by Monica James
“So…” I say, encouraging him to continue.
He chuckles, resting his lips on my head as he speaks. “So I bribed them.”
“Bribed who?”
“Rodney’s manager. I told him if he cleared Rodney’s name, I’d make it worth his while. And this time around, I did use Abi’s money. But I didn’t think she’d mind, as she would have done the same.”
I pull back to meet his kind eyes.
“But Rodney could have been thieving. I mean, you saw what was going on at the address he sent us to. I don’t think his son, Jason, is a qualified mechanic, if you know what I mean.”
Quinn laughs, kissing the tip of my nose. “Think of Rodney as, Rodney Hood.”
“Huh?” I ask, scrunching up my face, frightened Quinn has lost his mind.
“Rodney steals cars from the rich, who can have a newer, better model, delivered to their doorstep within the hour, to feed his family of eight, plus three dogs.”
“This isn’t really helping Rodney’s case,” I say with a small smile.
Quinn smirks, toying with his lip ring. “They accused him of stealing personal items from guests.”
“What would a simple man like Rodney want with showy shit from snooty guests?” I ask. Even though I don’t know Rodney, his scuffed shoes, and discount watch was a dead giveaway he wasn’t like everyone else in that place.
“Exactly,” Quinn simply replies.
“So you bribed his boss? With money?” I ask, needing to clarify Quinn didn’t use his fists, as well as money, to seal the deal.
“Yes, Red. Money is the universal language, sad but true.” Quinn chuckles when I give him a disbelieving look.
“So you vouched for a total stranger? Why?” I ask, not that I’m unhappy he did so, more that I need to know his reasons.
“Because everyone, regardless of what they have done, deserves a chance,” he replies softly, and I have a feeling we’re no longer talking about Rodney.
I let it go, because I can feel Quinn tense up underneath me, not wanting to discuss this further.
I can’t help but marvel that Quinn did something incredibly kind to help out a complete stranger. And even though I’m pretty certain Rodney helped Quinn set up our date, as they most likely became friends the day I went missing, what Quinn did for him was something not many others would have done. But whatever the reason Quinn decided to help Rodney, I’m glad, because Rodney came through for us when he needed him the most.
After a few moments of silence, and me snuggling back into Quinn’s chest, clinging onto him like a koala, I ask, “So, what are we going to do now?”
“I think we should take the back roads and keep driving. No stopping till we’re far enough to get the cops off our tail. And it’ll give us some time to figure out what the hell to do next.”
I nod. “We’ll take it in turns driving then. Drive through the night, okay?”
Quinn nods. “As long as you’re okay with that. It’ll probably mean using gas stations as our bathrooms and the supermarket for the next couple of days, but it’ll give us some breathing room.”
“Sounds good to me,” I reply. “What’s a road trip without excessive amounts of artificial sugar and frozen burritos?”
Quinn chuckles. “So, any place special you wanna go?”
I shrug, my eyes closing, as being this close to Quinn is heaven. “Nope, anywhere with you is special,” I reply softly.
And I mean every single word.
Chapter 17
Passengers
We drive through Louisiana, taking remote backroads used only by the locals, and hopefully not patrolled by the police. Thankfully the lonesome dirt roads link back up to the highways, so we know which direction we are traveling in.
We drive nonstop, only stopping for gas and the occasional bathroom break, but Quinn is right, we need to give ourselves a big head start now that the police are onto our location.
Quinn has driven all of the way, but after nearly running us off the road because he fell asleep at the wheel, I demanded he pull over. He’s driven for way too many hours without a break. He insisted he was fine, but when I told him this wasn’t negotiable, he agreed and was out like a light.
So now it’s just me and the open road, as Lucky has also crashed, snuggled into Quinn, who is using the window as a pillow. He’s going to be sore when he wakes, but I don’t have the heart to wake him up.
I’m not sure of the exact time, but judging by the coyotes and raccoons, and whatever other wildlife wants to jump out in front of me, scaring the bejesus outta me, I’d say its well after midnight.
