by Monica James
Quinn glares at me, his nostrils flaring slightly, and when we’re asked again, double or single, he replies, “Double,” never breaking eye contact with me.
I lower my eyes, unable to maintain contact, as I know I’m being a total bitch to him, but I have no other choice.
“You’re in room fourteen. And no pets,” she barks, curling up her lip. “I saw you pull up with that dog.”
I’m about ready to poke her eyeballs out as she refers to Lucky in such a derogatory manner. But suddenly, an inexplicable wrath passes over me, and I lean forward, bracing my hands onto the counter, getting into her personal space, while she leans back nervously.
“The only dog around here is yo—”
I’m rudely cut off by Quinn, who yanks on my arm, talking over the top of me.
“Thanks,” Quinn says quickly while grabbing the room key and escorting me out the door like a naughty child.
“Let me go!” I demand, attempting to shake myself free, but it’s pointless. Quinn drags me toward our room without loosening his grip.
My boots drag on the gravel as I attempt to kick my heels in, but I have no doubt Quinn will get me there, kicking and screaming if need be, so I let him lead me. He unlocks our maroon door and hurls me into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. The dirty white walls rattle with the force, and I know Quinn is pissed.
“What is the matter with you?” he shouts, dropping our bags onto the stained fawn carpet.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I smugly reply, plonking onto the end of the bed.
“Bullshit, you don’t.” He huffs, stalking over to me, his huge frame dwarfing mine. “You do remember we’re on the run, right? Trying to keep a low profile is kind of imperative. But you insulting everyone you come across is not really low profile material.”
He drops to his knees, crouching down in front of me. “I know this is hard, but…”
“I’m going for a shower,” I snap, standing up and stepping around him, as I’m in no mood for a lecture or pep talk.
Nothing he says will change the fact that Hank is dead, and Tristan is hurt, and it’s all my fault.
“Red!” I slam the bathroom door shut, wishing I could do the same with Quinn. Somehow, I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.
***
So, this is what guilt feels like.
Staring at my reflection in the foggy bathroom mirror, I have an urge to smash my fist through the glass, shattering the image before me, because I hate what I see.
I have destroyed so many people’s lives—good people.
I’d do anything to trade places with Hank, because he deserves to be alive, not me. And as for Quinn, he deserves to be free. I plan on setting that one thing right, because that’s the only thing I can control.
“Red?” Quinn knocks softly. “Everything okay?”
I sigh. Damn him for being so nice to me. He should hate me for everything that I’ve done. But he doesn’t.
But he will.
“I’m fine, Quinn,” I reply, tying my wet hair into a high ponytail. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
With my hands braced on the edge of the basin, I take a deep breath, needing a sea of courage for what I have planned. I step out wearing my PJ’s, even though it’s late afternoon, but I’m beat and want to catch up on a little sleep before I make good on my plan.
However, all plans of sleep are thrown out the window when I see Quinn slumped forward on the end of the bed, head cradled in his hands, his foot tapping frantically.
“Quinn?” I ask, rushing over to him, my heart in my throat.
As he lifts his head, his bright emerald eyes peek out from under his long, messy bangs. “He’s going to be okay,” he says, a breath leaving his chest in a whoosh of relief.
“Oh, thank God,” I gasp, my hands clutched to my heart, biting back my tears.
Quinn nods, holding up Tabitha’s iPhone.
“Abi just texted. Said it was a close call, but he’s just come out of surgery and the doc said he’s going to be fine.”
I can’t help moving toward Quinn, embracing him to me. He wraps his warm arms around my waist and presses his head to my belly. We stay this way for a while, both needing the comfort of this connection.
And I need it because it’ll be the last time I hug him.
Chapter 3
Plan A
I’m trying to faux sleep while Quinn is in the shower, but the thought of him in there, all soapy and wet, forces images into my mind that make me want to do anything but sleep. However, tonight is the night where I make things right. Knowing that Tristan is going to be okay is a small weight lifted off my shoulders, but it’s still not enough.
