Colt’s gaze softens as he watches me struggle with what I have to tell him. “You know you can tell me anything.”
“I know… I just don’t want to ruin what you and I have,” I finish in a hollow tone.
He looks confused. “Quinn, tell me whatever it is that you’re so scared to share.”
I can’t stall any longer. “I started dating him because of you,” I confess miserably.
His eyes remain on mine as he stares hard at me.
I can’t decipher his expression, so I trudge on. “I don’t know what happened this past year, but I began feeling attracted to…you. So when Slade approached me—looking as he did, er does—I thought I had a way to deal with the attraction.” I take a deep breath and metaphorically pull on my big girl panties. This is all my fault, and I’m going to face it head-on. I meet his gaze unflinchingly. “He could easily be your twin, and the more that I was with him, the easier it was to be around you—because I had him. I really messed things up, Colt, and I am so sorry,” I say in a rush. “I don’t want this to ruin our relationship, and I promise I can move on from it and not look at you in that way. I swear. You just have to give me the chance to make things right again.”
Through the entire confession, Colt has remained completely silent, his expression unreadable.
“Please don’t be mad at me,” I whisper.
His gaze remains transfixed on me, but it’s impossible to read his expression. “I have no reason to be mad at you,” he says slowly, as if he’s not certain what to say.
I look down at my clasped hands, disappointed over how this conversation is unfolding. “I always screw up,” I say with a hint of bitterness. I typically own my mistakes, but this one is a real bitch to deal with.
“You didn’t mess anything up.”
My eyes lift to his, and I can’t hide my regret. “But things will never be the same,” I say in a knowing tone.
“No, they won’t,” he agrees.
Right. Colt is brutally honest, and I drop my eyes to the cell phone and envelope. My life is currently crumbling in around me, and I don’t know how to prevent it from imploding.
“You’re not alone with what you’re feeling, Quinn.”
I look up at him, confused. What does he mean?
His face is impassive, refusing to reveal what he’s thinking. “I’ve always been attracted to you.”
Slowly, my eyes widen as his words penetrate my consciousness. Did he just admit that the attraction is mutual?
“That’s right,” he confirms with a stiff nod. “Sometimes, I feel far from brotherly where you’re concerned. But it also changes nothing, so things will remain the same at best between us.”
He’s referring to his past and the girl he’d unintentionally hurt. He refuses to allow any woman to get close to him on an emotional level. I’m about as close as he’ll allow.
His eyes hold mine with a hint of warning. “The attraction has been acknowledged, and now we need to move on from it.”
I’m still trying to process that he’s attracted to me. If he were anyone else, I’d accuse him of trying to help me save face, but that’s not Colt’s way. And he doesn’t lie.
“What’s in the envelope?” he asks, deliberately switching the subject.
I know better than to show him the paper first. I pick up the phone and bring up my conversation with Slade. I’d already deleted everything but the texts he’d sent me last week, and the photos. I hand the cell phone to him.
As he studies the photos, his expression tenses. “He’s been following you.” His eyes lift to mine as a storm begins brewing in those hazel depths. “Are these from last week?”
“They are,” I say steadily, knowing what’s coming next.
“You’re just now telling me about it?” he asks with a bite to his tone.
“He likes games, Colt. I wanted to be certain, so I went out with Harper to see if he’d follow me again. I heard nothing from him over the weekend, so I decided it wasn’t worth bringing to your attention since I thought maybe he’d done it on a whim.”
“But you heard from him today,” he says, nodding to the envelope.
I pick it up and hold it out to him.
He opens it and pulls out the paper. He stills, and his expression darkens. “This looks like blood.”
“It is.”
He looks at me sharply, his eyes honing in on me. “You seem certain.”
“He has a thing for…blood,” I finish a bit lamely.
He leans forward, his eyes fused to mine. “What do you mean?”
My face warms. “I didn’t fully comprehend it until the night of my birthday.”
“What did he do to you?” he asks in a soft, distinct voice. His patience with this conversation is hanging by a thread.
“He did it to himself. He cut his palm and spread his blood on…me,” I say awkwardly.
“Did you try to bring things to a halt at any point?”
I bite my lip, not really wanting to delve into the details of that night.
“Quinn,” he says tersely.
The focused intensity in his gaze has me looking away as I make my next confession. “I kind of couldn’t. I was a little uneasy at the time, but I wasn’t trying to stop him.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t?”
“I was restrained and gagged,” I mutter.
Colt abruptly rises from the sofa and walks a few feet away, his back to me so that I can’t see his expression. Beneath his shirt, his shoulders are visibly tense, and I know he’s struggling with his temper. After what seems like an eternity, he turns back to me, his face devoid of emotion. “Did you try to stop him at any time?”
“Not until he was strangling me,” I say softly.
“Why the fuck not?” he demands.
“Because we’d already explored…stuff. Some of it was nothing new.”
He falls silent, and I wish I could read his mind. “I want his name and his address,” he says flatly.
I’d known this was coming, and I give him the information he wants. “His name is Slade, I don’t know his last. He works at Dirk’s, that little bar on the opposite side of the city. He has an apartment above the bar.”
