Wicked S.O.B.--A Dark Desires novella

by Zara Cox

  “And you don’t want to meet her in case her verdict on you isn’t positive.”

  “I’m positive it won’t be positive.”

  “And you’re afraid that’ll influence Elyse’s view of you too?”

  “How the hell can it not?”

  I finally find my voice. “Quinn—”

  He turns his whole body toward me. “Tell me that’s not true.”

  “It’s…” I pause, desperate to find the right words. Quinn’s face shutters, and I hurry to speak. “She’s important. Of course she is. But so are you. You’re my life. This isn’t an either-or situation. I love you both, and I want you both in my life.”

  “Why do you presume she’ll hate you?” Dr. Freeman presses.

  Quinn gives a harsh, bitter laugh. “Come on, Doctor. You know what I’ve done. Who would want a depraved asshole like me in their lives?”

  “Then, by definition, Elyse shouldn’t love you either. But she does.”

  Quinn’s eyebrows clamp together for a full minute.

  “Do you doubt her feelings, Quinn?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “Not even a little?”

  His head jerks up, and he fixes an icy stare at the doctor. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Forcing you to confront a few things. Do you doubt that she loves you?”

  “I doubt my ability to be enough for her, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

  “And when she says that love is unconditional, do you believe her?”

  Piercing silver eyes meet mine. He inhales. Exhales. “Yes.”

  “Then you get that there’s only one stumbling block here?”

  “Is this your way of telling me I need to get out of my own way?”

  Dr. Freeman just smiles without responding and scribbles some more. I don’t know whether to punch him or hug him. I look at Quinn. He just looks shell-shocked. Silence reigns for a minute, and then Dr. Freeman looks up.

  “Your turn, Quinn. What do you want from Elyse?”

  Quinn blinks slowly, as if he’s waking up from a dream. Or a nightmare. Turbulent silver-blue eyes spear mine. He stares. And stares some more.

  His lips part, but no words emerge. He shuts his mouth and glances down at our joined hands. Slowly, he raises them and presses his other hand against the back of mine so it’s enfolded between both of his. Palm-to-palm I can almost feel his heart racing through our touch. Still in what looks like a daze, he glances over at Dr. Freeman.

  “My question isn’t for public consumption, Doctor. Sorry. Are we done here?”

  Dr. Freeman closes his pad. “I’ll see you the same time next week.”

  Quinn stands and pulls me up. My anxiety ramps high as I try to read his face. He still looks a little shell-shocked. But that titanium-strong, bulldozer will is resurfacing. He hardly gives me time to throw a hasty goodbye to Dr. Freeman before he’s hustling me to the door.

  He doesn’t speak on the short elevator ride to the ground floor. Nor does he say anything when we get in the back of the limo except, “Take us home, Lionel.”

  After five minutes, I can’t take it anymore. “Quinn, what’s going on?”

  He pulls me across the seat and into his lap. He buries his face in my neck and inhales deeply before sliding his hand up and down my back. “Do you mind if we order in tonight? I don’t think I can stand to be around anyone.”

  I shake my bewildered head. “Of course not,” I reply, but food is the last thing on my mind. “Quinn…,” I try again.

  A deep shudder runs through him. His arm tightens around my waist, and he pulls me closer against his chest. “Shh. I just want to feel you like this, next to me. Do you mind?” he murmurs.

  “Of course not,” I repeat, but I can’t help but be a little freaked out. My warning system is blaring wildly. Coupled with what I still need to tell him, I’m one thin thread from unraveling like a fucking lunatic.

  Thankfully, the journey back is achieved in record time. Whether it’s by mere chance or Lionel utilizing all his skills to avoid traffic, I don’t know. The only thing that occupies my mind is the look on Quinn’s face as we ride the elevator to the penthouse.

  There are a couple of lamps throwing ambient light into the living room, but he doesn’t bother to turn any more lights on when we enter the apartment. Nor does he answer the phone that’s been buzzing in his pocket since we got out of the car.

