by Sophie Stern
When I agreed to marry Darin, it was because I thought it wouldn’t be that bad.
That was literally what I thought.
“Darin? That won’t be so bad.”
My first thought was that my parents chose a decent person. My first thought was that they’d chosen someone I could stand being around. My first thought was that Darin wasn’t the kind of guy who was going to demand much from me, provided I showed up to social events.
That was what I thought.
I was so wrong.
“You aren’t stupid,” Quinn says. He pets my hair as I cry against his shoulder, and for a brief minute, I wonder why I couldn’t have met him under different circumstances. Why couldn’t he have been the ones my parents picked out? Why couldn’t he be the man I’m engaged to? Why couldn’t it be him?
He’s big and strong and not nearly as much of a dick as I want to pretend he is.
“You couldn’t have known, little one. You couldn’t have known.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I whisper. “I can’t go home now.”
“Have you forgotten?” He asks, curling a finger under my chin. He tilts my face so I’m looking right into his bright, sparkling eyes.
“Have I forgotten what, Quinn?”
“I own you, Fiona. You aren’t going anywhere, love.”
“But, I thought…”
“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” he says, and the tone of his voice makes me feel like he means it. “I’m really, truly sorry, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re on Dreagle. We’re on Dreagle and there’s no way I’m letting you go. Not here. Not now. You’ll die before you reach the safe zone.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Look at yourself, darling. You’re a tiny little human with damaged hands. Now, maybe they’re feeling all right because of the ointment I applied last night, but if we don’t put some more on soon, those pretty little palms are going to start burning because you had some deep fucking cuts on them.”
“I’ll be okay,” I whisper, but we both know I’m lying.
“You’re so beautiful you’d stick out like a sore thumb. You did at the auction. Don’t try to deny it. Everyone who looked at you wanted you, Fiona. You’d be snatched up before you reached the end of the street.”
“I could wear a disguise,” I suggest helpfully, but Quinn just shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, Fiona. I know you’ve been through hell and this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but this is your life now. This ship,” he motions around the room. “This is your home now. You don’t get a choice.”
“I don’t want to stay on your ship,” I whisper. “I want to be free.”
“Freedom is an option that left when you were taken,” Quinn says. “That’s not something you’re going to experience again for a very, very long time.”
“But,” I say again, protesting lightly.
“I’m sorry, Fiona,” he says. This time, he pushes me gently away and stands up. “You aren’t going anywhere. I purchased you and I spent a lot of money on you. I spent more than I’m willing to walk away from. That’s what setting you free would be: walking away from cash.”
“But my family,” I say, struggling to find words. The tears are blurring my eyes and that makes it harder to think. “They have money,” I insist. “I have a bank account. I can pay you back,” I say. “Please.”
He walks to the door and I throw my body at his feet. I hit the floor and cry out when my palms hit the hard tile.
“Please,” I cry louder, harder. I grab his ankles and look up at him through my tear-streaked face. “Please.”
Only it doesn’t matter.
Any hope I had for Quinn showing me mercy vanishes as he pushes me away with his foot, and then he leaves the room.
Emptiness consumes me, and I start to scream.
Chapter 12
Quinn
So I’m the biggest fucking asshole in the world.
In case anyone was wondering, or competing, you might as well not waste your time. It’s me. I’m the jerk.
Fuck.
I head down the hallway, but I can’t escape from the sounds of her screams. Apparently, the bedroom is much less soundproof than I originally thought because I can hear all of her.
I can hear all of it.
I can hear her cries of desperation, and it fucking breaks me. I barely reach the control room before I start crying myself, and then I collapse on the floor. I haven’t heard anyone scream like that since Hedgar LeBlaie took my little sister.
I haven’t seen anything like that since he stole her away.
I remember lying in a pool of blood, dizzy and almost unconscious, completely unable to move. I remember being trapped and not being able to get up to rescue her. I remember him hauling Hayden away.
Now, I realize I’m doing the same thing to Fiona. I’m capturing her, hurting her. I’m taking away her last shreds of hope and I hate that it makes me such a bad person. I hate that it makes me just as bad as the monster I’m trying to stop.
I hate that it makes me just as evil.
I hate that I’m hurting her.
The tears roll down my cheeks silently, but I refuse to let them make me feel like less of a man. That’s not who I am. I’m not breakable. I’m not weak. I’m not a child for crying.
I’m still a man and sometimes, when life hurts the most, sometimes men cry.
My brother taught me this years ago. One night, when the world felt like it was ending, Ezra pulled me into his arms and he told me, “Quinn, we all cry. What matters is what happens once you’re done crying. Are you going to get up, brush it off, and keep moving forward with your life? Or are you going to stay broken? That’s the true mark of a man. This isn’t going to break you. I won’t let it. I’ll be with you the entire time.”
I think of my brother now. He’s off kicking ass. He wouldn’t let himself be concerned with something as simple as a little lost human, but he also wouldn’t judge me for saving her. He wouldn’t tell me to ditch her. No, my brother is too good for that. He’d ask me how I was going to save her.
