Keeping Quinn: The Next Generation

by Edwards, Riley

  Begrudgingly, my lids fluttered open, and much to my discomfort, Brice had twisted us to face the mirror over the dresser.

  “Prettiest girl, ever.”

  I started to shake my head, maybe in denial, maybe to stop him from saying anything else, but Brice didn’t give me a moment to collect myself—he went on.

  Brice’s hand on my hip remained but his other one moved—feather-light, his fingertips skated up my belly, until he reached a lock of my hair. He twisted it around his hand then let it fall back over my breast.

  “I used to think it was your green eyes that captured my attention. But I was wrong. The first time I saw you, it was your hair. Thick, shiny midnight black that is so shocking against your complexion it’s hard to believe it’s real.” Brice’s gaze came to mine in the mirror and I was unable to look away. “So soft. Sometimes I wake up and it’s fanned out over your pillow and I can’t stop myself from running my fingers through it. That’s what I saw, the day you were shot. All this thick, soft, shiny, black hair.” Brice played with the ends of my hair, his fingers brushing over my breasts, and for the first time since the attempt on my life, my libido woke up. “Only it was all wrong. So fucking wrong seeing it on the dirty sidewalk.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I knew he’d been at the scene, I could begin to imagine what he saw, but he’d never told me.

  “I was so scared I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t even believe what I was seeing. None of it seemed real, yet there you were, and I couldn’t do anything. When I say it was the worst day of my life, that with every drop of blood that was leaking from your body, what I’m saying is, I wanted to die. I did not want to live without you. And the whole time I stood there watching my crew work on you, all I could think about was me. How it wouldn’t be possible to go on without you. How much I would miss your laugh. How I’d never get to see your smile again. How I’d never hear you tell me you love me.” His body tensed behind mine and my heart squeezed. “I’m so sorry I was so selfish.”

  “Thank you,” I wheezed, finding it hard to breathe. It had nothing to do with recovering from a lung injury.

  “What?”

  “Thank you for loving me like that.”

  “Fuck,” he muttered and closed his eyes.

  “Is that what you’ve been so worried about? You seriously thought I’d think you were selfish for not wanting to go on without me? You thought I’d be upset because you were in shock and thought I was going to die? Honey, I’m the one that’s sorry you had to see that. I wish more than anything it wasn’t your station that got the call. If I could change one thing it would be that you never saw me on that sidewalk. I’d take the bullets again and again if it meant I could erase you finding me.”

  “Don’t say that,” he growled, the force of his words wafting over my skin. “Don’t ever say that again.”

  “But it’s true. You don’t think I love you that much? That I’d take that pain again if it meant you didn’t have to.” Brice didn’t respond so I rushed to continue. “We’re gonna get through this.”

  “Of course we are.”

  Strong.

  Resolute.

  Final.

  My stomach started to untwist until Brice’s gaze dropped to the bandages.

  “I’m not ready to see them,” I admitted.

  “The dressings don’t need to be changed until tomorrow. You don’t have to look.”

  “I’m not ready for you to see them.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m gonna…they’re gonna be ugly.”

  Something changed. I couldn’t say if it was coming off of Brice or if it was rolling off of me because Brice was looking at me funny. What I did know was the air crackled and whatever that something was, it made my belly pitch.

  “My head may’ve been filled with a bunch of shit the last few weeks, most of it guilt, a lot of it fear, but not once, not even for a second, did I doubt how much I loved you. Never did I think we wouldn’t come out of this stronger. I just needed to pull my head out of my ass.”

  My heart pumped so fast it hammered. My lungs were on fire as I tried to pull in enough oxygen.

  “I’m sorry if that made you think I was pulling back. I love you, Quinn. Straight up, you are gorgeous, with or without scars.” His hand still on my hip flexed and he lowered his chin to rest on my shoulder. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. All of this.” He trailed a finger from my throat down over the white gauze taped to my skin. “All of you, baby, every inch of you is mine. There’s nothing ugly about you.”

  I nodded even though I didn’t believe him. I hadn’t seen them, and I didn’t need to, to know how ugly they’d be.