As I hear the shower switch off, I shut my eyes, hoping sleep will be kind to me—but it’s not. My eyes snap open, and no matter how tired I am, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get a sound night’s sleep ever again.
I’m still awake as Quinn strolls out of the bathroom, switching off the lights. It’s dark out, so the only light illuminating the room is from a dim streetlight just outside. I try to clamp my eyes shut, but as soon as they fall onto Quinn’s bare, chiseled chest, they do the opposite and open wider. He is a work of art, which is funny, considering he’s the artist.
I’ve seen his work, and it should be hanging in some gallery somewhere. I think about the sketchbook he showed me all those nights ago, and remember the sketch of Hank. His kind, grey eyes came alive onto paper, Quinn capturing him perfectly.
But now I’ll never see his light ever again.
I don’t realize I’m crying until Quinn slips in under the covers, pulling me into his warm chest.
“Sshh,” he soothes, brushing tendrils of hair off my face that have stuck to my fallen tears. “It’ll be okay.”
This just makes me cry harder because it’ll never be okay, but I allow this one moment of vulnerability, because there are to be no more after it.
I can’t stop the avalanche of tears, and when Quinn pulls away, kissing them softly, more follow in their place. His lip ring caresses my cheeks, sending chills down my spine, and unexpectedly, a warmth pools in my belly.
He senses my desperate need to wash away this hollowing pain, and softly pulls my lips towards his, kissing me with a deep longing. I moan the moment my lips meet his, tangling with his tongue as he slips it into my welcoming mouth. His barbell is a total turn on, and as we perform a tango of tongues, devouring each other, the cool metal piercing only adds to the pleasure of kissing Quinn.
Before long, we are pulling at one another frantically, as the space between us, only mere inches, is too distant. Quinn hitches up my leg, wrapping it around him, and slides me with ease onto his rock hard body. I am slender, but in Quinn’s arms, I feel miniature.
As I lean up on my knees, my long, thick hair comes loose, sheltering us from the real world. Our tongues are dueling, trying to kiss away the events that led us here, as we both want to feel anything but pain, and for now, this is the best distraction we can both come up with.
Before I leave him however, I want to touch him—taste him in the flesh—just once. So I quickly break the kiss, my teeth tugging at his lip ring and sucking it into my mouth with a soft pull. Pressing butterfly kisses down his chin, his light stubble tickles my lips, and I can’t help myself as I bite down on his strong jaw.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his hands squeezing my waist firmly while his body shivers from my assault.
It turns me on, knowing I can draw this response from him, because God knows, he does so to me. I may be a virgin, but I do know what desire and want is, and I know I want and desire Quinn.
I’ve seen Quinn mid-passion, and it’s a sight that has been burned into my brain for an eternity. Quinn engages in the act the same way he does with everything else in his life—with dominance and complete control.
Kissing lazily down his chest, my fingers trace the tattoo he has inked down his side as I latch onto his left nipple, suck
ing the piercing into my mouth with a deep, long drag.
Quinn curses, exhaling loudly, and his hands move down to my ass, squeezing feverishly. I want into his pants, but I’m scared, as I’ve never touched him in the flesh before, and under the thin material of his sweatpants, I can feel he is all man.
My hands slowly slide down his rocky abs, and are just about to slip under the waistband of his pants, when his fingers still mine. I stop lapping at his nipple and look up to meet his wild, green eyes.
“You’ve got plenty of time for that, Red.” He sighs, his hands slowly resting on the lower section of my back. “We should get some sleep,” he says. I think that’s a horrible idea.
Chewing on my lip and feeling a little rejected, I shyly shift off his body, embarrassed I have done something wrong. He stills me, his large hand grasping my hip, the other clutching the back of my nape.
“I want you, don’t think that I don’t.”
“Then what?” I ask softly, feeling myself pout.
