No Going Back (Revolving Door Book 3)

by Dani Matthews

  Dawning realization comes over me. “He’ll come after me before killing Quinn.”

  Bryce nods in agreement. “All his actions point to the fact that he didn’t like Quinn surrounding herself with others, especially you. I’m thinking you’ll be his target before he kills her. We have a short window of opportunity to track this bastard down. I didn’t have all the information collected until this afternoon, but this is what I was going to go over with you guys.”

  The anxiety I’d been feeling begins to calm. “I’m the key to finding her.”

  “I have reason to believe he’ll contact you.”

  “Did you bring everything you have on this guy?”

  “It’s in my car.”

  “Bring it in and get comfortable.”

  Twenty-four

  Quinn

  Someone roughly taps the side of my face. “Wake up, Quinn.” I’m dragged back to consciousness, and the taste in my mouth has my nose wrinkling. Eww. My tongue feels dry and swollen and— My cheek is tapped hard once more. “Open your eyes.”

  That voice…

  The blood in my veins turns cold as I pry my gritty eyelashes apart. Sure enough, Shane is hovering over me. Everything comes back to me in flashes, and I try to recoil away from him, but I seem to be lying on something soft. I rapidly blink my eyes, struggling to sort out what’s happening.

  Shane, satisfied that I’m awake, leans back on his heels as he casually squats before me.

  My eyes drop, and I see that I’m lying on a thin mattress. When my bare legs come into view, my heart momentarily stutters until I realize I’m still wearing my lingerie. Okay, I can handle that. I’m still clothed—in a way. What I don’t like is that my hands are tightly bound in front of me with rope.

  Instinct tells me to stay calm until I have reason to panic. I lift my eyes and look around, taking in my surroundings. We’re in a small room with no windows, and it looks like there’s a garage door that takes up most of the opposite wall. We’re completely closed in, and the only source of light comes from a tall tripod of some sort.

  There is nothing in the room that’s going to help me escape, so I turn my attention back to Shane. He’s no longer dressed as an electrician, and he’s wearing a t-shirt and his usual worn jeans. His dark hair is a little messy from the cap he’d worn earlier.

  His eyes are watching me intently. He’s loving every second of this, and that’s why I’m going to stay as calm as possible. I won’t give him the satisfaction of panicking or freaking out. He may have kidnapped me, but he can’t control my mind or what I say.

  “Why am I here?” I ask him, already knowing why, but I’m still going to ask the ridiculous question. I want to hear how he responds.

  He smiles, his lips curving upwards into a sinister smile. “This is our final game.”

  I gaze at him, and as my eyes roam over his features, I wonder what I ever saw in him. The handsome lines of his face are no longer attractive to me, not when I know what lies beneath the exterior. “And the endgame is my death?”

  He’s silent a moment, studying me. “Of course. You knew it would end this way.”

  “Yeah, that’s a mistake I’ll always regret. The blood should have been the first sign, but call me clueless,” I say flippantly.

  His eyes narrow, and I can tell he’s displeased that I’m not cowering in fear.

  I look around at the bare, white walls and cement floor. “So is this where you’re going to do it? Kill me?” I ask, my eyes curious while I hide my fear. Hell yeah, I’m freaking out in the inside. I don’t want to die, but Shane doesn’t need to know that. He’s motivated by the need to break me down, and the longer it takes, perhaps the longer I’ll live? I know Bryce and Colt are looking for me. There is no doubt in my mind that they’ll find me—I just hope it’s before I’m dead. The only thing I can do at this point is to either escape, or do everything I can to survive as long as I can. Right now, escaping is not an option.

  Quick as lightning, Shane reaches out and grabs my neck, causing my head to tilt backwards as he grips my throat painfully. It takes everything I have within me not to react as his fingers dig into my skin. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you?” he hisses.

  “I’m sure you’re going to inform me,” I manage to say, my voice hoarse from the pressure he’s applying.

  “I’m going to fuck you until you scream for mercy, and then I’m going to torture you, watching your blood slowly leave your body,” he murmurs, his eyes full of anticipation.