  “I know you don’t believe me now, but you will.”

  There it was again.

  Strong.

  Resolute.

  Final.

  Brice led me to the bed, helped me settle—partly sitting up so I could breathe—then he went about his business of getting undressed.

  And for the first time since we started sleeping together, he put on a pair of sweats before he slid in next to me.

  I clenched my jaw and remained quiet. This sucked. All of it. I couldn’t lie flat, I couldn’t cuddle into him, he couldn’t hold me close and pull my leg over his thigh.

  “In a few more weeks everything will be back to normal,” he muttered and tangled our legs together.

  That was the best I was going to get.

  And it sucked—big time.

  * * *

  The next morning, Brice changed my bandages.

  I didn’t look.

  * * *

  I’d been out of the hospital three days. I couldn’t say that there was anything wrong—per se. Brice had opened up, we were talking about what happened and what each of us was feeling. That part was great. We tinkered around the house and rearranged things here and there. It felt natural and easy—the two of us moving in together, blending our lives.

  Brice was attentive, maybe a little too much, but I didn’t complain and let him do what he needed to do.

  Each night we slept together, the same way we had the first night—feet tangled, holding hands.

  We cooked together. We watched TV. We laughed.

  Things were good—kind of.

  I wasn’t even freaked-out Brice’s parents were coming over in a few days and they planned on staying with us for the weekend. I was looking forward to seeing them again and my parents were eager to meet Bonnie and Bryan.

  But there was something—a nagging in the back of my mind that wouldn’t go away, a ball of unease—unanswered questions about the man who shot me and who had helped him dump me on the side of the road. And my questions didn’t go unanswered because I hadn’t asked—I had, lots of times. But every time I did, Brice told me he didn’t know what was going on. I somewhat believed him because he’d been with me, therefore not involved in the manhunt.

  However, when I asked my dad, his face turned to granite, he grunted evasively, then flat out told me not to worry about it.

  So of course I was worried about it. My dad did me no favors keeping me in the dark, instead it fueled my fear.

  Now we were in my car—Brice still wouldn’t let me climb up into his truck even though my legs were fine and his truck wasn’t that difficult to heft myself into. Yet another thing I gave him his way about—mainly because it wasn’t worth the energy it would take to argue about it. No, I was conserving that energy for the discussion I vowed to have with my dad this afternoon.

  We were headed to my parents’ house for the first time since I’d been released. Brice and I were going to them rather than them coming to our house, only because I told Brice I was going stir crazy and needed to get out. He agreed although he’d done it begrudgingly. But as I said, he was catering to my every whim so he gave in.

  It must be said, it wasn’t lost on me that Brice was on edge. The entire drive to my parents’—which was only a few blocks, we could’ve walked t
o their house almost as fast—Brice had been hyper-alert. His eyes never stopped scanning the street, the sidewalks, the cars we passed, even the houses.

  This only strengthened my resolve to have it out with my dad. We were not leaving my parents’ house until I got answers.

  Little did I know, I wouldn’t get any of my questions answered. Instead, I’d get something else, and it would happen immediately.

  I heard shouting before I opened the door. Brice tried to stop us from entering but I wasn’t having it. Not bothering to knock, not that my dad would be able to hear it over the yelling, I walked in and stopped dead when I heard his angry words.

  “She will not be testifying!”

  Oh, fuck.

  That’s what I’d forgotten about. That right there was what the niggling in the back of my mind was about. Fear slithered down my spine and Brice wrapped his arm around me.

  My dad shouted into the phone. “You think I give two fucks what it does to the case, Ethan? This family’s been through enough. Quinn has been through enough. Not gonna fucking happen.”

  I barely had a moment to feel bad for my cousin for being on the receiving end of my dad’s ire when he turned—stone-faced, eyes wounded, mouth tight.

  Rage took over. I couldn’t stand seeing my dad look like that. I’d seen it enough since I’d been shot. I’d seen the same look coming from Brice.

  I was done.

  D.O.N.E.

  “I’m testifying!”

