by Monica James
Chapter 4
I Promise
I wake the next morning, thankfully not gagged, or tied to the bed.
Quinn has every right to be mad at me—hell, I’m mad at me—but I don’t regret my decision. I’m just disappointed I got caught.
I stretch and yawn, still exhausted, but I doubt a week’s worth of sleep would be enough of a rest.
I’m alone in bed, and as I peek out the window, I see that it’s still dark. I wonder what time it is, and also, where Quinn is. A panic seizes me, thinking he may have left, but as I sit up quickly, I see him crouched over the table, studying a map.
“Mornin’,” he says sleepily, not making eye contact, but sensing I’m awake.
“Hey,” I reply hoarsely, brushing my fluffy hair off my face.
As Quinn raises a paper coffee cup above his head, his eyes still glued to the map in front of him, I quickly slip out of bed and throw on a sweater because it’s freezing. I graciously accept the coffee and take a seat near him at the tiny table. I take a sip of the black, bitter coffee and cringe because it tastes like dishwater, but it’s better than nothing.
“Whatcha doing?” I ask, looking at the road map spread out in front of us.
Quinn finally meets my eyes, tapping a pen on the table, deep in thought. “Trying to figure out where to go to next.”
“Oh,” I reply, sipping my coffee quietly and lowering my eyes. “We’re going to have to ditch the truck,” I say guiltily. “Cops will be all over it by now.”
Quinn nods, dropping the pen onto the table and running both hands through his disheveled hair.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t say that,” he says sadly.
Knowing how much he loves his truck, I bite my lip remorsefully. “Sorry.”
He sighs, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Just gotta steal us a bad ass Hummer to make up for it.”
I know he’s trying to make light of this screwed up situation, and I admire him more than I already do for it.
“So, any ideas?” I ask, jutting my chin out toward the map.
He rubs his weary eyes, sliding Tabitha’s phone over to me. “I got that a couple of hours ago.”
Reaching for the phone, I glance at the screen and realize it’s just after 3 a.m.
Keep moving.
Got someone to help.
Will text when I have more info. DO NOT go to the police. T
“Someone to help?” I ask, looking at Quinn, confused.
He only shrugs. “No clue. But I agree with the keep moving part.”
“To where?” I question, leaning in closer to see the routes he’s marked out.
I trace my finger along the line he’s drawn, following the state lines which lead into Mexico.
“It’s a long way, seeing as we’ll need to take back roads. But it’ll certainly keep the cops off our tails, instead of taking a direct route.”
My eyes flick north however, zeroing in on one particular place.
“Is there anywhere specific you wanted to go?” he asks as my finger circles Alberta, Canada.
“Anywhere that serves better coffee than this,” I tease, making a pained face as I take another sip, still tracing the location where my mom lives.
“Do you want to know why I came to South Boston?” I ask randomly after a minute of silence.
Quinn nods, allowing me to speak.
“To find my mom,” I whisper, my eyes meeting his. “After I shot my dad, I needed to leave L.A. I wanted to get as far away from my past as possible, and it was pure luck I ended up where I did.”
Quinn knows I mean it was pure luck that I found him. Out of all the places I could have gone to, I ended up in South Boston, finding this amazing man before me. But I’ve had to pay a price for my fortune, and so have others.
“So she’s in Canada?” he questions, although it is pretty obvious, as my finger has been circling the same spot for the past few minutes.
“Yes,” I reply, nodding. “I found out within the first few days I was in South Boston.”
“So why did you stay?” he asks, slipping his palm over my hand.
“Because of the people I met. Because of the friends I made. Because of… you,” I reply softly, hoping that doesn’t sound weird.
“Me?” he asks, taken aback by my confession, his hand squeezing mine tenderly.
“Yeah,” I reply shyly, meeting his questioning stare.
Thankfully he doesn’t ask me to explain, as I’m not too sure I would be able to clarify what I mean without freaking him out.
“Well, I’m glad you did,” he says, giving me a small smile.