We’re headed for Arkansas, and I’m aching for a bed and shower, and to eat something that isn’t defrosted in the microwave. But I’d never tell Quinn, as he feels bad enough.
Even though we almost got caught, I’m not freaking out or on edge, and that’s because I’m with Quinn. My feelings are growing every single minute of every single day, and that’s what’s getting me through this. If I was doing this on my own, or with someone other than him, I doubt I would be this composed or sane. But with Quinn, I feel like I can pull through anything.
Lost in Quinn thoughts, I fail to hear a small whimper until it becomes a steady, panicked moan. I look over, in belief that it’s Lucky having a doggy nightmare. But the distraught whimpers are coming from Quinn, and becoming increasingly worse.
I try and reach out to comfort him, but he’s too far away, and even with one hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching for him, I can’t touch him.
My eyes dart between the road and Quinn, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, especially when his whimpers turn into spoken, hushed words.
“Mom… I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Quinn cries, whipping his head from side to side. “I’m sorry I made you choose. I didn’t know… and it’s too late.”
What’s too late? Oh God, I feel I should wake Quinn, as his face is contorting in pain, but I also feel as if I’m intruding on a private memory, one Quinn wishes to keep to himself.
“Don’t tell Tristan, please don’t tell him. If he ever found out, he’d never forgive me.” A sob tears out of his throat, jerking me with its intensity.
I can’t stand to hear him in such pain, so I quickly pull over at a rest stop and am by Quinn’s side in seconds.
“Quinn,” I whisper, while he’s mumbling incoherent words under his breath.
He doesn’t rouse.
“Quinn,” I say again, a little louder, shaking him lightly on the arm.
Nothing.
“Quinn!” I shout. “Wake up! You’re dreaming,” I cry, shoving him harder, his firm bicep tensing under my palm with the pressure.
I hate to be so rough, but if I were dreaming as he is now, then I would want someone to wake me. I know this from experience, as many a times I wished someone would wake me from the horror of my dreams.
Luckily it works, and Quinn jumps up, startled, eyes wide, trying to place where he is and if the dream was real.
I know that feeling all too well.
“Red?” he croaks, still half asleep, his eyes landing on me.
“Yes, it’s me. I just woke you up, you were dreaming,” I say softly, brushing his hair off his damp brow.
“I was?” he asks, taken aback.
“Yes. Can you remember what you were dreaming about?” I ask, my hand still lingering over his face.
By the way his cheeks turn a ghastly white, I know he does, but I won’t push. He meets my worried eyes, and slowly nods.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I softly invite, my hand resting on his stubbled cheek.
Quinn shakes his head slowly and I let it go.
“Okay, but if you ever change your mind, I’m here. Nothing you ever tell me will change anything between us,” I reply, giving him a small smile.
“I know, Red. Thank you.” He leans forward, kissing me softly.
It’s meant to be an innocent, chaste kiss, but my body takes that as an open invit
ation to maul him.
As usual, the moment I feel his mouth on mine I pounce on him, crawling onto his lap, wanting to close any physical space between us. Quinn moans in the back of his throat as I run my tongue over his lower lip, sucking his piercing into my eager, hungry mouth.
I’m like a starved animal as I claw at his shirt, desperate to get underneath to feel his warm, bare skin. When I do, we both groan at the contact. Whether it’s the dire circumstances of our situation, or the fact I always want Quinn, I’m so turned on, I am embarrassingly panting in need.
As I begin rubbing on Quinn’s lap, my thin jeans don’t provide much of a buffer, and I can feel him hardening under me. I can’t help but remember how he felt in my mouth, against my tongue, and the way he tasted. I want it again.
Quinn pulls his lips away and thumbs my pouty bottom lip. “You fucking drive me crazy,” He shifts his hand between us, unsnapping my button and slipping a hand inside my jeans.
