safety off just as Gregor, roaring, came at her again.
Quilla didn’t hesitate; she rammed the muzzle against his head and fired. The back of his head exploded, and he collapsed, dead, but she kept firing, emptying the gun into Gregor’s head until, sobbing, she dropped the empty gun. It’s over.
Bent double, desperate to keep the blood inside her, she managed to drag her clothes on, packing a clean shirt against her wounds. The pain was so intense, it was almost unbelievable. The evening had fallen and across the snowfield, she could see lights on in the cabin.
Every movement was agony, but she searched Gregor’s pockets for his keys. The jeep stood outside, but she’d bleed to death before she made it down the mountain. The other people in the cabin across the snowfield were her only hope. Dragging on her T-shirt, her jeans, grabbing a flashlight, she staggered out into the snow. It was deep, the snow, the fresh powder having fallen earlier that day, and each step brought a moan of sheer agony. The shirt covering her wounds was soaked through; her blood started to spatter the pure white snow, and she could feel her body shutting down. She used the flashlight, blinking it urgently at the opposite cabin, praying, hoping against hope, that they would see it.
Help me …
She staggered another few steps, then collapsed into the snow, all her strength leaving her.
I’m sorry, Jakob, my love, my heart, I tried ...
She lay there, her finger still on the flashlight’s on/off switch, flicking it with the last of her strength.
I’m dying …
There was more light, voices, male voices … was it Gregor? Come to finish her off? No, it couldn’t be; he was dead; she’d killed him …
“Sweetheart, can you hear me? God, she’s covered in blood. Let’s get her inside ...”
Hands lifting her, cradling her. “Can you hear me, lovely?”
“She looks familiar.”
Warmth, the cold air had gone, she was inside. Her clothes were being pulled away. “She’s been stabbed. Oh, God, poor kid.”
“I’m calling 911.”
Quilla. My name is Quilla. I don’t want to die. But she couldn’t speak, black spots encroaching on her vision. Lightheaded now.
“I can’t stop this bleeding … Jesus, I think I’ve lost her ...”
No, no, I’m still here …
I’m still here …
I …
Part Ten: Treasure Me
Venice …
Quilla opened her bedroom door a crack and peeked out. Jakob Mallory heard the door open and sat up, looking at her, watching for her reaction. Quilla padded quietly over to the couch, her face splitting with the widest smile he’d ever seen, and from that second, Jakob knew he’d found the one. He wanted to pull her onto the couch with him and kiss her. Instead, he gazed up at her, drinking in every feature, the soft face, still holding onto the last vestiges of puppy fat, the color of her honey skin, the dark green eyes, the long dark hair, messy. That smile.
“You stayed,” she said, and her voice broke a little and Jakob realized how much it meant to her that he had made the decision not to run out into Venetian night and find another fix.
“I did. You were right. I want to be better, Quilla. I want to get straight, be the man who deserves a woman like you risking her life for him.”
She perched on the side of the couch. She smelled of cinnamon and sleep, and he breathed the scent in, his entire body responding to her.
Her big eyes searched his. “Would you like me to help? Like I say, I’ve been through this—well, not me personally, but my mom used to try and come off heroin periodically, so I know the drill. I know you’re not on heroin but ...”
“Cocaine. And yes, please. You’re the only one I trust to get me through this.”
She flushed with pleasure. “Then you’d better grab a shower, because we need to get you some new clothes and some supplies.”
He smiled, wanting desperately to brush that lock of hair that had fallen across her cheek back behind her ear. “I should call the airport; see if my bags were taken off the plane. Otherwise, yes.”
His bags were still at Venice airport so after a good breakfast, they took a cab and retrieved them, Quilla helping to lug them up to her apartment—“Their apartment,” she’d called it absent-mindedly, which made him feel strangely warm inside.
