He sports a few days of beard growth, adding to the rough look. His eyes look to meet mine, and I see them filled with something familiar. Fear.
“I owe you an apology, Emily. I wasn’t particularly pleasant to you when we met last. I understand you’re a guest of Quinn’s.”
“Okay, thank you.”
“Well, I’m sorry. You won’t have to deal with me being around any longer.” His apology is so sincere, and I can’t help but feel sorry him, whatever mess he’s in. Right now, I don’t need any further confusion to add to my muddled mind. I nod at him to show my acknowledgement.
“She won’t see any more of you, period,” Quinn growls. He looks at me, seemingly bubbling with fury still. “Em, go, so Josh and I can talk.” I don’t answer Quinn, but continue to make my tea, taking my time. “Emily. Leave.” Still, I ignore him.
The water splutters out of the machine into my mug, drenching the tea-bag. I walk to the fridge and retrieve the milk. “Emily, I don’t know what the hell you’re playing at, but get the fuck out of here before I make you.”
He can rant and rave all he likes. I’m not going to answer him. I won’t be frightened anymore. He can’t touch me, and if he does, there’s nothing left for him to do that he’s not already done.
I brew my tea and then waltz out of the kitchen to the lounge where I curl up on the sofa as delicately as possible. I sip the tea and try to feel the outward appearance of calm I’m portraying. Of course, it’s easier said than done. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells and I’m certainly winding Quinn up, but my decision is made. I can’t live like this anymore. I have to fight for me, no matter how sick it makes me feel inside.
His tailored trousers walk into my eyesight. I look up and see him looking furious, brows knotted together and his eyes piercing me as they always do.
“Don’t push me, dirty girl. You won’t like the outcome.”
I stare into his rage-filled eyes, looking for a trace of the man that forces my heart into a flutter. “I’m not moving, Quinn. I won’t be summoned and dismissed on your whim anymore. I thought you’d come to see that over the last week. I thought we got past this?” The small part of me that had convinced myself things were different is clinging on to our past experiences.
He pauses and considers my words for a moment. Perhaps they’re penetrating through his exterior, but I think he’s more taken aback by my sudden show of strength.
“You’re mine to do with as I please. Freedom is at my fucking discretion.” His voice is low and menacing. “Get your ass out of this goddamn room.”
“Go and yell at your brother somewhere else, Quinn.” I turn my head and take another mouthful of tea.
His arm swings in an arc so fast I only see a blur, but I do hear the smash as my mug is flung across the room, shattering against the wooden floor. All of my hope splinters, along with the mug now lying in a hundred sharp pieces on the floor.
“You’ll do as you’re damn well told, Emily.” I stand up, willing my own temper and glare in response to his actions.
“Go and play with another one of your skank whores, Quinn. I’m not doing this anymore. You can throw me back in that cell for all I care. I’m fucking done.”
I don’t let him return my anger and march back up to my room. If only I could lock it behind me. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, filling me with a determination I’ve not felt before.
Quinn’s treatment over the last few weeks has toughened me, making me grow stronger without even realising it. I would never have spoken to him like that in the past.
I take a few deep breaths, focusing on my composure. I can’t risk staying here any longer. If his little outburst has taught me anything it’s that Quinn will only show me a part of himself that he’s comfortable with. He’ll always defer back to his normal.
Tonight, or at some point in the early evening, I need to leave. That’s if he doesn’t lock me in the room again.
I walk to the wardrobe and open the door. A handful of items now hang from the rail. The cream coat he bought me before walking the path of the river, a few different jumpers, the stupid cocktail dress. The clothes are an accurate reflection of the changing moods of Quinn Cane. I pull the coat from the hanger and set it on the foot of the bed. I’ll need it. Plus a small part of me wants to take it as a reminder that not everything in Quinn is bad. He has the capacity for kindness, chivalry even. I’ve seen it, felt it; it’s just been stolen by the world he’s been forced to live in.
I don’t bother changing and slip under the covers in the clothes I’m in. I close my eyes but know it will be hard to get any sleep. But still, I try.