I whimper the moment he bypasses my underwear and goes straight in for the kill, rubbing me between my wet folds. In this small space with nowhere to go, I lean backward, my hips arching into his knowledgeable fingers as he easily slides one inside of me.
I grunt out his name, my knees quivering either side of his thighs as I’m half straddling, half sitting on him. But he makes it work by wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me, and his other hand stretches me further by adding another finger inside of my aching flesh. I slap my hands behind me, using the dash as extra leverage to pump my hips onto his torturous fingers.
Tasting my approaching climax, my hips drive forward forcefully. Quinn is relentless, never breaking his punishing rhythm.
As I gaze into his beautiful green eyes, watching him nibble on his hoop, the arousal evident on his flushed cheeks, I don’t stand a chance and detonate around his fingers. My scream tears from my throat, which Quinn catches between his lips as he smashes his mouth to mine, kissing me fiercely.
Screaming into his mouth, which comes out muffled and breathless, the convulsions rock my body long after I have exploded. Our eyes never lose connection, and watching him watch me come apart was the reason I set off so quickly.
I mewl in satisfaction as each orgasm just keeps getting better and better.
Quinn slides his fingers out of me. Instantly I miss him being inside. As he places his fingers inside of his mouth, the same two fingers that were inside of me, I whimper and turn a bright shade of pink.
“Mine. Every part of you is mine.”
I’m stunned by his confession, and do the only thing I can do. I throw my arms around his neck and promise to never let go.
***
My back is aching because something sharp is digging into my spine, causing me to contort at an angle that can’t possibly be good for me, but I don’t care, because I’m wrapped in the arms of Quinn Berkeley.
I must have fallen asleep as it’s now daylight, and I don’t remember much after I clung to him like a spider monkey, never letting go.
We’re pretty much nose to nose, lying along the bench seat, arms and legs entwined. I wonder how on earth do I tell him that I think I’m falling in love with him?
Just the thought of telling him has my heart pounding against my chest, but not because I’m afraid of him knowing. No. I’m afraid if I tell him, the feelings won’t be reciprocated. What if I’m just a naive, nineteen year old, hopeless romantic, who thinks she’s in love with the first guy who got her off?
“Mornin’,” Quinn says huskily, his green eyes slipping open, stunning me with their vibrancy. “What time is it?” he croaks, rubbing one eye and brushing his lengthy hair from his brow.
I shrug, in awe of how someone can look this hot when they first wake up; as I’m sure I’m rocking a killer bird’s nest.
“I’m not sure. Sometime after dawn,” I finally reply, telling myself to stop staring.
Quinn smirks and runs a hand through my hair. “You sleep okay?” he asks
I nod. “Perfect.” I don’t add, ‘because I was in your arms,’ but from the smile tugging at his lips, I’m pretty sure he can read my thoughts.
“We should get moving,” he says, and he’s right, because last night’s stop was an impromptu one.
“Sure. I gotta use the bathroom before we go,” I say, thankful I saw restrooms when I pulled in last night.
Quinn nods, letting out another yawn. “I’ll come with you.”
I’m about to protest, but he adds, “Don’t know what kind of country bugs are out here, hiding under the seats.”
I blanch and nod quickly, not eager to face these country bugs on my own.
“C’mon, boy,” I call out to Lucky, who’s lying on the floor looking up at us, also desperate to make a pit stop.
The cold breeze slaps me in the face, as it’s been quite cold in the South this winter. Being from L.A. where we don’t get cold winters, I understand why people go nuts and celebrate the whole White Christmas thing. It would be magical playing in the snow and waking up to a real pine tree and eggnog on Christmas morning.
“Whatcha thinking about?” Quinn asks as we walk toward the restrooms, hand in hand.
“About Christmas,” I confess, turning to look at him shyly.
“Oh shit, it’s December already,” he says, stunned Christmas is just around the corner, as we’ve had other pressing issues to deal with—like not dying.
