I take a few breaths and look back at the couch where there’s a few drops of blood where I was sitting.
Oh, God.
I can’t.
This can’t be happening again. I can’t endure losing another child. Not one that I really want. Not this baby—our baby.
I grab my phone and shoot him a text.
* * *
Me: Quinn, I don’t want to scare you, but I need you to come home now. Please call me.
My hands are shaking as I drop the phone. After a few minutes without a response, I start to feel sick. Where is he? He always answers me.
Maybe he’s on the subway. When he resurfaces, he’ll call.
In the meantime, I call Clara. She answers on her personal line, which I only have because I’m a friend.
“Ashton?”
“Clara, something’s wrong. I felt some cramping.”
“That can be perfectly normal,” she tries to reassure me.
“Yes, but now I’m bleeding,” I say the words as fresh tears fill my vision.
It’s like déjà vu all over again. The cramping will worsen and then there will be no options.
I’ll lose the baby. I’ll lose Quinn. I’ll be alone again.
“Okay, can you get into the city or would you rather go to the hospital in Brooklyn and I’ll meet you there?”
“No, I can come there. It’s probably nothing, but I’m. . . nervous.”
Clara’s voice is calm and soothing. “Take a deep breath, relax, and meet me here.”
I nod. “I can’t get a hold of Quinn and . . . I’m scared, Clara.”
I’m so afraid this is going to be my life. I’ll get pregnant and then my body will fail me. I’m just over fifteen weeks. This shouldn’t be happening. We were smart and careful and we did everything right. I stopped working for fuck’s sake. I’m not on my feet for too long. I always take care of myself.
“Okay, I want you to take a cab here. It could be nothing, Ashton. How much blood was it?”
“Not a lot. I mean, there was definitely blood.”
“All right. Come in and I’ll get you in immediately.”
I try to control my breathing, but I feel as though my lungs are being ripped from my chest.
Staying calm has to be my priority. The more upset I get, the worse this will be. Somehow I manage to get a text out to Quinn.
* * *
Me: I’m trying to get a hold of you, but you’re not answering. I’m heading to see Clara. Meet me there.
* * *
No response.
* * *
Me: Please just text me back. I’m starting to worry.
* * *
Still nothing.
I try some yoga breaths, hoping to relax enough to get myself to the office.
My legs feel uneasy as I make my way to the cab. I give him the address and then call Mark. Whatever Quinn was doing, he’d check in with him, right?
“Hey, Red.”
“Mark, something’s wrong. I’m going to the doctor now, but I can’t find Quinn.”
I don’t have time to sugar coat anything, and while Mark may be a jackass, he would never joke when there’s distress.
“Okay, when did you last talk to him?”
“I don’t know, maybe a half hour ago. He said he was on his way but was working on something.”
Mark’s voice is deep and there’s no playfulness now. “Let me track his location. He checked in from the coffee shop, but that was about a half hour ago.” I chew on my thumbnail, feeling as if I could pass out at any moment. “It says he’s at a parking garage, but . . .”
Dread fills me. “But what?”
“Nothing. Let me try him, but don’t worry, Ash. Quinn is the best, I’m sure he just dropped his phone.”
Quinn is the best, which means that he doesn’t drop things like his phone. “Mark . . .”
“I’ll call you back.”
He doesn’t want to tell me. I’ve been on the receiving end of a Mark Dixon call about bad news. I heard his voice when he told Catherine that Jackson was shot. I heard all about how he was the one who told Natalie about Aaron. Mark has been the bearer of bad news too many times.
When I thought about losing Quinn a little while ago, this wasn’t what I was thinking.
My hand clutches my chest as I pray for the first time in a very long time, hoping my mother’s efforts afford me a little good grace.
“Dear God, please let this baby be okay. Please don’t let me lose another one, and please don’t let anything be wrong with Quinn,” I whisper each word as the cabbie drives over the bridge. “Please don’t take everything I love in one day. I can’t . . . I can’t.” A sob breaks from my chest, and I clasp my hand over my mouth, silently saying the rest because I can’t say it aloud. “I can’t live through it.”
34
Quinn
Fucking hell, my head. That’s the only thought that registers. Something hit me, and my head is throbbing. My hands go to move around, but they’re bound.
What the fuck?
I try to gather my thoughts, but it hurts to think.
Hell, it hurts to think about thinking.
Slowly, I start to assemble a plan. First, figure out where I am.
Honing on my sense of touch, I use the little room I have with my fingers and feel what I can. It’s cheap carpet. I move my feet, and when I push, my head slams into something hard and lights dance inside my eyelids. Jesus, I’m in a trunk of a car.
Okay, calm down and think.
I was following him, and we went to a garage. There were three people, and I saw two leave. How the fuck could I be so stupid?