I’m well aware of his fingers grazing over my knuckles affectionately, and the gesture warms me all over. His long fingers enclose around my wrist, pulling me toward him, and I quickly comply as he pulls me onto his lap.
I’m sitting side saddle, his elongated legs offering me all the support I need.
“Do you want to go to Canada?” he questions, his hand resting at the back of my nape, toying with my hair softly.
I close my eyes, calmed by his touch. “It was so important to me, but now… I don’t know,” I confess softly as his fingers trail down my neck, and across to my collarbone.
“What’s important now?” he asks, his breath fanning out across my cheeks.
Your hands touching me, I internally respond, but remain silent.
“How about we just go wherever the road takes us?” he suggests, placing a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth.
I open my eyes and nod. “I like the sound of that. And besides, who knows what Tabitha has planned? She did say keep moving,” I say, getting lost in his deep jade eyes.
“Then it’s settled,” Quinn replies softly, his eyes fixated on my mouth when I tug on my lower lip, drowning in his presence.
“I’ve never really been anywhere,” I admit. “I’m sorry we’re seeing the sights of America as fugitives.”
Quinn inches his face toward mine, mere inches separate us as he whispers, “I’d go anywhere with you, Red. It wouldn’t matter where—as long as you were with me, nothing else would matter.”
“Even if we’re Bonnie and Clyde?” I ask, trying to make light of our situation.
Quinn nods, a small smile tugging at his sinful lips. “We could be Thelma and Louise for all I care. Just promise me, no more running away from me. We do this together. Promise me.”
I bridge the gap between us, pressing my lips to his before I whisper, “I promise.”
Chapter 5
Plan B
So it’s day two of Mia and Quinn’s awesome adventure, and we need a car. We ditched Quinn’s truck a few miles down the road, hiding it as best as we could in bushland.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble for the tenth time as we walk alongside the road, the early morning sun leading us toward our journey to nowhere.
Quinn is walking Lucky on a short leash, who is enjoying sniffing everything in sight. “It’s fine, Red, it’s just a car.” He smiles, adjusting his black baseball cap to block out the sun reflecting off the pavement.
I know he’s only saying this to make me feel better, but it’s not working. He asked for some alone time with his truck before he said his goodbyes, which would have been funny if the circumstances were different.
“I know you’re lying. So to make it up to you, I’m going to steal you a hot ass car,” I reply loudly when a semi roars past us, my hair whipping into my face with the momentum.
Quinn chuckles, his lips tipping up into a heart stopping smile. “Oh yeah?”
“Yup,” I reply.
“I don’t think you’re going to find anything but tractors out here, Red,” Quinn teases as we walk past a few farms.
“Why does it smell so bad out here?” I ask, covering my nose as I keep getting wafts of… something.
Quinn chuckles and waves his hand out toward the sky. “That would be the fresh, country air you smell, city slicker.”
I slap him playfully on the arm and
reply, “Well, if that’s what fresh, country air smells like, give me pollution any day, because it fucking reeks out here.”
That earns me another laugh. I’m glad Quinn is finding this simply hilarious. After our decision to go wherever the road takes us, we’ve both lightened up a bit, but every so often, I can see his thoughts drifting back home, no doubt to Tristan.
I find myself doing the same, but after Tabitha’s ambiguous text message, I try not to think too much about it because I know she has something up her sleeve. And so do I.
“Red, I think we’re going to have to hitchhike,” Quinn says, placing his hand over his brow and looking from left to right at the vast nothingness we’re confronted with.
I’m not sure where we are, but after Quinn reattached whatever he unattached, we drove for about an hour and dumped the truck in some creepy, remote bushland. I shiver when thinking about the desolate, insect-infected spot, as I’m trying to keep my cool and not envision every bug known to mankind coming out and eating my face off. We’ve walked a couple of miles into well, nowhere, so I hate to say it, but I think he’s right.