Colt holds up the paper he’s still gripping in his hand. “Mind if I hold onto this?”
I rise to my feet, knowing the conversation is quickly coming to an end. “I don’t want it. Should I tell Gabe and Channing about what’s going on?” I reluctantly ask. I’d prefer not to drag them into this if I don’t have to.
“Not yet.”
I’m relieved, and a thick silence falls upon us. This is my cue to leave. I’d dumped a lot on him, and I think we both need to take a step back from this conversation.
Seven
Colt
Late that night, I’m driving through the city to the bar Quinn had mentioned. I slow for a set of stoplights, my mind focused on Quinn. I’d never meant for her to find out about how I feel, but I hadn’t been able to watch her beat herself up over something that’s mutual. Truthfully, I hadn’t ever thought that she’d see me in that way.
My hands grip the steering wheel tightly. She’d let that psycho into her life because he looked like me, and it burns. She’s always had shit taste in men, but this one… There’d been so many damned red flags. How could she have kept seeing him? Is she really into all that shit? She’s always been adventurous, but to allow that freak…
A burning anger simmers deep within me, and I struggle to control it. I need to stop thinking about Quinn and how she’d allowed herself to be so goddamn vulnerable. Right now, I need to track this fucker down and have a one on one with him.
When I reach Dirk’s, I find a parking space along the side of the building, and I stride into the bar with my intentions written clear across my face. My eyes miss nothing as I take in the patrons around me. This isn’t the typical college bar that Quinn tends to frequent. No, this is home to the dredges of society, the types that are looking for troubl
e—the kind of trouble I don’t want Quinn anywhere near. What the fuck was she thinking?
I can feel many eyes sizing me up, and I ignore them as I make my way to the large, heavy-set man stationed behind the bar. He looks to be in his forties, and judging by the way he openly watches me with a hint of warning—he’s either the manager or the owner. I can’t blame him for the unwelcoming reception. I’m more than ready to make some heads roll if anyone so much as looks at me the wrong way. It’s going to be hard as hell not killing Slade, and I’m already expecting to come away from tonight with blood on my hands.
“I’m looking for Slade,” I tell the man.
His expression promptly shifts into a scowl. “He quit.”
Not the reply I was hoping for. “I need his full name.”
“Slade Blank,” he says in a droll tone.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
He shrugs. “I don’t care about names—as long as the job gets done, that’s all I care about.”
“He still living in the apartment above?”
His beady eyes narrow on me.
I pull out my wallet, tossing a twenty on the bar, waiting.
The man ignores the money. “He moved before I was aware of it. Didn’t even pay the rent he owed.”
Fuck. “Mind if I check the place out?” I ask.
He folds his arms across his massive chest and belly, looking far from happy with all my questions. “You a cop?”
“Far from it.”
He sizes me up and shakes his head. “I can’t leave to show you the place. I’m short-staffed tonight.”
I open my wallet, and two more twenties are added to the one I’d already set on the bar. “I don’t mind going up on my own.”
He smirks behind his overgrown goatee. “I’m no fool.”
I grind my teeth and dig out my keys, deliberately setting them on the twenties. “Keys to my ride. I’ll leave them with you until I return the apartment key.”
He regards me for a moment before turning away and going to a drawer by the register, digging out a single key. He swipes the money and my keys off the bar and sets the key down. “Follow the hall beyond the restrooms until you come to the employee door. Once you’re in, go down the hall, and the stairs at the end will lead you to the apartment above.”
I give him a warning look. “I find a scratch on my ride, and you’ll wish to God that you’d never laid eyes on me.”
He stares back at me, unflinchingly.
I take the key and make my way through the bar. I pass by the restrooms and slip through the employee door. Down the hall are a set of narrow stairs, and I make my way up to the locked door and let myself in.
It’s your average dump with a tiny kitchen and barely there living room. Stains are visible on the carpet, and the walls are in desperate need of fresh paint. Slowly, I wander down the hall to the bedroom. It’s been completely stripped of anything personal. My eyes linger on the bare mattress on the bed, and it takes everything within me not to imagine Quinn bound and helpless on it.
The situation is growing worse by the minute. This guy has no last name and no place of residence. He’s a fucking ghost right now, and that makes him very dangerous. There’s nothing to see here, and I return to the bar and exchange the key for my truck’s.
Instead of heading home, I drive to the apartment complex where Bryce lives. He’s a homicide detective, so he’ll know what else can be done to find this bastard. I manage to snag a parking space out front in the visitor lot, and I stride inside the building. I bypass the lobby and take the elevator to the second floor.
A minute later, I rap my knuckles on Bryce’s door—envelope in hand.
It takes a full minute before the door swings open. Bryce stands there, bare-chested and wearing sweats, his dark hair slightly messy.
“Am I interrupting anything?” I ask without remorse.
He scrubs a hand over his face. “The only thing you’re interrupting is my sleep.” He stands back and motions me inside.
I step into the apartment and glance at my watch. It’s well after midnight.
