No Going Back (Revolving Door Book 3)

by Dani Matthews

  “He’s not actually threatening my life. All he’s doing is sending photos.”

  He gives me a long, pointed stare. “Isn’t that enough?”

  I look at him steadily. “I’m not going to let him destroy my life.”

  He steps closer, his eyes locked on mine. “Going to the police is a protective measure.”

  “But is it really necessary?”

  “Yes,” he says without hesitation. “You can’t tell me you’re not uncomfortable knowing he’s following you.”

  “Anyone would be,” I say, not bothering to deny it.

  His eyes search mine, urging me to do what he’s asking. “Then why not go to the police? You can leave out the details of your birthday if you’re that uncomfortable about it. The pictures should be enough. And the note.”

  I make an annoyed sound as I throw my hands in the air with frustration. “I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of playing puppet master, Colt! If I scramble around like I’m frightened, then he’s pulling my strings. Don’t you get that?”

  He moves in closer, framing my face with his warm hands, causing my heart to skip a beat. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes my breath hitch. “This isn’t about proving to him how strong you are, Quinn. This is about your safety.” He’s standing too close to me, and the tension is beginning to build. Colt must feel it, because he abruptly releases me and steps back. “What will it take to get you to file a report?”

  I give up, shaking my head. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “Let me ask you this. If he cornered you, and you were all alone with him, would you be scared?”

  Damn him. “Let’s get it over with before I change my mine,” I grumble.

  ***

  By the time we leave the police department, it’s sprinkling. We hurry to Colt’s truck, and I buckle my seatbelt as Colt climbs into the driver’s seat. He starts the engine, and it rumbles to life. “Hungry?” he asks.

  “Starved.”

  “We’ll grab some burgers on the way home.”

  We’re both quiet as he drives. The sky has darkened with clouds, and the dashboard lights have turned on while the windshield wipers make gentle whooshing sounds.

  Filing the report had been just as awkward as I’d expected. It was embarrassing to file a report on a man I’d been screwing for weeks without knowing his real name. I didn’t explain the night of my birthday since the note and photos were enough evidence to prove that I’m being stalked. The report was also pointless, because my stalker is currently nameless. Nothing can be done until he contacts me further and his identity is revealed.

  We stop by a drive-thru, and I open the bag I’d placed on my lap and steal a fry, popping it in my mouth as Colt merges with the evening traffic once more. I glance at him curiously. “Now that a report has been filed, should we tell the others?” I ask, half-hoping he’ll urge me to keep this to myself. I can already predict his response, though.

  “Yes. Channing and Gabe will be irritated we’ve kept it from them this long.”

  I glance at the darkened sky as lightening streaks across it. “If we tell them, I don’t want them breathing down my neck,” I warn.

  “Breathing down your neck will help keep you safe,” he says, switching on the blinker and passing a car.

  “The pictures are harmless. Creepy, yes. But a threat to my life, no.”

  “We’ve been over this, Quinn. Sending a note written in blood is not normal.”

  I shrug, digging into the bag for another fry. “People wouldn’t call me normal, either.”

  Colt sighs.

  I eat a few more fries and watch the traffic as we inch our way closer to home.

  “Gabe’s working, but Channing should be home,” Colt says, breaking the silence.

  I make a face at the thought of explaining everything to him. “You can fill him in, I’m not in the mood to rehash all this stuff. Just don’t tell him the part about what Slade looks like. They don’t need to know about that at this point.”

  “Agreed, but it would be best if it was coming from you.”

  “You’re the one who’s worried, not me.” I’m finished snitching fries, and I close the bag.

  Colt’s head swivels towards me. “It’s okay to admit you’re scared, Quinn.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  His eyes linger on me.

  “I’m not,” I insist. “When I started messing with him, I knew he was a little odd. So he doesn’t take breakups well, wouldn’t be the first guy to feel that way, and certainly not the last.”

  Colt pulls the truck into the driveway and cuts the engine. He immediately turns towards me. “The man is dangerous, and you know it. I want to hear you say it, Quinn.”

  My lips tighten. “He could be dangerous,” I hedge.

  “I know you don’t want to admit that this is serious shit happening, but it is. Is it going to fuck with the lifestyle you enjoy? Yes. Does it make life difficult? Hell yes. I get it, it sucks, Quinn.”

  I glare at him. “You don’t get anything, Colt.” I grab the bag and shove open the truck’s door. Colt swears from behind me as I hop down from the truck and hurry through the rain to the house.

  Colt’s right on my heels as I shove open the front door, pausing to wipe my feet on the doormat. “What don’t I get?” he challenges.

  “Everything,” I snap, striding through the living room with him right on my ass. “Quit following me. You avoid admitting your shit, so leave me to my own.”

  I pass by the kitchen and reach my room, closing the door in Colt’s face before he can say anything more. I wait to see if he’s going to push to talk further, but I hear him mutter something under his breath before walking away.

  Now that I’m certain I have privacy, I flip on the light and set the takeout bag on the dresser. My face is wet from the rain, and I run my hands over my cheeks, probably smearing my makeup. I shouldn’t have lost my temper, but I am sick of Slade screwing up everything.

