by Doyle, Dawn
Mumbling came from the back seat right behind me.
“What was that?” Josh asked, checking the rearview mirror.
“I said,” Kinsley snapped, sitting up straight and attacking me with her sweet scent. “What’s so interesting about watching two people beat the hell out of each other?”
Josh and I looked at each other. “Because,” he drew out. “People like violence, but don’t want to have it directed at them. They like money, so they bet on a winner, they also like to see guys with their shirts off getting all hot and sweaty.” He pumped his brows at me and motioned to Kinsley, “mainly the women who can’t pass up the opportunity to try their luck at banging the hot fighters. If they’re good with their hands and know how to move, then they must be good… Well, you get the drift.”
“Christ,” she hissed. “People are idiots.”
“Maybe,” Josh said before I could answer. “But you’re forgetting the fighters who enjoy what they do.”
“Then the fighters get what they deserve.”
“And what would that be?” I spun in the seat, getting a view of her tousled hair from the wind and my fingers.
“You want the crowds so that they pay.” A dry grin spread across her face, and I dropped to her mouth, still red and puffy from my kiss. My cock twitched again at the thought. “Then you bitch and moan when they treat you like a commodity.”
“It doesn’t give anybody the right to grab my dick,” I snapped, remembering the woman who’d cupped my junk.
“Quinn,” Josh warned.
“No, this has to be said.” I turned back to Kinsley. “Because I’m a guy I’m supposed to accept it? Like it? Would you like it if a guy shoved his hand between your legs as you walked past? Maybe shoved his face between your tits to motorboat them when you were minding your own business? What about thinking he had a right to put his hands all over your body just because you weren’t wearing a shirt? Nobody is entitled to another person just because they fucking say so.”
“Quinn, Jesus Christ,” Josh complained.
Kinsley gasped, her eyes wide, glassy, and sparkling from the streetlights streaming in from the window. I could see every drop that started to fill in her lids. “You have no fucking idea, Quinn,” she choked.
Josh turned into her street, and before the car had a chance to stop, Kinsley shoved the door open.
“Kinsley!” I yelled.
“Don’t, Quinn.” She spun around, shoving her finger toward me, her thunderous expression ready to blow. “You wanted to know why I left Crosshall?” She looked at Josh, then back to me, her entire slender frame vibrating with rage.
Let it out, Kinny.
“Why don’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice soft, trying not to push her to breaking point, but my sick and depraved need wanted to—taunted me to.
Push her buttons, Quinn.
“I had to. That—everything you said,” she choked out. “I said no, Owen said I was lying and that I wanted it, so he tried to take it.” She cackled, the noise coming from her eerie and twisted. “And you know the best part about it? I was the one that had to leave—the one that was punished.” She patted her chest hard. “But you know that already, right? Eavesdropping on my conversations with my mom?” She waved her hand in the air, her tortured expression only softened by the tears in her eyes. “But what you don’t know is that the would-be rapist got away with attacking me because they didn’t want the bad rep.” She flipped us the bird, but mostly me. “How’s that for entitled?”
She bolted to her front door, still wearing my hoodie that swamped her body.
“Fuck me,” Josh blew out.
Blood boiled in my veins, bubbling as it flowed, my speeding pulse sending it flying around my body, burning every fiber in me.
Somebody put their hands on her without her permission. They’d tried to hurt her.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked, so low my gruff tone was barely audible over the purr of the engine.
Josh rubbed his hands together. “It’s hunting season.”
“Fuckin’ ay.”
***
‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I had no idea.’
I stared down at the message I’d sent to Kinsley a couple of days ago, holding my phone in my busted up hands from the bag. Still no reply, and who could blame her? I’d been a one-hundred percent grade-A fucking prick and deserved everything she threw back at me.
I continued to look at the screen, wondering if she was going to talk to me again.