“You can’t keep her here forever,” he’d tell me, and I know that’s true.
I need to figure out what I’m going to do with Fiona and fast.
I can keep her locked up. I can. She’ll be safe and she’ll be secure, but she won’t be living. Something tells me that what Fiona needs most of all right now is a purpose. She’s had everything she’s ever known completely stripped from her life. She doesn’t have money or a family or a home anymore.
She doesn’t have anyone.
Just me.
I’m all she’s got.
Am I really going to sit around and let her wither away in my room? Am I really going to be that person? It’s bad enough that I can feel LeBlaie’s goons closing in on me. Either the police will find me or his paid mercenaries will find me and no matter who reaches me first, it’s not going to end well for any of us.
But can I really just let Fiona sit around until that happens?
There’s something about her I hadn’t counted on. I hadn’t counted on the fact that she’s not terrible. I hadn’t counted on the fact that she doesn’t seem scarred by the world. She’s sweet and innocent. She’s much too innocent for me: much too innocent for Dreagle.
How can I really keep her locked away?
Finally, I realize I can’t. That’s not the kind of man I’m going to be. It’s not the kind of man I am.
I won’t be the kind of man who steals away a woman’s life and locks her in a little box. Fiona isn’t a toy to be taken out when I get bored. She’s not someone I should be locking away and pulling out to play with. She deserves better than that, more than that.
But I can’t let her go free.
The decision weighs on me and finally, after what feels like hours, I come to the realization that she needs something to do and I need someone to help me. Searching the ship will go a lot faster with an extra set
of hands on board. Won’t it?
I wonder why I didn’t think of before. She can help me look for whatever LeBlaie hid on the ship. She can help me find whatever he was carting on this vessel. She can help me get my freedom and I can give her hers.
When I reach the door to my room, I pause and listen.
Nothing. I don’t hear her crying, don’t smell any tears or sadness, but that doesn’t mean anything. Surely she hasn’t gone to sleep. She wouldn’t have. She was too upset when I left her and I doubt much has changed, but then I get it.
I get her scent, and it’s not sadness I smell.
It’s anger.
She’s royally pissed and I’m guessing she’s got some sort of plan. When I walk through the door, she’s going to try to take me out. Maybe she’ll hit me over the head or maybe she’ll try to rush past me. I don’t know, but I do know I need to be careful.
I underestimated Fiona.
Everyone did.
That’s why her hands are damaged and that’s why she’s still alive. People look at her and they see a dainty princess, a socialite. That little tigress is so much more.
I key in the code to open my door, press my palm on the little sensor box, and push the door open. Then I quickly dart to the side before the door finishes opening. Sure enough, Fiona comes charging out of the room with two pens: one in each hand.
She screams as she runs, barreling into the hallway, and crashes into the opposite wall before falling onto the floor.
“Were you going to try to stab my eyes out?” I ask. “That’s not very nice.”
“Neither is locking me up to be your prisoner,” she spits out as she rights herself, then scoots back against the wall.
“You’re right, and that’s why I’ve come up with an idea.”
“I don’t care about your stupid ideas,” she says. “I want to go home. I want to go back to my old life. I want to go back to Mirroean.”
“You don’t have a home anymore, Fiona.” My words are harsh, but she needs to hear them in order to move forward. Even if no one else wants to tell her this, even if no one else wants to be honest, I’ll be honest. I’ll tell her. I’ll explain what’s going to happen.
“I do,” she whispers, but she sounds less sure this time.
“No,” I tell her. “You have open wounds where your home used to be. You have wounds where your family was torn from you, where they ripped out your heart and threw it to the wolves, baby.”
“I have friends,” she says. Her voice cracks, and there are tears streaming down her face. She’s trying so hard to hold on. She’s trying so hard to be brave.
“You have nothing on Mirroean. There is nothing left for you. That ship has sailed, Fiona. Those people, that life? It’s all gone, but I’m not. I’m right here and I can offer you something more.”
At that, she somehow stops crying and looks up at me, suddenly curious.
“More?” She asks. “What are you talking about? What do you have to offer besides a cage?”
“Vengeance,” I promise her. “If you help me, I’ll make sure your family pays.”
“And Darin,” she says.
“And Darin,” I repeat. “We’ll make them all pay, Fiona. You and me.”
Chapter 13
Fiona
It’s an interesting promise, vengeance.
I’ve never considered myself to be the type of person who took out vengeance on another. I’ve never thought of myself as the type of person who needed vengeance to heal, to recover.
Then again, that was before.
That was before my world crashed and burned.
That was before my own family betrayed me.
I’ve had a lot of time to think. I’ve had a lot of time to consider why my family decided to have me offed and I think I’ve come up with a reason.
The engagement.
On Mirroean, engagements are legally binding. They’re socially binding, too, of course, but the legal part is the aspect that matters the most. That’s the part that means Darin is now set to inherit my father’s money and his company. That’s the part that means he’s going to get my inheritance.