At some point in the evening, I must have dozed off. My eyes fly open, but I remain still. The creek of the door must have woken me. My heart jump-starts in my chest and threatens to give me away. The edge of the bed dips and I feel Quinn slide on top of the covers next to me. I remain frozen still, pretending to be asleep.
“Em?” he slurs. It’s obvious he’s been drinking. He stinks of whiskey. He edges closer to me, seeking… something. “Shouldn’t have got mad.”
Pinpricks of tears threaten so I screw my eyes shut, blocking out his attempt at an apology. I don’t want to hear it. It’s too late. I’m leaving. I just need to be patient.
His arm snakes around my waist, pulling me back to him. I tense, hoping he’s not going to try to wake me up, but he doesn’t. His breathing starts to even out, and I take tiny breaths, anything to ensure he’s not disturbed.
Hours pass. The clock on the dresser is visible from the shaft of moonlight falling through the drapes.
Two, three, four in the morning arrives. I can’t wait any longer. My window will close, and I’ll be trapped. I might have toughened up, but I know Quinn’s broken me before. How can I fight him, knowing what I’ve already done? Knowing how I feel?
I edge my leg to the side of the bed, pull my body out of his grasp, and pause, making sure he doesn’t stir. My heart beats so loudly I can feel it through every muscle in my body. I make it out of bed and stand, looking back at him sprawled out, his arm now reaching for an empty space.
The boots he bought for me are next to the wardrobe. If I have to run, I won’t be fast, but I’ll have to try. There’s no other option. Of course, he might find me at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck from tripping in these things. I slip my feet inside the stupid boots and wrap the coat around me.
Quinn doesn’t move a muscle. The creek of the door is the only barrier. I hold the handle and press down as softly as possible. Inch by inch it opens until I can slip through the gap.
My heart wants me to turn back. If I go through with this, I might escape, I might get part of my life back, but I might also have to press charges. Talk about my experience to a courtroom of people. Explain how I took presents, let him have me. The camera is sitting on the side table, capturing the day when everything felt… different. Emotion I have no right feeling wells inside my chest.
I turn and creep down the stairs. There’s a quiet to the house that doesn’t exist during the day. It’s utterly still. Eerie.
My steps turn purposeful. I don’t have time for regrets or what-ifs. I aim for the front door without any more hesitation and walk through it, quickly orientating myself to head for the house up the drive. Three little beeps stop me from moving forward. They repeat, and I suddenly realise how foolish I’ve been. Of course, Quinn would alarm his house. My legs pump, and I begin running as fast as I can just as the alarm splits the quiet.
I don’t look back. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other and keep going. The gravel driveway leads right to the other house. It takes longer in the heels than I’d hoped, but I’m halfway before I hear him bellow out into the night.
“Emily!”
I stumble but pick myself up. Fear drives me hard. My original plan to reach the house and call for help evaporates. I won’t have time. I need to run and hide or find someone to call for help for me.
&nb
sp; I reach the steps of the house but can hear Quinn’s feet pounding on the dirt behind me. “You won’t escape, Emily. Stop running.”
“Never.”
My legs burn from the sudden exertion, but I ignore it and run past the steps that lead to my possible freedom, detouring to the side of the house. I don’t make it.
Strong arms wrap around my waist and pull me to the ground. I brace with my hands, but land hard, knocking the wind out of me. He twists me around and tries to straddle me. I kick out and thrash, my body wriggling and rocking my hips. His hands reach for my wrists, but I slap them out of the way, swinging for him as hard as I can.
“Stop it, Emily.”
“No.”
“Calm the fuck, down” he says, pushing me back towards the gravel.
“Fuck you. I won’t let you do this anymore,” I spit out, furious that I didn’t make it away from him.
“You’re mine.”
“No, I’m not. I’m Emily Brooks.” I keep my legs and arms moving, landing kicks and punches against his body.
“Stop fighting me.”
“Never,” I grit out, digging my nails into his cheek and scoring them down his skin.
“Fuck.” He sits back up, letting go of my upper body, and I dig my elbows into the ground to try to pull away from him. I get out from under him, but his hand wraps around my ankle and drags me back.