“You asked for some info?” Layton asked, walking down the stairs into the basement. “I don’t have much, but I got a couple of hits.” He handed me a piece of paper with some Owen’s from Crosshall. “Four of them, but that’s not all I found out about the place.”
“Oh?” I looked up from the paper to see him rocking on his toes nervously. “Are you gonna spill, or are you gonna continue swaying?”
“Yeah, uh,” he pointed at the third Owen in the list. “This guy’s mom is on the board at Crosshall Brow, the fancy college there. He goes there, too. According to his social media, he’s God’s gift to the world. A fucking tool if you ask me, though. Two are in High School at Crosshall Bridge, nothing stands out about them except for some pictures with girls at parties, and the fourth is in elementary, so I guess he’s out.”
I took the paper with the picture of the only Owen I was interested in.
Hello, punchbag.
“Good.”
“What do you want with him anyway?” he asked, his brows knitting together.
My mouth turned down once. “No concern of yours.”
“Quinn, look,” he sighed. “About this whole Phoebe thing.”
“I don’t give a shit, or have you forgotten?” I asked, my anger rising as I thought back to the bonfire and the escalation of fuck all just for the sake of causing shit. It was giving me a fucking headache—the reason I stayed out of all the clichéd angsty bullshit all the kids couldn’t seem to leave behind. And by kids, I meant fucking morons.
“I fucked up.” He held his palms up, taking a step back when I straightened. “And I’m sorry. At the bonfire, she was talking crazy about you and Kinsley and tried to get me on her side by insisting you were still trying to push me out, and I should do something about it.”
“Did you dump her ass?”
He shook his head. “I’d already ended things that night after the fight, right after you asked me to talk to her about Kinsley.”
“And?” I raised a brow, crossing my arms over my bare chest.
“She didn’t say anything, Quinn. She just fucking laughed. Who the hell does that?”
“People like her.” The twisted, conniving weasel that she was.
His nose turned up as though smelling something terrible. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Rachel was in on it, though.”
“Rachel?” I cocked my head to the side, intrigued. “Rachel’s Kinny’s friend.”
“Come on, Quinn, she lives with Phoebe. When Kinsley’s tire got slashed, I saw her laughing like a fucking hyena as they drove home together.”
“You’re sure?” I seethed, clenching my fists around the paper.
“Saw it with my own eyes, man.” He rubbed his neck, looking more than a little disturbed. “It might have been a coincidence, and I don’t want to cause unnecessary shit here, but I think Kinsley needs to be careful who she hangs out with.”
I dropped my head, opening up the scrunched paper. “We’ve got some work to do.”
“Quinn, I have to know. Are we good? This is fucking killing me being on the outside. Josh hasn’t talked to me since the fight either, and the lies Phoebe told me, feel like they’re coming true.”
I faced him and stepped toward him. “How the fuck could you think that, after everything we’ve done, the three of us, what we’ll continue to do, I’d try to get rid of you? If this is about Ginny—”
“No.” He shook his head. “I know why she did what she did, I do, but
you and Josh are so tight, I feel like I’m just there when you need me for something.”
I dropped my head and sighed. “You take different classes to us, you have a different schedule, and when we need to get shit done, we all skip. I don’t know why you keep bringing up non-existent shit.”
His insecurities pissed Josh and me off, but no matter what we said, Layton would get it into his head that we were avoiding him on purpose.
“Phoebe’s history,” he said, nodding his head. “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I said those things about Kinsley and getting into her pants.” I stiffened at his words, recalling him going over to her at the beach. “If she’d have gone off with me that night, I was only gonna talk about classes, but she said no anyway. I know you like her, man, and I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you like that.”
I don’t like her.
“Apology accepted,” I said firmly.
“Are we good?” he asked again, one brow raised and that same side of his face in a wince-like expression as he waited for me to answer.
I smirked. “Sure,” I said finally. “But I need you to do something, and it’s gonna be fucking epic.”
“Anything, name it.”
***
‘Are you gonna ignore me today?’