  Then, there’s Colt. I’m frustrated that I want him so much and he won’t give me an inch. What if he never does? The sound of my stomach growling reminds me that I need to eat. I grab the bag and pause.

  Well, shit.

  I’m holding onto my meal, but I also have Colt’s, too. For fuck’s sake. I can’t even properly end a conversation with a door slam to his face without having to go find him afterwards.

  Figures.

  After pulling out my burger and fries, I leave my room, following the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. When I enter the room, both Colt and Channing look up. I glare at Colt, daring him to say one word as I set his meal on the island counter before determinedly walking back out.

  ***

  Something drags me from my sleep. Thunder rumbles, and I turn my head to glance at the alarm clock on my nightstand. It’s after three AM. Had the storm woken me? Lightning flashes through the closed blinds, and thunder soon follows. It must’ve been the storm.

  I’m just beginning to doze when I hear the muffled sound of my phone. The sound has my eyes flying open with confusion. Who would be calling me in the middle of the night?

  Slade.

  I quickly turn on the lamp and scramble out of bed. The phone is still ringing, and I realize that it’s still in my purse. I curse under my breath as I trip over discarded clothing, and as I grab the purse from off the dresser, the phone goes silent. I pull it out and check the number.

  Definitely Slade.

  With my phone in hand, I climb back into bed. I’m ready to be done with him—for good. I’m not surprised when the phone begins to ring a few minutes later, the number coming across as unknown. I answer it. “What?” I ask calmly.

  Silence.

  “What do you want from me?”

  No response, but I know he’s listening. I end the call since answering it isn’t going to get me anywhere. He’s not calling to talk, he’s calling to aggravate me.

  I’m still sitting
there, struggling with my emotions when it rings again. I answer it and say, “Fuck you” before hanging up.

  He immediately calls back.

  He’s enjoying this, and I turn off the phone, frustrated that I’d played right into his hands. Knowing that I’m not going to fall back to sleep anytime soon, I leave my room and silently make my way through the darkened house to the living room.

  I walk to the window that faces the street, and as lightning flashes, I cross my arms over my chest and gaze out into the night. Is he out there watching the house?

  I want my life back.

  Maybe waiting this out isn’t the way to deal with him. My eyes narrow as thunder rumbles, causing the window to rattle. “You want to play games, we’ll play,” I say softly.

  Twelve

  Quinn

  It’s Saturday, but unfortunately, I can’t sleep in and avoid the fallout from this mess with Slade. I have two clients scheduled for this morning since I like to bring in extra cash when I can.

  I’m more than a little cranky after Slade’s phone calls last night, and I make my way to the kitchen with the intention of grabbing a Pop-Tart and ducking out of the house—preferably unnoticed.

  Both Gabe and Channing are in the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed for the day. Their eyes lock on me the second I enter the room, and my heart sinks. I should have just bypassed the kitchen and booked it to my car.

  Gabe moves away from the stove and folds his arms across his chest, his expression reminding me of a parent waiting to give their kid an ass-chewing. “Anything you want to tell us?”

  “I’m sure Colt covered it all,” I murmur.

  His eyes harden. “He shouldn’t have been the one to tell us.”

  Channing rises from the island and walks over, his eyes concerned. “Why didn’t you confide in us?”

  I struggle to calm my irritation, because I know they’re just worried about me. “I didn’t say anything because I don’t really see him as a threat,” I say calmly.

  Channing’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Sending you photos isn’t a threat?”

  Gabe walks over to stand next to him, both gazing down at me with similar expressions. “It’s stalking 101, Quinn. And what about that paper with the blood on it? That doesn’t disturb you?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just don’t think my life is in danger.”

  Gabe puts his hands on my shoulders, peering into my eyes. “Hon, stalking can progress into something very dangerous.”

  A dull throbbing is beginning to make itself known along my left temple. “Colt made me report it to the police. There’s nothing else that can be done.”

  “Why Colt and not us?” Gabe presses.

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” Channing adds, looking hurt.

  I shrug out of Gabe’s hold and walk to the cupboard to pull out a box of Pop-Tarts. “Ever since my birthday, he’s been nagging me to make certain that Slade was leaving me alone.” I turn back to them after slipping the Pop-Tarts into the toaster. “He was in my face constantly, so it was impossible to keep it from him.”

  “Why not tell us at that point?” Gabe asks pointedly.

  I look at them with exasperation. “Don’t you guys think you’re coming at me a little strong with all this? I haven’t even eaten, and I’m probably going to be late.”

  “Late?” Gabe echoes. “For what?”

  “I work today.”

  “I can follow you on the way,” Channing immediately offers.

  “You guys have to stop,” I say levelly, giving them a look. “My situation is a far cry from Harper’s. I don’t need looking after or anyone to follow me to work. This is why I didn’t tell anyone about Slade. You guys need to give me room to breathe, okay? My life hasn’t actually been threatened,” I remind.

  “You can’t just brush it off, Quinn,” Gabe protests.

  “I’m not. I went to the police department yesterday, remember?”

  Gabe falls silent, and his expression turns brooding.

  I sigh and walk over, hugging him. “I love you for caring.”