  He drags me in front of my favorite window. Below us, New York City is laid out in a captivating carpet of vibrant lights. He stands behind me and slides his arms around my waist. I’m suffused with his power and his smell and an overwhelming sensation of love and protection.

  When he leans down and plants a kiss on my temple, my heart lurches with happiness.

  “In case I didn’t make it clear in Dr. Freeman’s office, you’re my life, too, Elyse.”

  I turn in his arms. “I love you, Quinn.”

  He frames my face with shaking hands. In fact, his whole body is shaking. “God, I hope so. Because I’m scared fucking shitless right now.”

  About to ask why on earth he would be scared, I watch, utterly stunned as, up in our castle in the sky, Quinn Blackwood gets down on one knee and takes my hands in both of his.

  “I love you, more than I’ll ever find adequate words to describe. Every breath I take starts and ends with you. For as long as I live, I won’t deserve you. But I’m still a selfish bastard who wants you and wants nothing more in the world than for you to say you’ll be mine for the rest of our lives.”

  “Oh my God, Quinn!”

  His eyes blaze with silver fire. “Is that a yes? You’ll marry me? Make me yours forever?”

  I lean down and kiss his gorgeous, trembling lips. “I love you—”

  I stop when his phone peals loudly. “Dammit! Hold that thought, my love, let me turn this thing off.” He stays on his knee, his hand gripping mine as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. His finger hovers over the power button but then he glances down. Frowns.

  I’m not sure why my heart jumps into my throat when his finger moves to the ANSWER button instead.

  “You have the worst fucking timing in the world.” His voice is terse. He listens for a moment, his frown deepening by the second. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Quinn’s gaze snaps to mine, and I’m hit with a heavy dose of déjà vu. “Quinn.”

  “Say that again. Slowly. Please.” Every emotion is bled from his voice, and the hand clutching the phone is white with the strength of his tension.

  Almost a full minute passes before he speaks. “Yes, come up. The code hasn’t changed.” He hangs up and stares at his black screen with unseeing eyes.

  When he lifts those eyes to me, I know I’m totally fucked.

  “Elyse.”

  “Y-yes?”

  “When in the name of fucking God were you going to tell me you have a goddamn stalker?”

  Chapter Ten

  Elyse

  Judder

  No. No, no, no.

  I close my eyes. I want to cry. I want to curse karma for messing with me like this. But I can’t. This is no one’s fault but mine. “Quinn, I was going to tell you.” Hollow words that sound too weak. Too late.

  Whether he believes me or not doesn’t matter. I’ve waited too long. I watch a myriad of expressions chase across his face. Pain. Puzzlement. Despair. Anger. Frustration. Agonizing pain.

  His phone drops from his hand, and he staggers to his feet. He starts to yank at his tie, and that’s when I notice he’s not breathing right.

  I reach out for him. “Quinn?”

  He stumbles back, his eyes eerily unfocused. Then he whirls away from me. “I can’t…Jesus. I can’t breathe…” The words are mumbled and thick, as if he can’t get his tongue to work. I step toward him again and then freeze as I hear a vicious rip as his tie comes apart in his hands.

  “Oh God…”

  He flings the torn pieces away. His jacket come
s off next before both hands claw into his hair. His whole body is caught in deep shudders that strike fear into my heart. “Why?” Again the word is a rough whisper, as if he’s talking to himself. That he can’t bear to look at me.

  “Please listen to me—”

  The sound that tears from his throat is the kind a severely wounded animal would make. A half keen, half howl of utter desolation. I freeze in place as the sound whips into a frenzy around me before it trails off in an eerie echo.

  Jesus, what have I done?

  His hands link at his nape, and still without looking at me, he stumbles over to the bar at the far right corner of the living room.

  After nearly drinking himself to death when I left him last year, Quinn limited his alcohol intake to the odd glass of red wine or a shot or two of his favorite Macallan whiskey. Now I watch him gulp down half a glass of whiskey before he balls his shaking fists on top of the bar counter.

  I force my feet to move toward him after a minute. I need to make him understand. Somehow.

  “It was just a feeling at first. I didn’t say anything because I thought I was being paranoid, after what happened last year.”