He took her to lunch at Quadri, where they ate langoustine with lemon aioli and drank an entire bottle of wine. Quilla grinned at him. “Enjoy that, because it’s water and juice from now on.”
He loved that she could make light of something so serious—for the love of God, they were talking about addiction— but her attitude was so matter of fact, it gave him hope that he could do this, could drag himself back from the edge. He would do it for himself, but also for her. Her mom … he would get the entire story from her, he decided. She was an unusual woman, this Quilla Chen.
She might have made light of it, but there was no doubt that she knew what she was doing. His body bucked against the withdrawal; he became edgy and tired, desperate for a fix one moment, then raging at himself the next. Quilla did not back down even when he was begging her to unlock the door; at night, she dragged her mattress from the bed and slept in front of the door so he couldn’t pick the lock or bust his way through. There was enough reason still left in him, even at the worst of it, that he knew every minute meant his life got better. Even when, on the fourth night, he awoke screaming from the most gruesome, terrifying nightmares and lashed out, his arms flying everywhere, she launched herself onto him, wrapped her arms around him and held him down, soothing him, calming him until exhausted, he fell asleep in her arms.
When he woke up the day that he’d declared to himself, that they’d made love for the first time, he’d known something was going to happen; his gut instinct told him that this, she and him, them, was inevitable …
Now …
Now, as Jakob sat on the place, crossing the Atlantic on the ten-hour journey back to Seattle, he closed his eyes and tried to capture that feeling. Those feelings … .all of the firsts—the moment his lips touched hers, the first time he’d kissed those gorgeous breasts, felt the hard nipple against his tongue, the taste of her, the moment his cock slid inside her.
Anything, anything to try and forget that once again, she was lying on an operating table, her life hanging in the balance as surgeons tried their hardest to repair the violence that Gregor Fisk had visited upon her—again.
The phone call at the hotel had been the best and worst of his life. His father. They’ve found Quilla … Gregor’s dead … but she’s been stabbed and, son, I’m so sorry, it’s bad. Please come as soon as you can …
He’d been in a cab to the airport moments later; he hadn’t even bothered to pack the few clothes he’d brought with him to London. As the cab weaved its way through heavy London traffic, Jakob called the airline and begged them to put him on the first plane. He’d have to change in San Francisco, but he could be home in fourteen hours.
Now, as the plane flew over the coast of Greenland, Jakob stared out at the view below him, not seeing anything, but imagining he was hearing the doctor’s voice telling she didn’t make it.
No...no … she will; she’s a fighter. He wondered if Grady had called that doctor in New Orleans, the one who had saved Flori. God, so much pain, so much violence … knowing that Gregor was finally dead didn’t help matters. The damage he had wrought would
not be easy to repair.
Stop it. Try and think positively. Think about the time in Venice with Quilla, think about …
Venice …
It was evening, and they were walking hand in hand through St Marks, disturbing the pigeons on the palazzo. He couldn’t take his eyes off her; the sultry heat, the low sun, made her honey-skin glow, her lovely dark hair pulled up into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Her back was bare, her pale pink dress tied as a halter, and he trailed a fingertip down her spine. Quilla shivered, then chuckled. “That feels good.”
He stopped walking and took her in his arms. “You feel good.”
“Cheesy.”
“You bet your sweet ass.”
He kissed her, her soft lips warm against his own. Her little face fit so perfectly in his big hands, she made him feel like a giant of a man, a hero instead of the screw up he really was. She pressed her insane body to his, and he felt his cock jump instantly, swelling and thickening with longing for her. He pressed his lips to her throat. “God, I want to fuck you so bad, right now, Quilla Chen.”
She gave a throaty chuckle. “Well, Mr. Mallory, I do believe you promised me a night on the balcony, and I’m going to take you up on that.”
He grinned. “Then let’s get a water taxi and go home right now ...”