  I look at him with cool defiance. “The only person who makes me scream is Colt,” I say hoarsely.

  The eagerness fades, and his facial features tighten as his fingers dig further into my neck, making it difficult for me to breathe. He reaches for something with his free hand, and then I find a wicked and deadly blade pressing into my throat. The knife doesn’t surprise me since he’s used it before in my presence.

  His eyes are glittering with anger, and I watch as he draws in a deep breath and manages to rein in his temper. “This is not one of our games where I fuck you and you walk away,” he warns.

  I can’t talk because of the pressure, so I keep my eyes trained on his, waiting to see what’s going to happen next. He’s not going to kill me right now, I know that for certain. This little show is to put fear in my eyes.

  Game on, bastard.

  If he wants to play mind games, I’m going to play right back.

  “Do it,” I grit out, my eyes challenging him.

  Fury flares in his eyes, and he presses the knife further into my skin. I feel a pinprick of pain, and then a drop of blood trails down my throat. I watch his eyes follow the movement with fascination. My stomach turns over, knowing that the more I push him, the more pain I’ll be bringing upon myself when he does get around to torturing me. But this is the only way I can think of to prolong my life—as crazy as it sounds. Once he breaks me, he’ll kill me. The thrill will only last so long, and then he’ll watch me bleed to death. This is my life at stake, but I’m going to go with my gut instinct.

  Shane abruptly shifts away from me, releasing my throat. I’m unprepared as I fall back onto the mattress, and while I’m still processing the abrupt release, I miss the fact that he’s grabbed my bound hands. Suddenly, my right palm is bared, and I feel the knife drag across it, slicing the skin like butter.

  I draw in a hiss and gulp back a cry of pain, refusing to make a sound. Holy shit. I wasn’t expecting it, and I instinctively try to jerk my hands from him. Much to my surprise, he releases his hold, and I draw my hands to my chest, my right palm on fire. Blood is slickening my fingers, and I fight the urge to look at the damage. Instead, I look at his face, refusing to be caught off guard again.

  He looks pleased that he’d caught me by surprise, and his head tilts as he waits to see what my next reaction will be.

  I don’t say anything and just gaze back at him. This time, I keep my mouth shut, deciding not to backtalk. I don’t want a matching cut for my smartass mouth. As I realize this, my heart sinks. Maybe I’m not as smart as I thought, because pain is pain, and it fucking hurts. If mouthing back is going to bring me more, self-preservation is going to have me shutting the hell up.

  Shit. I can’t let him see the thoughts my mind’s unleashing, and I shove them aside and try to keep my eyes blank. He can’t break me, he can’t break me, I repeat to myself. And if he should, I can’t let him see it. I’m feeling lost and confused, no longer as confident as I’d felt mere minutes ago.

  My silence seems to satisfy him, and he rises to his feet, repocketing the knife. Then, he reaches down for me. I try to scoot backwards, but I have nowhere to go, and he easily grabs my bound wrists and drags me to my feet.

  “We have work to do,” he announces.

  He’d put away the knife, making it clear that he has no intention of inflicting more pain upon me. I find my voice and ask, “What do you mean?”

  He tugs me over to the wall on our left, and the cemen
t floor is cool beneath my bare feet. “You see this wall?” he asks.

  “Yes.”

  His eyes shift to me, and he gives me a hard look. “You’re going to write on it with your blood,” he informs me.

  Write on it? “Why?” I automatically ask.

  “It’s a message I want you to leave.” He looks smug as he says, “Big, block letters, Quinn. Write ‘his.’ H—I—S.”

  What the fuck? “Who’s the message for?” I ask, already beginning to figure out what he’s up to.

  “Who do you think? Do it.”

  The message is for Colt. Either Shane’s going to kill me here, and Bryce and Colt will find the writing on the wall, or Shane plans on moving me to a different location. As soon as the last thought crosses my mind, I know that’s his plan. He likes games, so he’s not going to kill me in the first location he brings me to. No, he’s going to taunt the police and Colt. That’s why he’d sent the photo of his second victim to me. The game isn’t fun unless it’s risky.

