No Going Back (Revolving Door Book 3)

by Dani Matthews

  Part of me wonders if I should have tried to go with Janke, but Gabe and Channing had shot down those doubts. They’d both agreed that he wouldn’t have taken me anywhere unless I was half-dead and useless to Quinn.

  It’s back to the fucking waiting game, and I feel like I’m losing my mind. Knowing Ash and Harper are scared to death for Quinn, I pause and face Harper. “She did something to really piss off Janke, so yeah, she’s strong,” I agree.

  “I wonder what it was,” Ash murmurs from where she’s sitting next to Channing.

  “Whatever it was, it must’ve been bad for him,” Channing adds.

  I nod in agreement and glance at the clock. If Bryce doesn’t walk in the door within the next hour, I’m going to the hospital to track him down. Janke was being admitted for the night, so Bryce had planned to question him there at the hospital.

  My head jerks when I hear a car door out front, and I see the others turn their heads to look at the front door expectantly.

  Bryce enters the house a moment later, looking tired. I keep forgetting that he’s gotten about as much sleep as me. When he sees us, he enters the living room and quietly shakes his head.

  Fuck.

  Janke isn’t talking.

  “Now what?” I ask with frustration.

  His eyes shift to me. “I’ve got a team looking for her as we speak. Anything abandoned is being searched.”

  There’s no guarantee they’re going to find her, and a heaviness settles over me. If she can’t be found, it’s on Quinn to rescue herself. I know damned well that she’ll try, but what if she’s physically unable to?

  Twenty-eight

  Quinn

  No one’s coming for me.

  I stare at the morning sunlight streaking in from the basement’s windows. It’s now been twenty-four hours since I’d last seen Shane. Yesterday, I’d assumed he was watching the house and maybe trying to set up Colt. When the afternoon had turned to evening, I’d kept waiting for the police to find me.

  Now, it’s sinking in that Shane is probably in custody, and he’s not revealing my whereabouts. I’m in this alone, and all hope of being found is dwindling fast. I lick my dry lips and look around the empty basement. I’ve tried screaming for help, and all that’s accomplished is a sore throat.

  This is not how I want to die. Yesterday, I’d pissed the mattress when I couldn’t hold my bladder anymore, so now I smell horribly of urine and blood. I’ve gone almost forty-eight hours without water, and it’s beginning to affect me. My head is pounding, and I’m weak and sleepy. There’s a hint of nausea creeping up on me, and I’m trying to ignore it. I blearily look around, hoping for an idea to help me out of this mess. Unfortunately, nothing comes to mind, and all my thoughts are consumed with desperately craving water.

  I’m so thirsty.

  My eyes close on their own accord, and I doze for a while until I realize that if I keep falling asleep, I’ll certainly die. I need to stay awake. I blink and look at the windows. The sunlight is gone. I’m certain I hadn’t slept long, so that must mean the clouds have overtaken the sun.

  Think, Quinn.

  I turn my throbbing head and look down at my hands still cuffed to the wall beside my left hip. Bruises have formed along my wrists, and dried blood coats my fingers. Knowing that I need to keep trying, I spend the next five minutes struggling to pull my hands out of the cuffs. I whimper and hiss, and the skin tears where the metal digs into my wrists.

  It's then that I comprehend I’m crying, but I have no tears to shed. My body has no water to spare, and I struggle to draw in a deep breath and calm myself.

  I begin to shiver, and my eyes drop to my chest where the wounds are still raw, refusing to heal. They hurt terribly, but I’ve grown accustomed to the pain. It’s become a minor irritation compared to my thirst and hunger. Unfortunately, I think one of the cuts has become infected, because the one above my breast is swollen, and the skin surrounding it is turning an angry red.

  Colt’s face flashes in my mind, and my heart grows heavy. I never thought that my time with him would be so short. I drop my head forward, giving into my emotional turmoil. There was still so much that I wanted to tell him. I’d wanted to be there as he’d embraced our relationship and began to believe that he did indeed deserve happiness. I wanted to prove to him that we’d be together forever—that I would never leave him.