  His head bows, and I watch his eyes squeeze shut.

  “Well, you know what they say about paranoia, dear. If it walks up to you on the street and talks to you, then it’s probably real.”

  I jerk around at the female voice, and my heart sinks to my feet.

  Fionnella Smith.

  Of course. I should’ve known she would be the bringer of the shit storm I’m currently wading through. She’s connected to Quinn through tragedy, and her loyalty to him is absolute. I can’t even blame her for throwing a giant monkey wrench into my life.

  “Are you okay, dear?” the diminutive woman in drab, oversized clothes asks me. For once, her perpetual smile is missing.

  I grip my arms and shake my head. “No, I’m not. Neither of us are.”

  She nods, and her gaze moves to Quinn. Before she can open her mouth, his head whips around, and he spears her with penetrating eyes. “What the fuck do you mean, if it walks up to you on the street?”

  I thought Fionnella was making a generalization but Quinn’s question makes everything inside me clench harder with agonizing premonition.

  No.

  As if she hears me, Fionnella’s eyes return to me. I see the clear sympathy in her gaze but I know she’s not going to spare me what’s coming.

  “For fuck’s sake, spit it out!” Quinn’s white-knuckled grip on the edge of the counter tells me he’s on the verge of losing control.

  Fionnella hesitates for a moment and then reaches into the oversized hobo purse hanging off her arm. The envelope she takes out shreds my insides.

  “No…”

  Fionnella sends me a pitying smile. “You should’ve told him, dear.”

  “I was going to tell him tonight—”

  “Were you?” Quinn finally looks at me, and the wasteland of hopelessness in his eyes flays me. “After three fucking weeks of leaving yourself exposed to this asshole, what was so special about tonight?”

  “I didn’t…I was scared we weren’t strong enough to sustain another hit. I wanted to wait until I was sure—”

  “You mean you were testing me?”

  “No! I was hoping it was nothing.”

  “Your instinct wasn’t enough? You have to wait for him to come right up to you and fucking touch you, or Jesus Christ, hurt you before you believed it? That’s what Fionnella is saying, isn’t it? This asshole has had some sort of contact with you?” he barks at me.

  “Come on, son. Calm down—”

  “And you! Where the hell were you, Fionnella?” he snaps.

  “I had a situation in Nevada to deal with. They approached me based on your recommendation, I believe.”

  “That is no goddamn excuse. You weren’t here when I needed you.”

  “Now, now, there’s enough of me to go around.”

  He pushes away from the counter and stalks to Fionnella. “Yes, but do you see her, Fionnella?” He points a trembling finger at me.

  Fionnella frowns. “Of course I see her—”

  “There’s only one of her!” His agonized bellow threatens the very foundations of the building.

  My blood threatens to curdle with fear. Fionnella doesn’t blink. “I understand, son.”

  “Do you? Really? Because, right in this moment, I don’t think anyone does.” The words emerge in a tortured whisper, as if torn from the center of his being. He starts shaking again.

  Fionnella lays a hand on his arm. “I do, Quinn. I really do.”

  “No. I don’t think so or we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.”

  “Calm down, son,” she says again.

  “Stop telling me to fucking calm down.”

  He whirls away, meets my eyes, and freezes in place. I swallow my fear and misery and step up to him. When he doesn’t flinch away from me, I place my hand on his chest. His heart is beating wild and fast. Out of control. “Please, Quinn.”

  A deep shudder runs through him. “Why, Elyse? How could you not see…how could you not know that this would kill me?”

  I blink back the tears that fill my eyes. “I could see, Quinn. Don’t you see? It was why I wanted to spare you this in the first place.”

  He shuts his eyes and gives a vicious shake of his head. I step closer and wrap both arms around him. He doesn’t pull me in or rest his face in the crook of my neck like he usually does. He holds himself rigidly still, that deathly stillness multiplied by a thousand. He’s barely holding on.

  I take his hand in mine. “Sit down.”