Another few minutes go by, and my head hurts worse than anything I’ve ever felt before, which is saying something considering I went through an IED explosion. I try to get some kind of upper hand, working the knots on my wrist, but whoever tied these wasn’t an amateur.
Once again, I refocus. What do I remember? A face? A voice? Anything familiar?
No.
I’m struggling to get my brain to connect any dots or pick out any clues, but there are none.
Nothing about this makes sense. Why the hell was I grabbed? No one should have known I was there unless someone was following me.
But who?
I scoot around, trying to feel if my phone is in my pocket, but they must have taken it. I had it in my hand . . . thinking about getting back to Ashton.
Ashton. She’s never going to forgive me for this. She called me upset, and instead of going home to her, I followed the son of a bitch.
I start to berate myself, hating that whatever had her upset, I’m not there for. Of all the times I’ve failed her, this is one I’ll regret most.
Before I can get too far in my head, I hear someone at the back.
“And what do you want to do with him?”
The voice is muffled.
“Just tie him up?”
Again the response is too low for me to hear the answer. They’re either trying to hide themselves or are on the phone.
“Look, I’m not comfortable with all that . . .” The guy trails off, and I close my eyes to focus on the sounds around me. “I’ll leave him for you then.”
I revert back to my training. I need to leave my own head and focus only on the things I can control. I have to put Ashton out of my mind because she’s the only thing that can break me. If I want to get back to her, I can’t allow myself any mistakes.
The trunk flies open, and light spills in, making it impossible to see anything. A large man looms over me, he’s so backlit that I can’t make out a single feature on his face.
His hand lifts, and I feel the stab of a needle into my arm.
“What? No hello?” I manage to get out before my world goes black once again.
35
Ashton
My hands rest on my stomach as we make our way through the traffic. My cab driver must sense my panic because he’s been extra aggressive since we entered
Manhattan. There’s no control over my body right now. No amount of breathing can calm me.
Everything feels as if it’s going in slow motion. Maybe this is a good thing because Quinn explained stressful situations as almost like fast forward. The fact that I can dissect each thought surely means it must not be as life-threatening, right?
I check my phone again for anything from Quinn, but nothing.
I close my eyes, and it rings.
Mark.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know yet. We’re doing everything we can to find out. I have each member of my staff trying to track him, but he could’ve dropped his phone, Ash.”
The thing is, in the depths of my heart, I don’t think that’s true. “Find him, Mark.”
“I will. What’s going on?”
I don’t want to tell anyone before Quinn, but my breathing hastens and I start to hyperventilate. “I can’t . . . I can’t . . . breathe.”
“Easy, Red. Easy. Listen to me, he’ll be fine. Quinn is a smart guy, and he would never do anything stupid. Now, just breathe.”
I try my best. He’s right, Quinn is all of that, but he’s not invincible. None of them are, regardless of what they think.
Another cramp hits, and I start to cry harder. “I’m losing everything.”
“No. You’re not losing anything. Where are you?”
“I am!” I cry out. “I’m going to lose the baby.” I choke on the words.
“Ashton, you’re just upset, okay? I know it’s stressful, but you have to stay calm. Tell me where you are.”
“In the cab.”
On my way to find out if, once again, my body has failed me.
I hear him cover the phone but I know he’s barking out orders to find me. Then another voice shouts back, and then the voice on the call isn’t Mark’s anymore.
“Ashton?” Natalie’s says. “Are you bleeding?”
I nod with tears streaming. “There was a spot, but I . . . I don’t know now.”
“Okay. Are you on your way to the doctor?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Is anyone with you?” Natalie’s soothing tone puts me at ease, just slightly.
“No, I’m alone.”
The line goes quiet for a moment, but then she’s back, asking, “Is it the doctor you work for?”
“Yeah, and where the fuck is Quinn?”
Natalie understands more than anyone what I’m feeling. She went through hell with her first husband, and Liam has had a few moments that would turn anyone’s hair gray.
“I know you’re worried, but Mark, Jackson, Ben, and the rest of the guys are working on it.”
My voice is trembling, and I try to get it under control. “I’m here. I have to go inside and . . . and pray.”
“Trust me, Ashton, no one in this group is going to let this rest. We’ll find Quinn and get him to you as soon as we can.”
I believe her, so I put a bit of my faith in her words.
After exiting the cab, I can’t help but look back at the seat and thank every God, angel, and my mother because I’m pretty sure she’s a saint that there’s no blood there.
Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was some spotting like Clara said. Oh, I pray that’s the truth.
Okay, I can do this. I just need to get some answers and figure out if there’s anything wrong. For the first time, my chest doesn’t feel as though someone is sitting on it, and I walk to the entrance of the clinic.
The door opens, but before I can cross the threshold, my stomach tightens, forcing me to grip the door so I don’t fall to my knees.