And it’s the part I don’t understand, not really.
I don’t understand why they had to go through all the trouble of making me disappear in such a horrible way.
I don’t understand why they didn’t just quietly kill me.
I don’t understand any of it and that terrifies me.
And when Quinn promises me vengeance, I instantly want to tell him yes. I want to tell him I’m all in. I want to tell him I’ll do whatever he wants as long as my family pays. I want to tell him all of this.
I thought I could hurt him when he came back into the room, but I’m tiny and he’s big. That’s the way it’s always going to be. He’s smarter than me, braver than me, bigger than me.
He’s quicker.
“I can help you,” he promises, kneeling down in front of me. “Let me help you.”
Finally, I nod.
“What do you want from me?” I ask. “Sex?”
He raises an eyebrow, and I can’t help but giggle at his confused appearance. He looks surprised I even asked.
“Do I look like I need help getting laid?” He asks me quite seriously, and now it’s my turn to laugh.
“With abs like these?” I run a finger over his chiseled stomach. He’s hard, like a rock, and I wonder if I’ll break a nail just from touching him.
“I don’t need help getting laid, human,” he says, and I believe him.
“Then what do you want?”
“Your eyes.”
“You can’t take my eyes,” I say, suddenly freaking the fuck out. He is a serial killer! I knew it! He’s going to fucking carve them out and put them in a jar. He’s a freak. He’s a freak and I’m trapped on his ship and he’s going to cut out my damn eyes.
I turn and start to crawl away from him, but Quinn grabs my ankle and pulls me right back. I land firmly on my belly in front of him before wiggling around to sit on my ass. He hasn’t even moved. He’s still squatting in front of me like all of this is completely normal.
“Calm down,” he says. “You know, if you freak out every time I say anything, it’s going to be a long couple of days.”
“Days?”
“Yeah, with both of us looking, we should be able to find everything we need within a few days.”
“You mean, you mean you don’t want to carve out my eyes?”
“What? No!” He looks grossed out and suddenly, I’m a little embarrassed at my reaction to him. Obviously, I completely overreacted. Obviously, I was being weird and he was being normal.
Quinn sighs and runs a hand through his hair. I want to reach for it, want to feel it in between my fingers, but I don’t. Instead, I take a deep breath and try to calm down. He’s an alien, after all. He can smell me. He can smell my fear and my emotions and…oh, shit. My arousal. He can smell my arousal.
Suddenly, I wonder if he’s noticed all the times I’ve been turned on around him, but I know it’s better if I don’t know.
It’s better if we keep that separate between us.
It’s easy to think that trying to seduce the big, bad alien would be a good way to spend my time here. After all, I’m locked up, anyway. Would sleeping with my captor really do any harm?
Any at all?
Part of me thinks no.
All of me thinks yes.
And right now, I just can’t stop staring at him.
“I’m looking for something,” Quinn says.
“What are you looking for?” I try to look at his eyes instead of his broad chest. I try to stay focused on his face instead of his body, but I can’t. He might be looking for something and he might want my help, but I’m looking for something, too.
I’m looking for comfort.
I’m looking for hope.
I’m looking for something to take my mind off this entire damn day, off this entire damn week.
I’m look
ing for anything that’s going to make me feel better and right now, there’s nothing.
Except for him.
“There’s something hidden on the ship,” Quinn starts to say, but I grab his head, pull him towards me, and kiss him. I kiss him, and I kiss him, and I kiss him. At first, he hesitates. I even think he might pull away, but then he relaxes into me and kisses me back.
And oh, I’ve never been kissed like this before.
I’ve never been with an alien before, either. I’ve never really even thought about it. Most of the people on Mirroean are from different planets, but somehow, I’ve always migrated toward the other humans.
Now I wonder what else I’ve been missing out on.
Quinn tastes like rich, dark chocolate. He runs his tongue over my lips before parting my mouth and taking his place there. He kisses me like I’m the only person in the world. He kisses me like he’s starving for me. He kisses me like he needs me.
And then he stops.
“Please,” I beg him, reaching for him. “Please don’t stop. I need this.”
“I can’t,” he protests, but I don’t think he’s as serious as he’s pretending to be. “I can’t do this. Not right now,” he says.
Only, I think this is the perfect time, and I think this is exactly what we both need. I need to forget. I need to cope. I need something to make me feel a little bit human, a little bit alive.
And something tells me he needs the same thing.
How long has he been a lonely traveler? How long has he been searching for something on his own? How long has he been by himself?
It’s not good to be by yourself.
Not for long.
Not forever.
Oh yes, Quinn needs this just as much as me. He needs to feel me, needs to touch me. He needs to explore me just as much as I need to explore him.
We could help each other.
"We shouldn't do this," he says again, breathing hard, but his eyes tell a different story. His eyes tell me he wants me, wants this. His eyes tell me that no matter what happens, he wants this thing between us. We both do.