  One week is all I’d had with him—one week that he hadn’t pushed me away and had embraced what we were feeling.

  One week wasn’t nearly long enough.

  I ache to be back in his arms, and I blink and lift my head, straightening my spine even as I long to lie down and give into the lethargy that’s tugging at me. I’ve never given up on anything, and I can’t give up now. This is my life. I can’t just give up and let myself fade away in this horrible room.

  I want to see Colt again.

  “Hey!!” I yell at the top of my lungs, using precious energy as I once again call for help. As long as I am lucid and able to still fight, I refuse to give up. “Help me!!” I shout weakly.

  Only silence answers. Then, a low rumble of thunder.

  My eyes slide to the window, and I scowl. Really? Is God trying to torture me with the temptation of water on the other side of this wall? I scan the room, eyeing the tall light and the sleeping bag across the room. I am so fucking cold.

  There has to be a way out of this.

  I turn my attention back to my cuffed hands, and my eyes slide to my nails. Most of them are broken from trying to use them to turn the screws. Of course, acrylic nails aren’t going to do much, but I’d had to try. I’ll try anything at this point.

  Wait a second.

  My earrings are regular diamond studs, but I’d forgotten about my helix piercing. It’s a silver ring, and it might just work with the screws. I’m excited, but also tired enough that it takes me a moment to work up the energy to begin scooting my body down the mattress so I can lower my head to my hands. The cuts on my body protest, and new droplets of blood form and begin dripping down my skin.

  The scent of my own urine has my stomach turning over, but I struggle against the nausea and use my fingers to reach blindly for the loop in my ear. Very carefully, I remove it and painstakingly sit up so I can see what I’m doing. The loop is a little bigger than the screws, but I think it’ll work. I slip it along the inner slot on the screw and then begin trying to turn it. It’s not easy since the ring is small, but it is big enough to grip the screw. I keep trying to turn it with the earring, and even as I get nowhere, I know I can’t afford to give up. I have to keep trying. I’m not sure how long I spend working that little ring with the screw, but when the screw eventually begins to give a little, at first, I think it’s my imagination. But no…it’s moving! It’s moving! I release a yelp of excitement and continue forcing the ring to move—unscrewing the screw. When it’s nearly out, I begin working on the next one. I don’t dare set the little ring down to use my fingers to pull out the screw. I’ll put the ring down when I know my freedom is imminent.

  It doesn’t take much for me to grow tired, and as much as I hate it, I have to take breaks here and there before I continue working on the screws. It feels like it takes half the day to loosen them, and by the time the fourth one is nearly out of its hole, the sky has darkened outside and it’s pouring.

  I grip the ring in my right hand, refusing to set it down yet. With my left hand, I use my fingers to twist all the screws entirely out of the metal panel. It falls from the wall, and I stare numbly as it dangles from the cuffs. I’m free.

  Shit, I’m free!!!

  I want to howl with joy, but that would take too much energy, and I still have a way to go. I’m obviously in a remote area, and I need to find help.

  When I first rise to my feet and stumble off the mattress, I collapse to the unforgiving cement floor in a heap. It’s been days since I’ve walked. I draw in a couple of deep breaths and force myself to my feet once more, moving slow.

  S
low and steady, I tell myself.

  Before I reach the stairs, I pick up the sleeping bag from the floor and wrap it around my wounded body. Then, I cautiously make my way up the stairs. Everything within me wants to run towards freedom, but I don’t have it in me to exert that kind of energy.

  When I approach the top of the stairs, the basement door is wide open. I step through the shadowed doorway and look around the vacant kitchen. My eyes catch on one of the windows. It’s still daylight, it’s just really cloudy outside.

  The door in the corner draws me like a moth to a flame, and I tuck the sleeping bag tighter around myself and walk bare foot across the linoleum. I try the knob, and it turns freely in my grip. I pull the door open and reach for the screen door. I carefully push on it and step outside onto the porch.