On the balcony of her apartment, there was a streetlight immediately adjacent, so Jakob threw a towel over it, much to Quilla’s amusement. Then slowly, he stripped her, his lips against the skin he revealed. He made her sit on one of the chairs while he went down on her, Quilla gasping quietly as his tongue lashed around her clit. He grinned up at her as he trailed his tongue up her belly and took her nipple into his mouth. She knotted her fingers in his hair and let her head fall back, her eyes close. When his lips found her throat, she murmured, “I want to suck you,” but he just chuckled.
“Not tonight, Miss Chen; tonight is all about you ...”
He stood and peeled his clothes off quickly, his cock heavy, bobbing under the weight of the blood engorging it, ramrod straight against his belly. He fisted the root of it, smiling as he watched her admire him. “You like what you see, beautiful?”
“God, yes.”
“Show me.”
Smiling lazily, she slowly spread her legs, and trailing her hand between her breasts, down her belly, she stroked into her sex, parting the peachy folds to show him how wet she was, how red and swollen she was, for him, only him.
“That is the most fucking beautiful sight on this Earth,” he hissed and suddenly he was pulling her to the floor and plunging his cock deep into her, her legs curling around his waist, her eyes locked with his as they fucked, clawing at the other, both tender and animal, Quilla urging him deeper …
Jakob opened his eyes. There were so many emotions roiling around inside him. He would give anything, every penny he had, every material thing he owned, to turn back time and go back to that day on the balcony. Or the day after, when Quilla had suggested finding an empty gondola after night had fallen and they’d fucked in that, trying not to laugh or moan too loudly, having to hide hurriedly as two Carabinieri passed by, their flashlights sweeping over the line of silent boats.
But so much had happened between then and now. Gregor. If his end game had been to shatter Jakob’s psyche, he’d succeeded. And then there was the fact that Quilla had slept with him. Had been intimate with her would-be killer. Jakob hated himself for thinking it, but he couldn’t deny the torrent of jealousy, of betrayal he felt. He knew, he knew, it wasn’t fair, that she’d done it to save Hayley, to save herself … but he couldn’t get that image of her face on that video tape.
And now she was dying, and he might not get the chance to tell her he loved her, or to hear her tell him that she had hated every minute being with Gregor, that she loved only him, Jakob, that she was sorry …
Sorry? What the hell is wrong with you, man? He swore under his breath. Quilla had nothing to apologize for; she had made a huge sacrifice for the people she loved and what was he? A fucking idiot. He didn’t deserve her.
Many hours later, when he landed in Seattle, he got into a cab, but when the driver ask him where to, he choked on the word ‘Hhospital’ Instead, after taking a deep breath in, he gave him an address across the city. One he hadn’t been to in over a year.
Flori, Nan, Hayley, and Asia looked up as Marley came back, balancing hot coffee on a tray. The Mallory men were with the police, going through everything. Asia’s partner, Dr. Parker Thomas, was indeed the surgeon trying to save Quilla’s life—he’d flown into Seattle at the moment Grady had called Asia.
“You know what’s weird?” Nan said quietly, “We’re back to the beginning. First time I met Joel, we were right here, in this room.”
Marley nodded. “I remember. Quilla had been stabbed by Gregor then, too. What the hell is wrong with this world?”
Hayley, whose quiet devastation was written all over her face, sighed. “I can never tell you how much Quilla did for me in that prison. Even if I described every single minute, I couldn’t tell you.”
Nan started to cry at her sister’s words and gathered her into a hug. Flori wiped her face. “I just hope, somehow, she can fight this last fight.”
“She will,” Marley said gruffly, her voice breaking. Asia put her arm around the woman.
“Look, I’m a great believer in positivity. We need to tell happy stories about Quilla, or about our lives or whatever. Send good energy out into the ether.”
“Good idea,” said Hayley suddenly, then she looked at her sister. “I’m marrying Skandar. Soon.”
Nan grinned. “Really? That’s amazing. Congratulations.”