  My hair is caught in a fist, and I gasp as Shane yanks my head back so that he can look into my eyes. “Do it. Because if you don’t, I’ll do it for you, and you don’t want that,” he threatens.

  I grit my teeth and wait for him to release me. His fingers slowly untangle from my hair, and I step towards the wall after he’s let me go. I’ll write on the damned wall. I don’t want to, but I believe him when he says he’ll do it for me, and it’ll be much worse than if I’d simply done it myself. I look at my right hand, and it’s covered with blood. I can see the gash across my palm, and there’s no doubt that it’s going to need stitches.

  One cut, it’s not the end of the world, I tell myself.

  I move my left hand to the side so that my wrists are forming a T, my right hand pointing up. Then, I begin swiping my hand along the wall, my jaw clenching as I write the damn word. My palm hurts like a bitch, and I tell myself to pull up my big girl panties, because things are going to get a whole lot worse. Shane is silent behind me as I use my blood to write on the wall.

  When I’m finished, I turn and find Shane grinning.

  Knowing Colt, he’s going to make Shane pay for this, and he won’t do it within the boundaries of the law. Shane might be smiling now, but Colt will have the last word. I’m certain of it.

  He moves towards me, and I refuse to falter or show fear. His hand grips my shoulder, and he shoves me towards the mattress. The move was unexpected, and I fall onto it in a heap. I quickly turn onto my back, feet up to kick at him, but he hadn’t followed me down. My feet lower when I see him standing before the mattress, a polaroid camera in his hand.

  I sit up the best I can with my hands bound. What…?

  Shane smiles when he sees my confusion. “I’d hate to take the fun out of this and become predictable. I will fuck you, but not here, and not now.” I glare at him, and he holds the camera in front of his face. “Smile,” he says mockingly.

  My eyes blaze as I give him a look that says he can kiss my ass. The camera goes off, and Shane turns to set it aside. I don’t know what he’s planning to do next, and I’m not going to make it easy on him. I struggle to my feet as he begins pouring liquid from a bottle over a rag. “I’ll come willingly if you don’t drug me,” I lie.

  He glances at me, amused. “As if I’d fall for that.”

  The knife is in its carrier attached to his side. If I could just get it from him and stab his ass, I’d be free.

  He notes the direction my eyes have taken, and he walks over to me, his eyes warning me that it’ll never happen.

  I don’t want to be drugged, and I quickly ask, “What’s your endgame with Colt?”

  “I thought you were smarter than this,” he says, pausing before me, the rag in his hand.

  “You’re going to taunt him with my death?” I ask, ignoring his comment.

  He smiles, flashing straight, white teeth. “That would be too easy. Come on Quinn, you should know by now that you’re not truly mine until he’s eliminated.”

  I stare at him with dumbfounded amazement. “You want to kill Colt?”

  “He needs to pay for coming between me and what’s mine.”

  “You’ve had plenty of opportunities to come after Colt and me. Why now?”

  “I don’t kill in public, and I like it slow. It’s why I enjoy knives.”

  His announcement slowly sinks in. I will never be his until Colt is eliminated. He won’t kill me until he kills Colt. I never saw that coming, and my life expectancy has just been extended. He’ll never get his hands on Colt, and if anything, Colt and Bryce will set up a sting and get the upper hand.

  Everything’s going to be okay.

  “Enough talking.” Shane moves towards me, reaching for the back of my neck, but I dodge him. I’m not going down without a fight. As I try to dart around him, he catches a fistful of my hair. I cry out as he forcefully drags me towards his chest, holding me tightly against himself while pressing the rag over my nose and mouth. I struggle and hold my breath. It’s useless though, and he patiently waits for me to give in.

  Twenty-five

  Colt

  My eyes are dry and gritty, but I ignore the sensation. Bryce and I have set up camp in the living room, and the photos of the two victims haunt me. He’d been reluctant to show me the before and after photos of the women, but I’d needed to see them.