  The fresh air is intoxicating after being in the basement without proper ventilation, and I take a moment to breathe in deeply. When I’ve savored the clean, wet air, I step off the porch and into the rain. I tilt my head back, opening my mouth. It’s not enough to quench my thirst, but the droplets make me want to laugh with the joy of being free.

  I’m not going to die today.

  I’m not going to die.

  I smile with happiness until I remind myself that I still need help. I step further into the yard, the grass feeling heavenly beneath my bare feet. I turn and gaze at the house that had been my prison for two days. It’s old and run down, and I look around at all the trees surrounding the small, secluded property. The for sale sign at the end of the gravel driveway snags my attention. It looks as if no one’s been here in a very long time, and now I know why Shane had picked it.

  My eyes lift to the sky once more, and I estimate that it’s late afternoon. I need to find help before it darkens. With more determination than I feel, I walk through the grass beside the gravel driveway until I reach the paved road. When I step onto its solid surface, dizziness causes me to stumble, and I go still, trying to reorient myself once more. After my eyes clear, I try to focus on the road. There are trees lining both sides and no vehicles in sight.

  I push forward, putting one foot in front of the other. If I’d just come from a house, there’s likely more somewhere in the area. I’m assuming I’m up in the hills, and as I continue to walk through the rain, my feet become heavier and heavier. All the energy my body had once possessed is long gone, and I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  Dizziness causes me to falter, and then my knees buckle as I drop to the pavement. I can’t go on anymore. I want to, but physically, I’ve reached my limit.

  As I lie there, I close my eyes tiredly. I’m on the side of the road where I’ll be seen if someone drives by.

  Someone will come.

  ***

  I feel a poke in my arm and reflexively wince.

  “Easy,” an unfamiliar male voice says, and I can feel a needle pressing into my arm. “You’re in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital,” the voice informs me.

  Ambulance? Relief engulfs me when I realize my escape wasn’t a dream. With great difficulty, I lift my heavy eyelids, slowly blinking until an older man’s friendly face comes into view.

  He smiles. “Hi there. Are you on any medication?”

  “No,” I say thickly, my voice sounding scratchy and hoarse to my ears.

  “Are you allergic to anything?”

  “No.” I lick my dry lips. “Quinn Sikora,” I say, giving him my name before he can ask. “Call Detective Banning. Please,” I mumble, my eyelids feeling too heavy to stay open.

  “Your name is Quinn Sikora?” he asks, verifying that he’d heard me correctly.

  “Yes.”

  “I know you’re tired, but I need you to stay with me Quinn,” the man says in a firm tone.

  I’m trying, but my body doesn’t want to listen, and I feel myself drifting once more.

  Twenty-nine

  Colt

  Waiting.

  It’s all I seem to be doing these days, but at least this time I know she’s alive and nearby. I’m at the hospital, and instead of sitting with the others across the room, I’m standing at a window overlooking the busy street below. It’s dark outside now that night has fallen, and the rain on the streets are reflecting all the lights, causing everything to gleam.

  Last night had been another sleepless night, and by this morning, I’d been losing hope that they’d find Quinn. By late afternoon, Bryce was physically restraining me from leaving the house and doing my own search around the city. We’d almost come to blows at one point, but then ‘the call’ had come. Quinn was at the hospital and had given Bryce’s name as a contact.

  It was an immense relief at the time, but now I’m feeling uncertain. I stare out into the wet night, a grimness settling over me. Gabe, Channing, and I are on Quinn’s emergency contact list, so the doctor had been able to give us updates on Quinn.

  Shit.

  What she must’ve gone through.

  My biggest fear had been eased when the doctor had assured us that she hadn’t been raped. But the rest of what she’d endured…

  I rub the back of my neck, concerned that I might fuck up or do something wrong when I see her. Right now, Bryce is in with her getting her statement. When he’s finished, only one of us will be allowed to go in and see her since it’s late, and everyone agreed that it should be me.

  My chest tightens as I think of the pain she’d suffered. She’d been severely dehydrated when they’d brought her in, and because of the many stitches she would need, the doctor had lightly sedated her. She’d lost a lot of blood, but not enough that she’d needed a transfusion. Unfortunately, she’s also battling an infection, so she’s on a few medications right now to control it. We’d been warned by the doctor that she’d be in and out of it tonight, and depending on how she’s doing tomorrow, they’ll consider releasing her.