“Just not now. Not like this,” he replies, his clever eyes assuring me.
I completely understand his reasoning, but I begrudgingly slip off him, turning onto my side, feeling heated and unsatisfied. Quinn slides in behind me, slipping his hands around me and cradling me to his chest.
“Goodnight, Red,” he whispers, kissing my neck, the exhaustion apparent in his voice.
“Goodnight, Quinn,” I reply, closing my eyes as a silent tear slips down my cheek, afraid of what comes next.
***
I wake, checking the clock to see how much time has passed. Four hours’ sleep is pretty good for me, seeing as I usually rouse, dripping in a cold sweat, waking from a nightmare.
But tonight I haven’t dreamed, and I know it’s because I’m wrapped in Quinn’s arms.
I look upon his relaxed face, his chest rising and falling softly, his sinful lips parted. His slight exhalations are lulling me back to sleep, but as I tenderly brush back wisps of dark hair off his brow, I chew the inside of my cheek to stop the tears because I know it’s time.
Silently slipping out of bed, I shrug into my jeans and hoodie, which are lying on the carpeted floor near me. Reaching for my backpack and pulling out the money, I place it all onto the kitchen table and then creep toward the front door. I grab Quinn’s black sweater off the back of the sofa, pausing when I hear him stir.
As his light breathing starts up again, I let out a deep breath and continue on my way. My boots are by the door and I bend low, picking them up without a sound. With a muted mouthful of air, I give Quinn one last look, my heart breaking as I shut the door behind me.
I slip my hood on, tucking in my hair, wanting to shroud as much of myself as possible. The gravel digs into my feet as I walk away quickly, trying to make my exit as speedy and quiet as possible. I’m glad my beating heart cannot be heard however, as it would wake the whole damn neighborhood.
Wiping my sweaty palms onto my jeans, I’m so relieved when I see the truck. Lucky is lying in the truck bed, and sits up excitedly when he sees me.
“C’mon, boy,” I whisper as I open the gate for him. He jumps down, ready to follow.
Gently opening the unlocked driver’s door, Lucky jumps in, settling on the passenger seat while looking at me unhappily.
“Don’t look at me like that.” I sigh, springing into the driver’s seat. “I have to.” He drops down low with an unimpressed huff.
I madly search through Quinn’s sweater pockets for his truck keys, but they’re not there.
“Fuck,” I hiss, hunting through them a second time, but still nothing.
Panic seizes my gut, and I flip down the visor, hoping he keeps a spare set here—but he doesn’t. I frantically rummage through the console and glove compartment, tossing everything onto the floor. It’s fruitless, because I’m still keyless.
“Looking for these?” a deep voice asks by my window as I hear the distinctive sound of keys jingling lightly.
I let out a startled yelp and jump so high that my head hits the truck roof with a loud, painful thwack. Ignoring the pain, I look over my shoulder at Quinn, who is standing outside my window, dangling the keys from his index finger.
I’m so busted.
“Get out,” he commands in his no nonsense voice.
I stubbornly reply, “No.” I lock the door, which is stupid, since he has the keys.
His mouth twitches slightly as he folds his arms over his broad chest. However, he looks menacing out here in the shadowy night, hair all tousled, with his hard eyes and dominating stance.
“I can do this all night,” he says, sucking on his lip ring.
“So can I,” I retort, staring back at him, mimicking his pose.
He suddenly lunges for the door, unlocking it quickly, but I read his apparent ploy and relock it just as fast.
He grins, the moonlight reflecting off his perfect, white teeth. “So, you’re going to stay in the truck all night?” he asks, raising an eyebrow when I settle low, trying to get comfortable.
“Sure, why not? You’ve got to go inside eventually, and when you do, I’ll just hotwire your car.” I smirk smugly at him.
Quinn chuckles, which infuriates me, and I feel my cheeks heat.
“Do you even know how to do that?” he asks, looking bored.