  Brice stiffened beside me and my dad’s expression went hard.

  “Gotta call you back,” my dad said to Ethan.

  I launched right in, not waiting for my dad to end his call.

  “Tell Ethan,” I demanded. “Tell him I’m testifying.”

  “Quinn—”

  “No! No more. I took two bullets to my chest because Kenneth Allen wanted me silenced. He doesn’t get to win. He doesn’t get to silence me. I’m testifying.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Fuck, no. I’m alive and I’m testifying. And I can’t believe you of all people would expect me to cower. I am a goddamn Walker. We do not cower. We don’t run and hide. We stand and fight. We do what’s right. We protect people.” My chest burned from exertion and it pissed me right the hell off I couldn’t even rant without losing my breath. “Don’t make me the coward of the family, Dad. Don’t make me be the one who hides. Don’t make me be the one that allows a murderer to walk. You know it’s not right.”

  “Goddammit!” my dad roared and I vaguely wondered where my mom was and hoped the neighbors were all at work.

  “Tell him, Dad. Tell him I’ll do it,” I begged.

  It went without saying I hated Kenneth Allen, but watching my big, strong, larger-than-life father struggling turned that hate into homicidal thoughts. I was testifying no matter what. Kenneth Allen was going to prison, and once he was locked away, I hoped he found himself on the receiving end of a shank made from a plastic fork and I hoped it was a painful way to die.

  Then there was Brice. He’d gone statue-still yet he managed to vibrate with anger. That was when I wished I had prison connections—someone on the inside who could make the asshole’s death slow and torturous.

  “Baby,” Brice muttered.

  My gaze moved from my dad to Brice and I braced for his censure.

  “Yeah?”

  “Proud of you.” My eyes widened in shock and my body locked as I waited for him to continue. “So strong. So brave. Walker through and through.”

  He nodded his approval and my heart soared.

  I was too busy basking in the light of Brice’s praise to pay attention to what my father was doing. My eyes stung, my throat was clogged, but my heart floated somewhere in the stratosphere, delighting in the knowledge Brice believed in me.

  That ball of unease was gone.

  31

  The judge presiding over Kenneth Allen’s case hadn’t been happy with the delay and he’d let his displeasure show in a multitude of ways. None of them were good for the defense.

  That morning as Quinn got ready for court, she’d pretended to be calm and cool and I let her have that play. She needed it. She’d remained calm until five minutes before they called her to testify. Then all pretense slid away and she was jumpier than a jackrabbit.

  Every member of the Walker, Clark, Lenox, and McCoy clans—sans Liberty McCoy who was deployed—were in attendance. Once again they’d closed ranks with the addition of my parents who’d stayed an extra day to support Quinn.

  The weekend had gone great—we had a huge gathering at our house, family came and went the whole day Saturday. Quinn was in heaven. Something I realized about her, it didn’t take much to make her happy. As long as the people she loved were around and smiling, all was right in her world.

  Sunday had been low-key. Just her parents and mine. The women sorted through the boxes stored in one of the extra bedrooms, making piles for me to toss out. Jasper, my dad, and I sat out on the back deck and shot the shit.

  For the most part, Jasper had done a good job at hiding his concern over Quinn testifying. Though I did catch him staring at her with more than apprehension—he was proud of her, even if he was worried.

  Now we were all in the hall waiting for Quinn to be called. Jasper and my dad hung off to the side, giving me a moment alone with my woman before she went in, and the rest of the family were already seated in the gallery.

  “Baby, look at me.” I squeezed her hand and waited for her gaze to come up from staring at the marble floor, something she’d been studying for the last two minutes.

  “I’m okay,” she whispered.

  “I know you are. I just wanted to see your beautiful eyes.”

  Her lips started to twitch and the first sign of a smile started to appear.

  “You know you don’t have to sweet-talk me, right? I’m a sure thing.”

  “Not sweet-talk when it’s the truth.”

  Quinn’s mouth curved up into a fucking beautiful smile then she leaned forward and rested her forehead against mine.

  “I’m scared.”

  “I know you are.”

