by Monica James
That phone call in Wisconsin, the one I overheard, that was to my father. And I have no doubt that all the times Justin was on the phone, he was speaking to my dad, updating him on where we were, and where we were headed.
Thinking back to all the vague conversations Justin and I had, about him running toward revenge, and him being a ‘repo agent,’ I now get it. He was talking about me. He was repossessing me for his own personal revenge, because my tainted past ruined any chance of him having a normal future.
He had done his homework, using Canada as the proverbial carrot. He never had any intention of going there. He just used that as yet another bargaining chip and I fell for it. All those times he was nice to me, it was just a ruse to gain my trust and let my guard down. He was fucking with me, toying with me, paying me back for the times he believed I toyed with him.
He could have let my father have me within the first day of finding me, but now, everything makes perfect sense. We left Missouri because he wanted Phil and my dad to know that he had my trust, not them, and that they needed him. For someone who was never once needed before, the onetime Justin was wanted, he played it for as long as he could, as he loved the power. He loved the control.
I have no doubt my dad and Phil were always that step behind us, because Justin kept them apprised to our exact whereabouts. He was fucking with us all. We were just puppets in his sick little power trip, and he was the twisted, megalomaniac puppet master who loved the control.
I’m so stupid.
As if Justin reads my thoughts, he explains, “But there were times when nostalgia crept through and I wished things could have been different for us. Sometimes, I felt like you understood me. So, I gave you a chance to be honest when I asked what you were running from. If you could prove to me that you were sorry for your past, I would reconsider, but then you lied. So I knew what I had to do. The rest of the times, I was just playing you, trying to earn your trust. I was fucking with you, just as you were with me. Giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
“I never fucked with you!” I scream.
“Yes, you did!” He whacks my cheek, stunning me with the force. “You gave me hope that maybe I could be happy. Maybe I could be normal.”
My rattled brain can’t help but think what a pile of bittersweet irony this is, as we’re all trying to find normalcy in a not so normal world.
Interrupting my thoughts, Justin continues. “Finally, they paid me my money, and that’s when your little puppy paid the ultimate price. I needed an excuse for you stay put, and what better way to keep you grounded than fucking with your dog? Phil, he’s one sick motherfucker—you know that, right?”
I only shake my head, because he’s absolutely right.
“The morons were about two days away, so Phil told me to hurt you, try and break you down and scare you a little.”
So the voice I heard was my father then. Justin, the sick fuck, probably had him on loudspeaker, because I know that was his voice I heard.
“Why didn’t you just kill me?” I mutter.
Justin understands my gibberish and replies with a sick smile. “You’re worth a lot more to me alive than you are dead. But that night you screamed his name out, I lost it. You lied to me, pretended that you liked me, and I felt that rejection all over again, just because I fell for your fucking lies. That night, if you came to me, I was willing to give you one more chance to explain. But then you made it quite clear that liars never change. I had to leave before I killed you both. And like I said, you’re no good to me dead. But in a warped way, that night showed me how my original plan had veered off course. Greed was fueling me, but I wanted to bring it back to basics, and the only thing motivating me from that night forward was my revenge. I called your father, told him what happened, and now—now this is the part that gets really good.”
Greed and revenge—as simple as that sounds, that was the motivation fueling Justin’s rampage. The two most primitive of human emotions has turned an already unstable individual into a raging psychopath.
But I don’t understand why he would help my dad when he knows Phil is the drug lord. He’s the one who supplied the drugs that killed his father.
“I was just the messenger!” I scream, the gag biting into my mouth.
“Ah, you’re a clever whore. You’re thinking how could I tolerate working with your father, who is an obvious drug addict and Phil, who is the lowest form of scum known to mankind?”
I nod.
“Because as we know, money talks. Not only are your dad and Phil willing to pay a shitload of cash for you, but so are the police. There is a reward of $250,000 on your head. You’re worth a lot of money, Mia Mouse. Growing up where we were so poor that I had to wear hand me downs that were basically rags, you surely can understand how money is a strong motivation for me,” Justin spits.
I gasp, and my brain tries to process everything.
“So, do you want to hear my ingenious plan?” Justin asks, his eyes lighting up as he sits casually into the chair in front of me.
I nod again.
He looks at his silver wrist watch and smiles. “Your father will be here very soon to finally claim his prize.”
I feel my throat close over and a guttural sound gets trapped in my esophagus.
Oh my God—my father and Phil.
“But that’s not even the best part,” Justin says happily, rocking back in his chair.
“I know Phil is a sick bastard, and that he’s the supplier of all the drugs. So I’m going to make each and every one of you who had a hand in my father’s death pay, and pay dearly.”
“When they collect you, I’ll get the rest of my money, and I’ll happily let them drag you out of here without thinking twice. However, once they’re gone, an anonymous tip will be made to the police to your whereabouts, and I’ll get that reward, too. It’s poetic, really. I get a shitload of money for my revenge, and I also bring down the three people who destroyed my life. Phil for manufacturing those filthy drugs, your dad for creating you, and of course you, for destroying my life,” Justin sneers, ticking his hit list off on his fingers.