36
Quinn
I try to open my eyes, but I can’t. No matter how hard I attempt to engage the muscles, they won’t budge. My body is heavy and everything feels murky.
The air around me is saturated with the scents of rust, dirt, and salt. I try to listen for any noises, but all I hear is the sound of running water. Which tells me I’m alone. I start to recount my training, stay calm, use what is available. At all costs, think through each action because the only control I have is reactions.
I was taken, hit over the head, and drugged. Clearly, someone is tied to Cole and knows who I am. Now, I need to figure out where I am so I can create a plan to get out of here.
There’s the noise of a train which means I could still be in New York City, but I have no clue at this point. Hell, I don’t even know how long it’s been. Hours? Days? There’s no way to tell, but I know I’m hungry, thirsty, and I could really use an Advil.
I move my neck side to side, cracking my jaw because the bastard who hit me definitely didn’t hold back. This guy knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum damage, which wouldn’t be Jackson’s former in-laws.
Not to mention he had already left by the time I got clocked.
There’s a noise outside of whatever room I’m in, but the tingling in my fingertips draws my attention. My arms aren’t tied, and slowly, my limbs come back to me. I try to force my vision to return, but it’s still no good. So, I work on what I can.
I lift my arm a bit before it falls back to my side, but that’s progress.
I hear a low chuckle, and I instantly want vengeance. Whoever is sitting here is watching me, studying my movements, and I won’t be making another mistake. He thinks I’m weak, which I only am thanks to the fucking drugs he gave me.
The next time I move, it’ll be to slit his fucking throat.
I focus on my toes, which are still in my shoes. I move each one deliberately. Each time, the movement becomes more controlled.
Since I’m on my side, the next are my fingers. I curl them, one at a time, until I’m able to make a fist.
Good. At least whatever drugs they gave me are wearing off.
Now, I start to count. Time is the only measurement I can use to start to get a grip.
The next things I can control are the muscles in my legs. And as each moment passes, another piece comes back to me.
“He’s waking up,” the same guy from the car says.
Whoever he’s talking to agrees without a word, just a slow hum.
“Should we knock him out again?”
Again with only a sound, indicating he doesn’t want to do it.
This guy is going out of his way to keep his identity concealed. Slowly, I crack an eyelid open. If I know who I’m dealing with, I can get my ass out of here and back to Ashton.
As soon as I do, something moves, blocking my view. “He said you would do this. You’d start to gather your wits and then you’d try to see. You’re inventorying your situation, but we’re as smart as you are, and there’s no getting out of this until we get what we want.”
So he thinks.
I open both eyes to the blinding light, but I won’t close them. I don’t care how uncomfortable it is.
The guy I’d never seen before takes a step closer, still keeping me from seeing who is behind him and clearly the puppet master.
“Water,” I croak.
“Not yet.”
The person behind him moves, I can hear his footsteps approaching.
Guy in front asks, “Should I bag him?”
My breathing stays steady even though I’m anything but. That was the one weakness I had—being blind was the worst torture. I’d rather be beaten than have a fucking bag over my head.
“There’s no need to,” I say with my throat feeling as if it’s on fire. “I don’t know where I am anyway.”
The orchestrator laughs, and I try to move to catch a glimpse, but all I see are camouflage pants and boots.
He’s either military or got his hands on our gear. If he were a SEAL, it would lend to Jackson’s belief that the problems weren’t stemming from his first wife’s side. If I had it wrong . . .
It means that I could’ve been followed and that what I saw wasn’t real.
What if this is a guy from Jackson’s past military time?
It could be a SEAL or any number of options.
M
y mind is still a little slow, and it takes me a second to register the guy in front of me has stepped to the side and now has a gun pointed at my head.
I look over at the other guy, the one who is clearly in charge. Our eyes meet for just a second and I freeze in disbelief, not believing this could be true.
“Hey, buddy.”
Then the bag is dropping over my head and a sound that no soldier can mistake rings out.
37
Pain.
Pain like nothing I’ve ever known tears through my body. I scream out, wanting to stop it. Trying to wail against it. Praying for it to stop because surely this means I’m dying.
There is no way anyone can live through this.
The sounds of my screams echo around me.
All I register is blood as my body begins to shut down from the sheer agony . . .
So much blood.
And then I feel nothing.
* * *
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
* * *
Preorder Infinite to find out the conclusion to Ashton & Quinn’s story.
* * *
If you need to talk, vent, or discuss be sure to Join the Indefinite Spoiler Group on Facebook.
Books by Corinne Michaels
The Salvation Series
Beloved
Beholden
Consolation
Conviction
Defenseless
Evermore: A Salvation Series Novella
Indefinite
Infinite (Coming July 22, 2019)
* * *
Return to Me Series
Say You’ll Stay
Say You Want Me
Say I’m Yours
Indefinite Page 20