“Yeah. I was thinking about how I get the whole White Christmas thing. It would be nice sitting around an open fire, the smell of fresh pine needles engulfing the house while opening presents with loved ones,” I reply, lost in a fantasy.
“You’re big on Christmas then?” Quinn asks, ducking so he doesn’t walk into a branch.
Tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I shyly confess, “I’ve never really celebrated it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I was too busy playing Santa on Christmas morning, dealing a different kind of snow to crackheads to worry about anything else.”
Quinn nods, biting his lip. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, it’s fine. You can’t miss what you’ve never had, right?” I say, trying to sound blasé.
Quinn squeezes my hand softly and we walk to the restrooms in silence.
Once we reach the bricked bathroom wall, Quinn smiles as he watches me chew my lip, thinking of all the bugs that may be hiding inside. “I’ll take Lucky, be back in five.”
I nod and watch him leave.
The bathroom is horrible, and I actually think a family of raccoons live under the basin. So I’m in and out in under a minute. I splash some water on my cheeks and think about my conversation with Quinn.
Will we still be on the run at Christmas? New Year’s? Independence Day? When will this end? We really need to get in contact with Abi, as we need a plan of attack asap.
Throwing the paper towel into the trash, I try to tame my hair, as it looks like I’m slowly forming dreadlocks. I run my fingers through it, pulling out a bobby pin from my backpack and pinning back a piece of my hair.
I look tired and worn, and I can’t believe Quinn still finds me attractive when I look such a mess.
“Hey, you’re Mia’s friend.”
My ears prick up when I hear the muted male voice just outside, obviously addressing Quinn.
“Yup, and you’re Justin,” Quinn replies calmly.
Justin? As in Justin Miller? What is he doing out here?
“Yeah, good memory, bro. What brings you guys out here?” Justin asks. I can almost hear Quinn’s jaw clenching from here.
I know this won’t end well, so I quickly bolt out of the bathroom, and as I turn to go outside, I fall into a casual step, not wanting to appear suspicious.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I say with a rigid smile as I approach the two boys.
Quinn has his arms crossed, giving Justin serious stink eye, while Justin looks as if he’s just won the lottery. “This must by my lucky week.” He gives me a big hug.
I awkwardly hug him back, looking at an extremely unimpressed Quinn.
I pull away, trying not to offend him, but this is not good timing, and it’s also not safe for him. He’s in danger of being caught up in all my bullshit, and also in danger of being beaten to a pulp by Quinn.
“So… what are you guys doing here?” Justin asks, looking at me with a smile.
“Just a road trip,” I reply vaguely, toying with a stone under my boot.
Silence.
Quinn and Justin are sizing one another up, and I don’t like the look on both their faces as they’re not exactly hiding the fact they both dislike one another—a lot.
“What are you doing here?” Quinn questions, his head cocked to the side.
Justin looks at Quinn, his eyes narrowing. “Just stopping to use the restroom, pure coincidence bumping into you,” he replies smugly.
Quinn scoffs, not believing a single word. “Uh huh.”
I’ve got to put a stop to this macho bullshit before they pull out their dicks and measure whose is bigger.
“We better hit the road, Quinn,” I suggest, grabbing his arm, which remains solidly crossed.
Okay, moving him is going to be an issue. “Quinn?” I question.
He slowly takes his eyes off Justin, looking down at me. I give him big eyes, hoping he can read my facial charades, but he only smirks at me.
“Yeah sure, you’re right,” he thankfully replies while reaching for my hand, and I don’t miss Justin’s eyes drop to our connection.
“Catch ya later, Justin. It was nice seeing you again,” I say, while trying to drag Quinn away.
“You too, Mia,” he replies. “Hey, what’s your ride?” he asks randomly.
That has me stopping in my tracks as I look at Quinn, wondering why Justin would ask such a strange question.
But he clarifies. “The reason I ask is because there are a couple of cops checking out a black Chevy parked near the highway.”
I feel my face ashen as I squeeze Quinn’s hand in dread.