Hayley looked comically disappointed. “What no ‘you’re too young’ No ‘Are you knocked up?’ Darn it; I was hoping for some drama.”
The others laughed, and Nan shook her head. “No way—although I had better be your Maid of Honor.”
Hayley shook her head, and Nan’s face dropped. Hayley kissed her cheek. “I want you to give me away, Nan. I know it’s a traditionally male role, but fuck the patriarchy. Will you do me the honor of giving me away?”
Nan colored and burst into tears, smiling through them. “Of course … oh God …” She sniffed, trying to stop crying as Hayley rolled her eyes. Nan wiped her nose. “Just to check, though—you’re not knocked up, are you?”
“No, don’t worry.” Hayley smiled but Asia, whose face was scarlet, put her hand up.
“Um … I am.”
They all gaped at her, and she laughed, her face returning to its normal color. “Afraid so. It wasn’t planned. Parker and I both want kids, but we also don’t want to get married yet.”
Flori gave a dramatic gasp. “I am clutching my pearls! This new-fangled way of living … oh, hell, I can’t even be bothered to make fun of you. Congratulations, I’m so happy for you both.” She hugged Asia, who chuckled.
“Thank you, boo.”
Marley went to the window and gazed out into the gloomy light of the evening. She desperately wanted to join in with the women, but she felt distanced from them, even though, technically, she was the only one of them married to a Mallory. It was her best friend on that operating table—again, and she wanted to scream and curse and punch something.
What she couldn’t believe most was that finally, Gregor Fisk was dead. Although they didn’t know exactly what happened, it looked like Quilla had killed him, and that’s what worried Marley as much as the hideous injuries Quilla had received while escaping. Knowing she killed another human being would change Quilla—possibly irretrievably. Marley knew her too well—sweet, sweet Quilla would grieve for the man who abducted, raped, and stabbed her. That she was the wife of Jacob Mallory would only exacerbate and fire up the press stories—Marley could see the headlines now: Killer Quilla.
Christ …
“Marley?” Nan’s voice was soft, and she felt her hand on her back. “This must be even worse for you, I know, but we’re all here for you, sweetheart.�
��
Marley smiled and turned back to the group, flushing when she realized they were all looking at her. She drew in a deep breath. What the hell? “I married Ran. A few days ago. We also didn’t want to wait,” she smiled shyly at Asia, who beamed.
“I’m so glad, Marley. You make such a wonderful couple.”
The rest of them murmured their assent, and Marley felt a tension leave her. “I love him so very much, and it’s weird, it’s not the mad, crashing love you think you’ll find. It’s just … right and solid and adoring.”
Flori smiled at her. “You’re such an old soul, Marley, or what I mean is, you are mature beyond your years. You’re right; it makes so much sense for you to be with Ran.”
“Thank you, Flori … and what about you? What’s your news?”
Flori smiled. “Nothing new to tell … except I think I love Grady Mallory even more each day. Since we’ve been able to ...” She trailed off, flushing, shooting a look at Grady’s former lover, Asia, but the other woman nodded encouragingly. “Well, since then, it’s just gotten better every day. I have to be honest, I’d been living under fear that Gregor would find me again or do what he did to Bo Kennedy and take Grady away from me. I’m so glad he’s dead.”
“You bet your butt he is.” They all looked up as Grady came back into the room with the others. Skandar immediately pulled Hayley into his arms; Ran slid an arm around his wife’s waist; Joel, planted a kiss on Nan’s forehead.
Grady smoothed Flori’s hair. “And the police just confirmed: Quilla killed him.” He looked at Hayley. “They think she used the tile fragment to slash his throat, but it wasn’t enough to kill him. He went after her, stabbed her, but she managed to grab the gun and shot him. She emptied the gun into his head and then tried to reach help. She collapsed in the snow, but luckily the people from the cabin across the way found her and called it in.”
Filthy Commitments: A Submissives’ Secrets Novel Page 53