“Do you think that’s safe?” I ask, swatting a fly away from my face.
Quinn smirks. “As opposed to walking out here in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a crazy man wielding a chainsaw to attack us?”
My mouth is agape and my eyes widen. “Good point. I wish I had my knife,” I say, reminiscing about the days when all the safety I needed lay in my boot.
“Ooh, look at you, you bad ass,” Quinn comments, winking playfully at me.
I shrug. “I’d even be badder if I had my Colt. Where did that end up?” I ask, pulling a face, remembering him confiscating it from me when I pulled it on him.
“It’s in my backpack,” he replies, but thankfully doesn’t mention why he has it.
I nod, and let it go, realizing he’s not going to give it back to me, which troubles me. Does he not trust me? I made a promise to him that I wouldn’t run, and I meant it. Plan B doesn’t require me running, so that’s why I was able to make that promise.
“Hey, up ahead,” Quinn says, nodding toward the road.
Squinting, I make out a bright orange, VW camper van, driving at a steady pace down the hill. “You think they’re nice?” I ask him, hooking out my thumb while walking backwards.
Quinn follows my motion, and replies with a chuckle, “Probably not.”
The van sees us and surprisingly stops, indicating to pull over a few feet away from us.
“I am so going to regret this,” I mumble under my breath as Quinn and I approach the passenger window.
Quinn throws me a carefree grin and mutters under his breath, inches away from the van, “Whatever happens, just roll with it, okay?”
I cock my eyebrow, puzzled, and question, “What the—” but stop mid-sentence as I hear him address the occupants of the van.
“Thanks for stopping’, y’all,” he says in a thick, southern accent.
I nearly fall over my feet when I hear him speak, because yes, Quinn has a slight, almost nonexistent southern twang, which becomes somewhat stronger when he’s tired or angry, but I’m presuming he’s now neither, so I wonder what the hell he’s playing at.
“That’s okay,” says the young, brunette female driver, while checking Quinn out.
“Where you headed?” pipes up the brunette passenger, also giving Quinn ‘Come fuck me’ eyes.
“Ah, wherever you’re willing to take us,” he replies in that ridiculous fake accent.
No doubt these girls are going to see through his bullshit and drive off, thankful they didn’t pick up two strangers—one complete with a phony, bad accent.
But they don’t.
“We’re headed into South Carolina to see The Blizzards. We can take you that far,” says yet another eager brunette from the back seat as she leans between the two front seats, eyeing Quinn.
Great.
Quinn turns to look at me as I am standing behind him, totally against getting into a van with these wannabe Kardashians. But what choice do I have? This might be the last car we see for hours, and the prospect of being out here with all this country air, and country… bugs, has me taking a step toward Quinn.
“Whatcha think, Mabel?” Quinn asks, his mouth twitching as I take a visible breath.
Mabel? Really?
“I think that’s a peachy idea, Theodore,” I reply in an accent which is just as bad as his.
“Well, all right then,” Quinn/Theodore replies, and he has the gall to tip his baseball cap at them in gratitude.
All the girls giggle and flutter their eyelashes, while I’m about to puke in my mouth. I’m pretty sure that only works if one is wearing a cowboy hat.
Idiots.
The side door squeaks open and the eager brunette from the backseat greets us with pearly whites and huge fake boobs. “Welcome aboard, I’m Bridgette,” she says, gesturing with her hand for us to enter.
“Thanks,” I mumble, stepping into the bordello on wheels, taking a seat in the back.
Quinn steps in behind me and as he’s about to sit near me, he’s barreled up by Backseat Bridgette. “Come sit here, Theo,” she purrs, patting the seat near her, leaning forward so her boobs are on display.
I clench the leather seat underneath me, my fingers about to tear through the fabric. I quickly tell myself to chill. Quinn looks at me awkwardly and I roll my eyes, snatching Lucky’s lead from his hand and positioning him near me.
“I hope you guys like 80’s music!” shouts the driver, taking off eccentrically while Bon Jovi’s “Bad Medicine” drowns out my curses.