“Did you forget what I used to do for a living?” I snap, sitting up, making a face at him through the window.
Quinn smirks, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Good point.” He casually strolls toward the back of the truck with his hands dug deep in his pockets.
I turn to look out the back window, wondering what he’s up to, and as I see him reach into a tool box, pulling out a screwdriver and Zippo lighter, I know this won’t end well. He flips the screwdriver and begins whistling as he taps the handle on the driver’s window smugly while giving me a lopsided grin.
I watch him curiously through the windshield as he jimmies the hood open with the screwdriver. It opens with a loud, POP, and as he whistles the tune to “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC, he begins tinkering under the hood.
Even though I can’t see him because the hood is up, I know whatever he’s doing under there can’t be good. I try and shuffle up in my seat, but give up and slump low, crossing my arms over my chest in a huff.
After a minute, he closes the hood, giving me an arrogant smile while holding up some wires. “Now you’re not going anywhere,” he says with a wink.
I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure he just cut the battery leads.
“Oh, that’s real clever!” I shout to be heard through the windshield. “You’ve just destroyed your car!”
Quinn shrugs. “Oh well. You can just hotwire me another,” he replies, nonchalantly.
I should have known his mechanical knowledge would beat me at my own game.
“So, are you going to get out? Or am I going to have to smoke you out?” he asks, flipping the Zippo lid open.
With no other choice, I unlock the door because we’ve gained an audience, as a few guests have come out of their rooms to see what the ruckus is all about. Lucky follows as I storm out of the truck, marching toward our room, my bare feet protesting with every step I take. I barge into the room, looking for something to throw at Quinn.
Quinn is locking the door behind him when I throw the Bible at him, it thudding against the door, narrowly missing his stubborn head.
“You should have let me leave!” I snarl, pacing the room.
“No,” he replies, tossing his useless keys onto the small wooden table.
“Why not?” I yell, stalking toward him and shoving him in the chest.
“Because that’s not the way to solve this. You think I’m just going to stand by and let you take the blame?” he asks, steadying himself.
He knew all along I was going to go to the police.
I was going to tell them all about my dad and Phil, and what we did back in L.A., hoping they would believe me. Deep down, I knew they wouldn’t because Phil was s
mart. He never left a trail. He paid his taxes, and was the perfect American citizen with no rap sheet, unlike me.
I knew they would pin Hank’s murder on me, and if that was the case, then I would confess, taking all the blame. But I couldn’t do that if Quinn was with me. He would never allow that, and that’s why I had to leave him behind.
“How did you know?” I ask, looking at him guiltily.
“Because I would do the same for you,” he replies passionately, grabbing my upper arms firmly.
I shrug out of his hold and take a step back, shocked by his confession.
“So how could you stand in my way?” I ask, trying to understand his reasoning.
“Because I won’t let you throw your life away.”
“But you will yours?” I ask.
“My fate is already decided,” he ambiguously replies, turning to look out the window.
“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” I gasp, a ball of dread forming in the pit of my stomach.
Quinn shakes his head stubbornly, turning to face me. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell it doesn’t!” I yell, storming over and squaring off with him. “You know all my secrets.” I spread my hands out wide.
“My secrets are better left buried,” he answers, and I can see a hint of regret in his emerald eyes.
“And mine aren’t?” I huff.
“That’s different. You never had a choice, where I did.”
He is so God damned stubborn! I open my mouth, ready to argue, but he clamps a hand over my lips.
“You will not run. So help me God, if you try and run, I will tie you to that bed and gag you. We clear?” he asks, his eyes searching mine, making sure I understand that he’s serious.
The hard set of his strong jaw line, combined with his fierce exhalations, indicate just how serious he really is.
Well, fuck him.
I bite down on his fingers and he pulls them away, hissing.
“We’re clear,” I reply, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind me.
Fisting my hair in frustration, I begin pacing the tiny room. So, Plan A didn’t work. But lucky for me, I have a Plan B.