Shit, his plan will work. The state I’m in, the police will question Phil and my dad, and Justin knows I’ll rat them out, because that was my original plan all along. That was my revenge—to bring those fuckers down for what they did to Hank.
The police will take one look at me and believe me. I’m their perfect witness, as I’m happy to confess to everything they did, hoping to clear my name.
And Quinn’s.
And to avenge Hank.
Fuck!
Justin is a psychopath, and the saddest part is—I created him.
Justin could just shoot me, my father and Phil, and still get the reward by reporting it to the cops, saying he stumbled across us. But where’s the fun in that? He knows the forever torment I will suffer, being put on trial and found guilty for my past, and in turn, watching the people I love suffer with me. That prospect is far worse than being dead. Watching the hurt and regret pass over Tristan, Tabitha, and Quinn’s faces when I’m deemed a criminal would kill me. I would much rather be dead than hurt them that way.
And Justin knows that.
Killing me would be too easy. Living with regret is the hard part.
The same applies to my father and Phil.
Once the police start digging around, they’ll discover just who Phil is, and I have no doubt Phil will take my dad down with him, tying him to Hank’s murder.
There is no loyalty.
There is only self-preservation.
And drugs.
And money.
And greed.
“On that note, I better get you nice and docile for when your father arrives.” He rears forward, punching me in the guts.
A gush of wind leaves my lungs and I gag, unable to breathe. But Justin doesn’t stop. He stands to his full, dominating height and sucker punches me in the ribs. I grunt, my body slumping forward, the pain radiating to my toes.
But I don’t scream. I remind myself that I deserve this.
“Scream!” Justin roars as he punches me in nose.
My head snaps back with a sickening thud and I can feel hot blood, my blood, dripping down my face, over my chin, to dribble onto my jeans.
But still, I don’t scream.
As Justin slaps my bloodied cheeks over and over again, my left eye closes over, and I wish unconsciousness to overtake me.
Sadly, it doesn’t.
It’s only when I feel the soiled t-shirt being torn from my body, and my bra ripped from my shoulders, my breasts roughly palmed, and my jeans being yanked down my thighs, do I scream.
It’s a pathetic scream, but a scream nonetheless.
“Oh, so the fact I’m going to fuck you is the only thing you’re afraid of?” Justin snarls.
My vision is blurry and clouded by my matted, loose hair, but there’s nothing wrong with my hearing as I listen to the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being unclasped, and a zipper being unfastened.
“I’m sure you had no problems spreading your legs for that cocky motherfucker!” he yells, his voice shredding my eardrums. “I thought I could sever the morbid obsession you have with one another, as he has been a thorn in my side since the very beginning… a problem which I thought would be easily disposable, because how could you love him, and not me?”
“You flirted with me to get what you wanted, and I nearly believed you because love is really fucking blind! But that night, it was my name you should have been screaming, not his! And that night, I knew it was the beginning of the end for you both, because that asshole would die for you, and you will never give him up!”
His words slap me across the cheek, because the truth of what he says makes me ache for Quinn.
“I’ve earned your sweet little pussy after you’ve flaunted it my way all these years!” Justin spits as his pants hit the floor with a nauseating thud.
His heavy breath whips at my cheeks, and I can smell his desperation as he violently pinches my nipples, laughing when I attempt to pull back from his assault.
My entire body feels like a raggedy doll. I’m all floppy and have no control of my frame, but I tell myself to focus, because in about five seconds, Justin is going to make good on his word as he skulks behind me.
My limp head is yanked backward by my hair, and Justin’s huge arousal pushes into my cheek. I’m hoping he takes off my gag and forces that disgusting thing near me, because if he does, I will happily bite it off so he can never hurt another person with it ever again.
Stunned tears however, slip from my eyes, as he reaches over my shoulder, tearing my panties in half. His desperate fingers suddenly push into me with such brute force, I scream out in pain. And more tears fall as I realize, he’s going to take the only thing that’s mine. The only thing I could offer Quinn that is pure and untouched, unlike the rest of me.
“You think you belong to that fucker, Quinn? Well, I’ll show you who you really belong to,” Justin heavily breathes, inches from my ear, and I close my eye, unable to watch as he brutally takes away my humanity.
However, a loud sound of something being thrown into the wall and sliding onto the floor with an ear-splitting thud has me shakily opening up my good eye to see what’s going on.
All my questions are answered when I fuzzily see… him.
As his heavy boots pace onto the wooden floor, murderously calm, I know it’s Quinn. I don’t know how he found me, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m just so happy he’s here.
What happens next however, occurs in slow motion, and although I’m seeing it, I don’t believe it.
Justin is a pathetic, crumbled pile of moaning, barely-clothed flesh, slumped onto the floor where he fell after Quinn threw him like a ragdoll across the room. He attempts to sit up, while groggily rubbing the back of his head, but Quinn stalks over to him, yanking him up by the collar of his ripped t-shirt.
Justin tries to fight him off, but Quinn is a vision of pure wrath as he smashes Justin up against the wall, once, then twice, pushing Justin’s breath out of his lungs in pained exhalations.