***
“They won’t know,” I whisper to the only companion in the car who feels my pain.
Lucky gazes up at me, looking as pained as I, and as we’re being subjected to Bret Michaels for the fifth freakin’ time, I revisit my idea of banging my head repeatedly on the window, hoping to knock myself unconscious.
We’ve been driving for nearly two hours—surely, we’re there by now? I have only just stopped myself, on more than one occasion, from chanting the infamous, ‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet?’ because one more freakin’ minute with these bimbos, and I will happily gouge my own eyeballs out.
The whole trip, Quinn has received the complete, undivided attention of his fans, Bridgette, Tonya and Pippa, who have fawned over his accent, asked repeatedly what he likes doing, did his piercings hurt, does he have any unseen piercings—if so, can they see—what’s his favorite food, who is his favorite Sesame Street character, and the list goes on, and on… and on. Hence me wanting to render myself unconscious.
I know Quinn is uncomfortable with the attention he’s receiving and only playing along, but I still hate it. However, deep down, I know that I’m jealous. I have a nasty case of the green eyed monster, and I don’t like it. I mean, do I even have a right to be resentful towards these bimbos? Quinn isn’t mine, per se. Yes, we’ve fooled around and made out, but we haven’t spoken about where we stand. And who knows if we even stand anywhere, considering what has happened. It was complicated enough before all this shit happened, but now, now I don’t even want to think about what this means for ‘us.’
The kiss we shared yesterday was filled with desperation, two inconsolable people, trying to make the pain go away, so I’m not going to read into our reckless union. Nor will I read into the fact that Quinn demanded a double bed instead of two singles.
Maybe it would be best for Quinn to fool around, get me out of his system. I mean, he did do that once with Amber, not that it worked. But still, what kind of life can I offer Quinn? A life of crime, that’s about it.
Looks like Plan B, with a twist, will be set into motion earlier than I planned.
My decision is made. I’m going to encourage Quinn to flirt and hook up—God knows he won’t have to try very hard. I’d rather eat glass than do this, but it’s for the best.
I’m really starting to understand the meaning behind that phra
se now.
“Everything okay?” Quinn asks softly, turning toward me as Bridgette whispers with her partners in crime through the gap in the front seats.
I give him the best fake smile that I can and reply a little too happily, “Never better.”
His eyes narrow, not believing a word, but he turns back around as Bridgette passes her hand over his thigh, making him jump in surprise at her forwardness.
As I’m envisioning her hand going up into a puff of smoke, I remember the promise I made to myself thirty seconds go, and take a deep, calming breath.
“So Mabel,” asks Pippa, the driver, looking at me in the rear view mirror. “How do you know Theo?”
I’m surprised that after two hours, they remember my name, as none of them have spoken a word to me.
Quinn begins without pause, “I’m her bo—”
“He’s my brother,” I reply, cutting him off, ignoring the dirty look he gives me.
I ignore the satisfaction I feel at the fact that Quinn was about to refer to himself as my boyfriend. And in any other circumstance, I would be thrilled, but now, now I just feel undeserving.
Three sets of shoulders depress, thankful I’m not a threat so they can continue with their ‘who can get into Theo’s pants first’ game.
“Oh, that’s awesome,” purrs Bridgette, running a long fingernail along Quinn’s bicep, which is poking out of his grey t-shirt.
I try not to scowl, but my heart is about ready to explode. But as Quinn subtly pulls back his arm, not at all impressed with her touching him, my lips tip up into a small smirk.
“Woo hoo!” yells Tonya, sticking her head out the window, resembling a dog as her long hair catches in the wind. “We’re here!”
My eyes snap up to witness what Tonya is hollering over, and I see the blue ‘Welcome to South Carolina’ sign.
Woo hoo! I internally cheer. I can finally get out of this suffocating environment, which has just become a lot more uncomfortable when I see Quinn mulling over my comment.