  He stiffens for a moment but then walks over to sink into the sectional sofa. He pulls his hands from mine and clasps them between his knees. Although I sit next to him, I feel a gulf between us, and it tears me apart.

  “Everything. I want to know every last fucking thing, so start talking right now,” he orders.

  Fionnella perches on the far side of the sofa and nods encouragingly at me.

  “I was on my way to class three weeks ago when I…felt I was being watched.”

  His jaw clenches, and a wild curse rips from his throat. I lay a hand on his arm. The tendons bunch brutally but he doesn’t move away.

  “I thought I was imagining it. It’s been a year since Clay—”

  “Trust me, I know exactly how long it’s been!”

  I nod at the clipped reminder. “Anyway, I didn’t sense anything for another few days, but then it happened again.”

  “When?”

  “On my way to the library.”

  “Let me guess, another time when you should’ve let Lionel drive you but chose to walk instead.”

  “It’s only four blocks away.”

  “A hell of a fucking lot can happen in one block!”

  “Stop yelling at me, Quinn.”

  Ferocious silver-blue eyes blaze a sizzling warning. I know I’m going to pay a hell of a lot more later, but for now, his hunger for information overrides his need to deliver the retribution that’s coming my way. “Speak.”

  But I don’t get a chance to. A knock on the door startles both of us, but Fionnella smiles and rises. “Ah, sorry, I forgot to mention. I invited another player to help speed things along. Stay where you are. I’ll get it.”

  When she returns thirty seconds later with Ellen Schultz in tow, Quinn jerks to his feet. “Jesus fucking Christ. What the hell is she doing here?”

  “You want answers, son. You’re getting them.”

  “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Mr. Blackwood,” Detective Schultz offers.

  “I wish we weren’t meeting at all,” he snaps with zero mercy.

  “I understand.”

  He props his hands on his lean hips. “Yeah, everyone seems to fucking understand. Maybe you’d like to throw me a fucking bone and fill me in?”

  I clear my throat. “I called her two weeks ago. I wanted her to look into whether I
was being followed or if it was just in my mind.”

  Thick silence throbs through the living room at my words. Quinn exhales in disbelief and stares at me. “You went to her. Instead of me.”

  “Mr. Blackwood—”

  “I’m speaking to my—” He stops suddenly, and we’re both thrown back to the moment by the window. Quinn down on one knee, asking me…

  Agony ripples through me. Oh God, was it only a half hour ago?

  I watch his chest rise and fall. He swallows, then grits his jaw. “You went to her. Then what?”

  “We’ve been trawling through CCTV footage and mug shots,” Ellen speaks up again. I have to hand it to her—she has guts.

  “And let me guess. You’ve come up with fuck-all?”

  The detective’s lips purse but she shrugs her defeat.

  Quinn’s gaze swings to Fionnella. “And you, dear friend? How are you up to speed with all this?” His tone drips with acid sarcasm.

  Fionnella shrugs it off. “After what happened last year I put a few safeguards in various places.” She sends Ellen a droll don’t ask glance. “When the detective filed a report about a certain piece of evidence she picked up from an Elyse Gilbert this afternoon, I got an alert. I looked into things, got a picture of what was going on.”

  Ellen’s eyebrows spike but she doesn’t respond.

  Quinn eyes lock on me. “What evidence?”

  I clear my throat. “He…left a package for me this afternoon. I gave it to Detective Schultz before I came to meet you tonight.”

  Another forked lightning of censure lances at me. “So it wasn’t just stalking. The fucking bastard made actual contact?”

  “Yes.”

  His forefinger bounces against his thigh as he stares at me. “What…what did he leave for you?” he asks gruffly.

  “The laptop case I thought I lost a couple weeks ago. With a Post-it note that said Lost.”

  “I’ve handed it to my tech guys. If anything pops, they’ll let me know immediately.”

  Quinn doesn’t acknowledge Ellen’s response. He’s staring at me as if he’s never seen me before.

  “I’m sorry,” I mouth. His eyes remain on me. Harrowing. Desolate. Infinitely puzzled.

  Fionnella clears her throat. “There’s been another development since this afternoon.”