The fact that Justin is still breathing engages Quinn, so he lifts Justin’s feet off the ground, his hands still fisted in his shirt collar, and headbutts him, breaking his nose.
I flinch at the sound, but Quinn doesn’t stop, nor does he speak, which is scarier than watching him beat Justin with his punishing fists as Justin slumps to the floor, moaning, attempting to curl into a ball to protect himself from Quinn’s rage. But Quinn drops to one knee, and repeatedly punches Justin, connecting with any and every part of his body, until Justin is a bloodied, unconscious mess on the floor.
Quinn never gave Justin a chance to fight back, and like me, minutes ago, I bet he was wishing for unconsciousness to overtake him. The fight lasts for no more than a minute, but I will remember the sound of each brutal strike for as long as I live.
With one final kick to the guts, Quinn let’s out an animalist yell, and slowly turns to face me, his fists dripping in blood and gore.
I wish I wasn’t so naked, because as Quinn scans down my body, his face contorts in pure pain. I know what I must look like, and I close my eye, his pain hurting me more than the physical abuse my body sustained.
He’s across the room in three steps, dropping to both knees in front of me. The first thing that overwhelms me is his signature scent. Under the wrath, and blood, and fear, I can smell him. I can smell home.
Opening up my good eye, I hazily see him covering his face with his palms, his shoulders shuddering in rage. I want to comfort him, but I can’t because I’m still tied. So I just sit and allow him to grieve, because after this, we will never be the same.
After a few moments, Quinn raises his pained eyes, his long hair sticking to his bloodied cheeks, and to me, he looks like a warrior. My Prince Charming, who slayed the dragon.
“Oh God, Red,” Quinn groans, his voice wavering, his eyes filled with unshed tears.
He reaches for the gag in my mouth, untying it softly, not wanting to tear my matted hair out, and throws it to the floor.
Wincing as I move my jaw from side to side, hoping to soothe my sore facial muscles that hurt like a bitch… but the pain is welcome as I’m grateful to have the stupid gag out of my mouth.
Quinn slowly reaches behind him and pulls out a knife from the small of his back. He begins carefully cutting through the ties that bind my injured wrists. As soon as the pressure releases, a sigh passes through my cracked lips. Quinn’s warm hands rub my numb fingers, attempting to get the circulation flowing through my cold digits.
“My feet,” I croak, my throat hoarse and sore, my arms hanging limply by my sides.
I can’t stand to be bound for a second longer.
Quinn nods, his beautiful eyes searching my battered face, a tear sliding down his cheek. He quickly wipes it away with the back of his hand and goes to work, cutting through the rope at my feet, massaging my calves as the rope slips free.
The moment I am unbound, I slump forward with a sigh of relief. Quinn catches me. He slips off his black sweater and bundles me into it. He does all this while still on his knees before me, and I don’t miss the gesture behind it.
“Forgive me, Mia,” he cries softly, his face twisting in pain.
That’s the first time he has ever used my name. I like it.
Shaking my head and not accepting his apology, as he has nothing to be sorry for, I realize I really want to stand, but I don’t think I can, as my insides are screaming in protest just by breathing.
“I. Can’t... walk. Need help,” I choke out, struggling to lift myself off the chair, but my legs feel like spaghetti.
Quinn wraps his hands around my waist, slowly helping me up and he makes a pained face as I cringe, because my ribs feel battered and bruised.
“I’m so sorry,” he says as I steady my hands on his shoulders for support, thankful my legs don’t give out.
“Not, your�
�� fault,” I whisper brokenly while pulling up my jeans. “Let’s go. Dad… coming,” I say, each word stinging my diaphragm.
“Your dad?” Quinn asks as I lean onto him, insisting I walk.
I nod, biting my lip in pain as I take my first baby steps, my feet stinging with pins and needles.
“How?” Quinn asks, steadying me when I almost fall.
Gesturing with my chin toward a moaning Justin, who is slowly waking up, I reply croakily, “He was working with my dad and police,” I mumble and whimper when my feet give out.
Quinn catches me, supporting me up against his warm body, and I groan softly, the contact warming my broken soul.
“Was going to turn me over to police for money, and revenge.”
I know I’m making no sense, but I’m starting to feel faint, and I’m pretty sure I’m on the cusp of passing out.
I stumble, as Quinn has frozen beside me.
“He sold you out? For money?” Quinn asks, lightly running a hand down my cheek as he turns me to face him.
Trying not to mewl at the contact, I nod, and my head feels like a bobblehead toy.
“Motherfucker,” he snarls, and without warning, he gently places me onto the mattress and walks over to a moaning Justin.
My eye widens as I watch Quinn kick Justin over so he’s lying on his back, helpless and afraid. I internally celebrate when I see the damage Quinn inflicted on him as he moans and splutters up bloodied spittle. But that celebration turns to shock as Quinn reaches for the knife in the waistband of his torn jeans, his face reflecting nothing but raw loathing. Flipping it over once, he drops to one knee and plunges the knife upward, straight into Justin’s side.
The astonished breath catches in my chest, as I’m pretty certain Quinn just stabbed through Justin’s ribcage, puncturing a kidney or lung.