The three dots appeared again, and I checked the clock on the wall as I sat in math class with Mr. Cunningham.
‘Depends. Are you gonna be a dick to me?’
‘No.’
‘Still putting on a show, or are we ready to break up?’
My gut churned, and my fingers tapped the desktop in agitation.
“Is everything okay?” Josh whispered. “You look serious.”
“Yeah, just thinking what to say so Kinny doesn’t kick my ass.”
His face twisted in confusion, his head tipping to the side. “Um, okay, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Whatever,” I mumbled, typing out my reply.
‘I won’t keep you much longer. Then you’ll be free of me.’
‘How sweet of you to allow me my freedom.’
She added a rolling eyes emoji at the end, making me crack my stern posture for a second.
‘See you in class, Kinny baby.’
A facepalm emoji followed, and everyone turned to me when I laughed.
“Something more important than your college education, Mr. Dexter?” Mr. Cunningham asked, looking down his pasty nose at me. “Or are you done interrupting my class?”
“Right now, yeah,” I said, grinning at him like I’d lost my mind, and I probably had. “But I’m far from done.” I lowered my voice but made sure he could still hear me. “Unlike your kid.” I turned to Josh, he held out his fist, and I bumped mine to his.
“Layton at play tonight?” he whispered.
“Yeah. Got a new toy box he’s checking out,” I replied, and the pair of us grinned. I was going to enjoy the fireworks when this shit went down, and if I could pull off what I wanted, it was going to be one helluva fucking display.
When we find you, you’re fucked.
Chapter 9
Kinsley
“What’s going on?” I stood by my desk that Quinn now occupied, leaving the seat in the middle empty. “Why are you in my seat?” I looked him over, seeing he had his legs stretched out in my way, the blue jeans tight across his thick thighs.
“My girl needs to be right here,” he said with a smirk. He held out his left arm towards his usual space, showing off muscles that I’d not been able to forget holding me. At that time, they'd been covered by the hoodie that was currently in my possession.
“I don’t like this,” I said, eyeing the pair. “Josh?”
“What?” He shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to do with it.”
“Hmm.” With cautious movements, I slipped into the space, my head going from side to side. “Why do I feel like I’m being set up for something I’m not going to like?”
After my impromptu meltdown and blurting out my reasons for being here, I hadn’t known what to expect. And this… This had definitely thrown me for a loop.
Quinn’s eyes slipped to mine, the hard stare gone, flooring me. Completely gone. “Kinny?” he whispered.
“Yeah?” I continued to watch him, looking at his face, his jawline, his little nose freckles, his lips that were exploring mine just a couple of nights ago…
“You’re staring, baby.”
“I know,” I replied truthfully. “Isn’t that what girlfriends do?” I batted my eyes, trying to act all sweet and innocent. “They stare at their boo, right? And their boo just loves it.” God, I had to stop myself from laughing at his expression, his cocky smirk slipping, replaced with hesitation. “They positively eat it up like the finest candy.” Oh, I made sure to put a little extra oomph into that word.
Quinn opened his mouth but closed it again, the first time I’d seen him unable to immediately clap back with a snarky response.
He leaned to the side, his dark blue pools fixed on me, never faltering. Before I could react, he grabbed my desk and yanked it to him, just like last time, our tables barely an inch apart. “There’s my girl,” he growled, his tone oozing with promises of retribution, his words sending shivers down my spine. “I just can’t keep my distance from you, can I?” He snaked his left arm over the back of my seat, the tips of his fingers drawing circles on my shoulder. While I continued drowning in his gaze, he pulled his arm back, stroked down my ponytail, and lifted it, taking it to his face. His eyes closed while he inhaled deeply as though savoring whatever my hair smelled like. “Mm, I’ll never get enough of that.”
“You’re crazy,” I whispered.
“About you,” he replied, his eyes still closed. “Now give me some sugar, Kinny. I need some of that sweet stuff to truly get my day started.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I glanced around the room and saw the others trying not to watch. Josh was being Josh by laughing his ass off and failing to hide it.