  He ruffles my hair affectionately. “Love you, too,” he says gruffly.

  After I’m released, Channing comes forward and draws me into his arms for a hug of his own. “Watch your back, squirt.”

  I pull back, swatting his chest. “Don’t call me that or I’m going to tell Ash about the time Colt scared you into pissing your pants.” He was fourteen at the time, so I’m certain that’s one memory Channing would prefer to forget.

  He grimaces. “You win.”

  ***

  This stunt is going to get me in so much trouble later, but I’ll worry about it when the time comes. It’s late, and while the others had been doing their own thing at the house, I’d snuck out and climbed into the waiting cab at the end of the driveway. I’m hoping that no one will find out that I’d left the house alone. If they do happen to figure it out, I’d left my phone in the middle of my bed so that they know I’m off the radar tonight.

  I need to bring this thing with Slade to an end, and the only way to do that is to confront him. If he’s following me tonight, which is likely, I’m hoping he’ll approach me if I’m not out with anyone. I’ve taken precautionary measures to stay safe, and I’d had the cab drop me off directly in front of the bar. I’m also staying in full view of the public. So here I am, at my favorite bar.

  I just want to talk to him, get him to back off or find a way to resolve this situation. It’s also important to prove that I’m not scared of him and that I am still in full control of my life. This game he’s trying to play with me is going nowhere. I refuse to let him break me.

  The bartender—a friend of Colt’s—places my drink on the bar and flashes me a smile before moving away.

  I turn and face the room, sipping the flavored drink. There are plenty of eyes on me since I’d dressed to gain Slade’s attention. I’m wearing a sleeveless, high-necked black shirt made of a semi-sheer material that doesn’t quite hide my black bra. I’d paired the shirt with a black leather skirt and my usual black, high-heeled booties.

  After about fifteen minutes of lingering on the stool, I accept an invitation to dance with a guy. He’s kind of cute, but not my type. I dance a few songs with a couple of different guys before going back to the bar and signaling to Jose that I’d like another.

  I’d thought that Slade would have approached me by now. Isn’t this what he wants? As the night wears on, I become disappointed. I should have known. Slade never does the expected, he thrives on being unpredictable. I’d made it obvious that I wanted to see him, and he wasn’t going to comply because it’s what I want, not what he wants.

  This was a complete waste of time.

  Someone sits down on the stool situated beside mine, and I automatically glance at the newcomer.

  It’s Colt.

  He looks controlled, but his eyes betray just how pissed he is. “What—the—fuck—are you doing?” he grits out.

  I’d known there was a chance that someone might figure out I’d left, but I hadn’t expected to be tracked down. I frown with confusion. “How did you know I was here?”

  “I called,” he bites out.

  My eyes slide to Jose, who’s pouring a shot for a woman, and I sigh. I should have gone somewhere else, but had Slade shown and things had gone bad—I trust Colt’s friends to intervene over strangers.

  “Quinn,” Colt says sharply, bringing my attention back to him.

  “I don’t answer to you, Colt.”

  His face turns stony.

  I turn on my stool so that I’m facing forward, and I pick up my drink and take a sip. This night has quickly gone from crummy to shitty.

  “You’re baiting him.”

  I don’t bother to deny it since it’s obvious.

  “Let’s go.”

  All my aggravation over Slade now shifts and begins to direct itself towards Colt. Why can’t he admit that I’m what he needs? Why won’t he trust me? “I’m stayi
ng,” I tell him. I’m not ready to go back yet.

  Colt’s warm hand firmly but gently clamps around my upper arm. “We’re leaving, Quinn.” His tone warns me that he’s willing to make a scene to get me out of here.

  Slade’s not going to show, and the night is a compete bust. I make a move to open my purse, but Colt tosses a twenty on the bar and helps me from the stool. I allow him to escort me out of the bar, and when we step outside, I find that it’s pouring. We’re immediately drenched as we race to Colt’s truck, and he quickly boosts me up into the passenger seat before hurrying around to the driver’s side. I shiver and buckle my seatbelt.

  Colt slams his door and jams the key into the ignition while he uses his free hand to wipe the rain from his face. I’m silent as I watch him switch on the headlights, and then we’re backing out of the parking space.

  The tension between us is thick.

  I wait until he’s successfully merged with traffic before asking, “Does anyone else know I went out?”

  “No,” he clips out.

  “How did you know?”

  He remains silent instead of answering my question.

  It dawns on me that he wouldn’t have known unless he’d been looking for me, and now I’m cursing myself for going out. What had he wanted?

  “What possessed you to pull this shit tonight?” he asks darkly.

  I don’t reply, because the last thing I want to do is talk about Slade. I want to talk about ‘us,’ but Colt refuses to consider what we could have.

  “He contacted you again,” he guesses.

  A small sigh escapes me, and I know he’s not going to let up until I answer him. “He kept calling me last night but wouldn’t say anything.”

  Colt’s head swings towards me, his eyes trying to latch onto mine in the shadowy interior of the truck. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “It was three AM.”

  “You could have woken me.”

  “So you could do what?”

  He falls silent, and he faces forward, once more focused on driving.