  “I can do this.”

  “Damn right, you can.”

  “You’ll be there.”

  It wasn’t a question. And just like every time she showed me she trusted me, it burned. A sweet, warm burn that scorched my chest. The most beautiful pain.

  “Always.”

  “Always,” she returned.

  “Quinn Walker?”

  She jolted at the sound of her name, then settled.

  “I’m so proud of you,” I reminded her.

  “I’m ready.”

  “Fuck, yeah, you are.”

  We stood and walked into the courtroom, only separating when the bailiff escorted her to the stand.

  My dad took his seat, Jasper followed, then I pulled up the rear and sat in the aisle.

  I felt eyes boring into me and turned to look at Jasper. Sharp, hard green eyes full of anxiety pinned me in place as the man worked through his emotions. Jasper’s body jolted when Quinn’s firm, strong “I do” rang out in the courtroom. It was then his gaze turned warm and full of approval.

  Quinn was strong. She was ready. She was a Walker and no one was going to keep her down. Not gangster trash, not two bullets to the chest, not even her own father.

  Quinn Walker was fierce.

  Throughout her testimony, Quinn’s voice never wavered. She was precise, to the point, and matter-of-fact as she answered the questions presented. Kenneth Allen’s attorney tried his best to get her to stumble, however he’d greatly underestimated Quinn. The harder he went at her, the calmer she became until the attorney looked like a bumbling idiot.

  She was spectacular.

  Before Quinn left the stand, even though the prosecution had already asked her to do so, the judge asked if she would one more time “for the court” point to the man who stabbed and killed Homer Wallace. Quinn lifted her steady hand and pointed to Kenneth Allen. She did
not flinch, she did not shake, she did not cower.

  “One hundred percent, Your Honor. Kenneth Allen.”

  Quinn was dismissed, the bailiff escorted her back to the gallery, I took her hand, and my beautiful, brave woman walked out of the courtroom with her head held high.

  The family followed, and once we were in the hall, each of them accosted Quinn, giving her hugs and words of praise.

  And through it all, Quinn never let go of my hand.

  Jasper and Emily followed us back to our house. My parents and the rest of her family went their separate ways, with Ethan promising to call as soon as he got word a verdict was reached.

  It could be hours, it could be days. Either way, I didn’t give a fuck. Quinn had done her part and it was over—almost.

  Jasper had been cagey on the details about the investigation into who shot Quinn. I needed answers two weeks ago, but hadn’t pushed. Today I was going to push.

  Emily took Quinn into our room to help her change into something comfortable, leaving me in the living room with Jasper.

  “I need a word,” I told Jasper. Not bothering to wait, I opened the sliding glass door and went out to the patio.

  He silently followed me outside and didn’t make me wait. “The man who shot Quinn, his name is Rey Patel. The driver’s name is Oscar Patel.”

  “They affiliated with Allen’s gang?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  Well, that answered a few questions but not all of them.

  “Go on,” I prompted.

  “We’ve discussed this and think it’s better if—”

  “Who’s we?”

  “Levi, Clark, Lenox, and me.”

  “Whatever you’ve discussed is bullshit. I need to know.”

  “No, Brice. You stay clean. All you need to know is it’s being taken care of.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “It’s gonna—”

  “Respect, Jasper, but I’m telling you, it’s not good enough. I didn’t say I wanted to know. I’m telling you I need to know.” Jasper examined me silently—our eyes were locked, his mouth was tight, but he was close to giving in. “If we were talking about Emily, you wouldn’t let this shit slide. No way would you accept the bullshit you just fed me. I don’t give two fucks about staying clean. I’ve had one job in the last few weeks and that was making sure Quinn pulled through. But you don’t think that I wasn’t pissed the fuck off I couldn’t go out and look for this guy myself? You don’t think that it didn’t eat my gut that while I was taking care of my woman, the motherfucker who shot her was out there roaming the streets and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it? Quinn needed all of my time and attention. She got it. The trial’s over, she’s healin’, and now I get something I need. Tell me, Jasper, what the fuck is going on?”