  “You should try to get some sleep,” Bryce advises.

  I look at him as if he’d suggested I take a bubble bath. I don’t give a shit that it’s one in the morning. We’ve been waiting for Janke to contact me, but so far, my phone has remained silent. At least the APB for the stolen electrician van had come through for us. It’d been found abandoned on a street, and the police had gone door to door in the neighborhood, searching for Quinn. As we’d expected, Janke had left the van in a random part of town, and nothing had been found except one of the cell phones he’d used to contact Quinn. The van is still being looked over carefully by a team at the department, but so far, there’s nothing that points to her whereabouts.

  Gabe had managed to talk Harper into going to bed about an hour ago, and Sebastian couldn’t handle sitting around, so he’d left and hasn’t been back since. Channing and Ash are still at the hospital. Thankfully, Ash had regained consciousness in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. However, the concussion is serious enough that it required an overnight stay.

  “Colt, you’re going to be no help if you’re half-asleep on your feet,” Bryce tells me.

  I shoot him a look, daring him to suggest I go to sleep one more damned time. I’m certain Quinn isn’t sleeping, and somewhere deep within me, I’m terrified of what she’s suffering. I’m not going to go downstairs and lie in a fucking bed, trying to sleep when she’s going through hell.

  Bryce sighs. “Okay, fine.” He sits back on the sofa and looks at me again, his expression determined. “We need to revisit the idea of setting a trap for him.”

  I rise to my feet and stand, feeling restless. “There’s no guarantee he’ll give up Quinn’s location. We both know he won’t arrange anything near the vicinity of where he’s keeping her.”

  This fucker is smart and twisted. The profile that the department profiler put together is going to keep me awake until Quinn is back in my arms. Janke is most certainly insane, and he’s not afraid to take chances. He’d proved that by sending the photo of his second victim to Quinn. He might as well have signed his real name on it along with his fingerprints. This means he’ll do whatever he has to in order to carry out his plan, even if it means he might get caught in the end.

  I rub my face, feeling the rough beginnings of a beard on my jaw. Janke’s final move will be to kill Quinn. All the pieces are supposed to fall into place before that point, but if he can’t get his hands on me and the police are closing in, he will kill Quinn.

  “Colt, we need to set him up,” Bryce insists.

  The photo of Janke catches my eye, and I lean over and grab it off the coffee table
so I can study it again. The photo had been taken before he’d left Canada and murdered the woman in Maine. He looks about nineteen in the picture, twenty at the most, and his hair is blond, his face thin with sallow cheeks. The boy in the picture is lanky and weak, but his eyes…

  Those eyes are pure evil.

  Janke didn’t change his appearance until he’d fled Canada, and he’d had to have worked damned hard to gain all that muscle and weight. Add the dyed hair and the tattoos that Quinn said he has, and he looks nothing like his former self. Smart fucker.

  I toss the photo aside and turn my attention on Bryce. “Say we set him up, what happens when he refuses to tell us where he has Quinn holed up?”

  “It’s a risk,” Bryce levelly agrees. “At least with Janke in custody, he can’t kill her.”

  “If we can’t find her, and she’s injured and somewhere secluded, there’s no guarantee she’ll get herself out on her own.” I shake my head. “It’s too much of a risk. We’re better off following him.”

  “Back him in a corner, and he’ll kill Quinn so that you can’t have her. So that no one can,” Bryce argues. “If he barricades himself with her, she’s done. Colt, it’s risky either way you look at it. At least with him out of the way, her life expectancy is extended.”

  “I agree with Bryce,” Gabe says as he enters the living room.

  Bryce looks at him. “She sleeping?” he asks, referring to Harper.

  Gabe sighs and drops down onto the sofa, scrubbing his hands over his face. “It wasn’t easy, but she’s down. At least for now,” he adds, looking exhausted.

  He should really get some sleep too, but I don’t blame him for refusing. Even if there’s nothing that can be done at this point to help Quinn, it feels like we’re abandoning her if we go to bed as if nothing has happened.