  “Hey man,” I hear Bryce say, resting his hand on my shoulder.

  I start slightly and turn, surprised that I hadn’t heard him enter the waiting room. The others are standing by their chairs, talking amongst themselves. I’m assuming Bryce had updated them before coming over to me. Evidently, I’d completely zoned out. “How is she?” I ask immediately.

  “Tired. I got everything I need, but I’ll have to check in with her tomorrow and see if there’s anything else she wants to add to her statement.”

  I nod, knowing that’s wise if she’s as out of it as the doctor was saying.

  Bryce holds out a business card to me, and I automatically accept it. “What’s this?” I ask.

  “She’s going to need counseling. I didn’t want to bring it up since she’s been through enough the past few days, but when she’s feeling better, I suggest you approach the topic with her.” His eyes are serious as he holds mine. “What she went through was traumatizing, and I’ve had enough experience in this line of work to know that she’s going to need to talk to someone. You need to make certain she gets the help she needs, Colt.”

  I nod, tucking the card in my pocket. “I will,” I assure.

  “Are you ready to see her? I’ll take you to her room before I head out.”

  As much as I want to see her, I find myself hesitating.

  Bryce frowns. “Colt?”

  “What if she doesn’t want to see me?” I hear myself asking.

  “Why wouldn’t she?”

  “She’s been through a lot…”

  He squeezes my shoulder. “She needs you now more than ever. You’re probably exactly what she needs right now. Come on,” he says, steering me towards the waiting room doorway.

  Bryce leads me a few hallways down to Quinn’s hospital room doorway, and then he gives me a nod and walks away. His next stop will be the police department so he can begin processing and filing all the paperwork. He’ll be pulling another all-nighter, and I don’t know how he does it.

  After a moment’s hesitation, I enter the small hospital room and stare at the woman lying in the hospital bed. She resembles Quinn with t
he vibrant pink hair and pretty features, but she’s pale, and her eyelashes have caused dark smudges to stand out across her white skin. She looks to be sleeping, and I scan her small frame outlined by the sheets. Her wrists have bandages around them, and there’s another bandage wrapped around her right arm. An IV is hooked up to her left, and I can’t get over how frail she looks.

  Now that I am with her, and she’s in my line of sight, I feel all the uncertainty from earlier fading away. I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to stay by her side until someone physically forces me out of this room.

  I walk to the single chair in the corner, and as quietly as I can, I move it beside the bed and sit down. Her hand is resting near her hip, and I gaze at it. All her nails are broken and jagged. She’s not going to be happy about that. Or at least the old Quinn would be miffed. I’m not sure how she’ll react now, because I’m certain everything has changed. I continue staring at her hand, wanting to touch her in some way but not wanting to disturb her.

  When she makes a soft, distressed sound in her sleep, I quickly stand and hover over her, noting that a small wrinkle has appeared between her eyebrows. I touch her pale cheek tenderly. “You’re okay,” I soothe, aching to take away all her pain.

  Her eyelashes immediately flutter open, and she blinks a few times until her brown eyes focus on mine. I watch as an inner light filled with joy and relief flickers deeply within those depths, revealing everything I’d been hoping for. “Colt,” she breathes, and her lips tilt up into a small smile.

  I return her smile with one of my own. “Hey.”

  Her eyes search mine, and now I can’t seem to read what she’s thinking. She licks her lips and reaches for my hand, slipping her fingers between mine. “I love you,” she murmurs. “It was one of my regrets when I thought I was going to die. There was so much more that I wanted to say to you, to share with you,” she says, her voice weak but filled with certainty.

  The world has fucking settled into place around me, and I feel like I’ve finally got a grip on my future and where my life is headed. I squeeze her hand and lean down, brushing my lips ever so gently across hers. “I love you, too. I’ve been in love with you for years,” I tell her, pulling back to watch her reaction.