Quinn grinned wide, and I fucking gripped the desk, my face turning beet red when his eyes shot to my reaction.
Oh, hell.
“I’m not, baby,” he purred. “Lay those lips on me, but only if you want to.”
He had me there, the ass. If I didn’t, it’d look suspect, and if I did, it looked like I wanted to, and not just for the sake of our audience.
Well, I suppose I could play along and throw in a little something of my own.
“Come here, then,” I goaded.
And he did. He leaned toward me, dropping my hair and cupping my cheek, holding me still. I couldn’t look away from his mouth as his lips parted. The second I felt his breath on my face, my eyes fluttered closed, and he kissed me, taking my breath away. His tongue slipped inside my mouth, his lips covering mine, gently sucking before coming in again. Fingers stroked over my skin, the tips sliding down my cheek as Quinn’s erotic kiss made my brain turn into mush. Heat stirred inside of me, starting in my stomach, then sinking lower and lower, settling in my core.
His lips pulled back, but I couldn’t move.
“Holy shit,” I breathed, forcing my lazy lids to open. Quinn was staring at me, a strange expression crossing his features that I couldn’t decipher.
“Right back at ya,” he mumbled, warmth flowing across my lips.
I blinked quickly, our surroundings coming back into focus, my face flaming. “So,” I said, coughing a little to clear my throat. “I’ve blocked out a session for your photoshoot.”
“Say what?” He sat up, his hand dropping from my face, resting on the back of my chair.
“Pictures last longer, remember?” I winked, then faced forward.
Oh, yeah.
“You’re treading on dangerous ground, Kinny,” he warned next to my ear, but instead of his words feeling like a threat, my body responded with a resounding, bring it on.
I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t focus, hell I could barely sit still because Quinn hadn’t left me alone for the entire class. It was as though he
was absentmindedly stroking my hair, twirling the ends around his fingers, then bringing them to his nose to inhale. He was the opposite of the Quinn I’d met almost three months ago. The Quinn that hated me on sight, had loathed my presence and made up some twisted deal assuming it would be simple because of our dislike toward each other.
Now? Now he was gliding his fingertips across my shoulders, playing with my ponytail, and, oh dear God, kissing me on the cheek every few minutes.
“Quinn,” I hissed when his lips brushed my cheek for the fifth time in thirty minutes.
“Yeah, babe?”
“You’re going overboard.”
His light chuckle vibrated across my skin as he kissed me again. “Is it bothering you?”
Yes, because I like it.
I didn’t want to, and I shouldn’t. This wasn’t real, none of it was real, but the way he touched me made it seem like he meant everything.
I had to cut him off soon because if I let this go on for too long, I’d fall in too deep to get myself out of it.
“I’m just trying to concentrate,” I whispered, still failing to make a coherent sentence on the page. “And I can’t with you kissing me and touching me all the time.”
Quinn’s arm rested over my shoulder, his wrist limp, and his hand hanging. “Sorry, babe.”
Oh, God, it sounds like he means it, too!
He was too good at faking. I just hoped that my heart could distinguish between the two.
“You seriously want to take pictures of me?” Quinn asked once class was finally over, the longest hour-fifteen of my life.
“Yeah, why not?” I refused to meet his gaze, choosing to take my time packing my stuff away while he stood so close, he scorched me with his body heat. “You said it yourself.” He huffed out behind me, my nerve endings firing up as the gentle gust blew innocently over the back of my neck. “Can you please stop breathing on me?” I asked, my tone clipped. “God.”
“Is it a problem?”
It is when it makes me shiver, when it makes my skin prickle, when it turns me on…
“When you’re standing too close, yeah,” I replied, softening my tone. “Anyway,” I turned around, still not looking at him, “if we go there now, we’ll have an hour before my art class.” I stepped around him and began walking toward the exit.