Bryce switches on the main light and squints at me. “What’s going on?”
It’s rare for me to drop by Bryce’s. Usually, we meet up for drinks and to find pussy. “Quinn has a problem on her hands.”
All the sleep fades from Bryce’s gaze as his hazel eyes sharpen. “What kind of problem?”
“The kind that’s been following her.” I hand him the envelope.
He opens it and studies the words written in blood. His expression turns grim. “I don’t like what I’m seeing.”
“What do we do?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, frowning. “Explain this shit to me first.”
I give him the shortened version of what’s been happening since Quinn’s birthday.
Bryce is silent for a full minute, and then he folds his arms across his chest. “So he’s gone?”
“I don’t think he’s left town.”
He nods in agreement. “He’s hiding.”
“Which means he has a reason to hide. What comes next, Bryce?”
“Not much can be done at this point. I doubt Slade is his real name, and without a photo or any kind of personal information, I can’t do anything. She can’t even apply for a restraining order.”
Damn it. “In the meantime, he continues stalking her,” I state grimly.
“These cases are always difficult, Colt. Especially when the law hasn’t been broken. For now, she needs to log or record every time he contacts her.”
“That’s it?”
“For the time being, yes.”
Eight
Quinn
The following morning, I’m a little slow getting ready for work. I hadn’t slept well last night, but that’s because I couldn’t stop my brain from reliving my conversation with Colt.
Every time I think of Colt finding me attractive, my stomach flutters. It’s exhilarating to know, and somehow, the world seems much brighter this morning. My concerns over Slade have virtually faded as new thoughts take up residence inside my head.
Since I’d awoken this morning, I’ve tried to bring myself down from my self-induced high, but it’s difficult. I keep reminding myself that the mutual attraction can’t go anywhere. Colt’s too set in his ways, and I know he’d never make a move on me. At least I know I’m not alone with these feelings, and that helps.
After I shower and change, I spend extra time on my makeup before grabbing my purse and heading to the kitchen.
Colt’s there.
His presence is nothing new since most mornings we tend to leave the house around the same time. He’s sitting at the island, dressed casually in jeans and a tee, his duffle bag on the floor. His eyes lift to mine.
Oh damn.
I would give anything for those hazel eyes to be looking into mine as his body rhythmically dances between my thighs.
His eyes narrow as if he can sense the direction my thoughts have taken.
I quickly store my naughty thoughts for later. “Morning,” I say lightly, moving to the refrigerator. I scan the items with my initials on them. After a moment, I pick up a plastic container and open the lid, sniffing the contents. It’s a leftover chicken sandwich from the other day. It smells okay. With a shrug, I grab a plate from the cupboard and dump the sandwich on it before popping it into the microwave.
“What the hell is that?”
I turn to look at Colt as the microwave hums behind me. “Half a chicken sandwich.”
“For breakfast?”
“Hey, it’s still edible.”
“You eat like a teenager.”
I don’t bother to deny it. “It’s easy to do with my metabolism. And ideal since I don’t cook,” I add. Cooking is beyond my capabilities. I know, that sounds terrible. But seriously, I have a habit of charring everything I try to make.
Colt shakes his head. “You choose not to cook.”
The microwave b
eeps, and I turn and remove the plate. After I grab a bottle of water, I take a seat at the island.
Colt’s just finishing his eggs. He pushes aside his plate and looks at me with those striking eyes of his. “I wanted to talk to you before you leave.”
“Okay.” I take a big bite of my sandwich, and my mouth instantly begins to sting. I quickly spit my food out onto my plate. “Holy fuck!” I grab the water bottle and quickly chug it to cool the skin inside my mouth.
Colt just watches me, saying nothing.
I set aside the bottle, scowling. “There go my taste buds for the next few days.”
He sighs. “You’re a walking disaster.”
It’s not the first time he’s called me that, but today, the comment hurts. I know he hadn’t meant anything by it, so I avoid his gaze and reach for the water again, taking another long drink. I know I’m a disaster. Even when I’m trying to do the right thing, it still blows up in my face. This isn’t who I want to be.
“Hey,” Colt says quietly, sensing his comment hadn’t bounced off me like it typically does.
I’m about to respond when Channing enters the kitchen, looking alert and freshly showered. “Morning,” he greets.
While he prepares his breakfast, he carries on a conversation with us. Well, mostly me. Colt tends to just sit back and listen.
When I note the time, I rise to my feet and stash my plate in the dishwasher. Colt follows suit, and after we say our goodbyes to Channing, we exit the house. I pull out my keys, heading for my car.
“Quinn, wait.”
Colt’s voice brings me to a halt, and I turn to look at him, admiring how the sunlight shines across his handsome features.
A dark brow lifts. “You don’t want to know about last night?”
“I just want to forget about him.” My eyes drop to his knuckles, no scabs. “It didn’t end in bloodshed, so that’s good.” Honestly, I’ve been more distracted over our ‘mutual’ attraction.
“That’s because he moved.”
I blink at the unexpected news. “He did? That’s great,” I say with relief.
No Going Back (Revolving Door Book 3) Page 6