“I told you. You’re mine!”
“Not anymore,” I spit at him and start screaming at the top of my lungs.
He wrestles me to standing and puts me in a chokehold, dragging me back down the drive. Tears burn on my cheeks, the fight that was so vital a moment ago dissolving in his arms. I go limp in his hold, in hopes of making it as hard as possible for him to move me.
Quinn wins, though. The entry to his house is patrolled by men dressed in black, all waiting for him. He nods and then tosses me back inside his house. My moment of bravery may now cost me far more than I’ve already lost. He locks the door behind him and stands over me, still lying on the floor.
“You’ll fucking pay for that.” I spin onto all fours and glare up at him.
“Do your worst. But understand this. I will fight. I will never stop fighting, or trying to escape you.” My teeth grind together with conviction.
He stares for so long I don’t know what on earth he’s going to do. I hold my postion, continuing to glare at him to prove my point. Not anymore. I’m not doing whatever this is anymore. Evenutally a sigh leaves him.
“What number, Em?” he says, a snarl forming around his mouth.
“Sorry?”
“Give me a fucking number to play with.”
“Seven.” I’m fed up with his games.
He takes his ever-present dice from his pocket and chucks them in the air. My heart beats frantically with the possibility that they might land in my favour. They scatter as they hit the floor, bouncing and tumbling, and my eyes search in desperation for what they show.
He steps around me, moving towards them and blocking my view, and a small chuckle follows.
“Seems like fate’s given you a choice,” he says, his hand scooping them up and then putting them in front of me to see. I stare at them, looking at the three and four. “Seven it is. Stay or go, Em. What will it be?” Quinn’s rage has vanished from his voice. There’s a sorrow, a finality that has replaced it. “But understand that if you go, that’s it. You stick to your decision.”
I know why he’s checking with me. He knows how I feel, or at least must have some idea. He must feel it between us, too.
“Go. I want to go home.”
He stares, if only for the briefest of seconds, but it feels like hours.
“Fine,” he eventually says as he walks toward the other room, pulling his phone from his pocket. I hear him on the phone, a few words that I don’t track, and then he’s back in front of me. “Rody will be here for you in an hour.”
He turns and doesn’t give me another look, his footsteps echoing away along the hall and finally out of earshot. I pull myself from the floor and sit on the sofa, confused and scared. I should be over the moon with relief. But all that’s sinking in is that I’ll never see Quinn again.
Cold invades my skin, sinking through to my bones. A tiredness washes over me and I fight against the need to close my eyes.
I sit in the front room staring out the window and watch the sky turn from pitch black to grey, the sun threatening at the edge of the world.
“Time to go.” Rody walks into the room and beckons for me to follow him.
“Where’s Quinn?”
“That’s none of your business. Come on, you have a plane to catch.”
Disappointment chokes out any sense of ease that I’m finally out of this mess. Maybe I thought he’d see me one last time. Come and say goodbye.
I stand and follow Rody.
“Here.” He passes me my clutch bag from my first date. My phone and keys are still inside. The phone’s dead. Useless. But at least I have it back.
The ride to the airport is silent. Rody keeps his eyes straight ahead, and I’m amazed that I was concerned to be in the same car as him only a handful of days ago. It’s like I’m not even seeing the world through the same eyes anymore. Something about him, all this, seems honest now.
Rody escorts me to a small jet plane, positioned in an airport hanger. It’s not one of the big airports and I don’t seem to need the passport I haven’t got. I don’t care, anymore. I just follow. My feet climb the steps and I take a seat in the opulent leather chairs spaced out in the cabin. Rody joins me, sitting opposite.
“You’re coming, too? I ask. He nods, nothing else.
A few crew join the aircraft. A pretty lady wearing a flight attendant's uniform brings me a bottle of water. I muster a small smile but curl up into a ball and tip the seat back. I just want to close my eyes and wake up at home, pretend that this was all just a nightmare.
Rody parks outside of my house and looks back expectantly. I take a minute to get out of the car, but don’t say anything as I slam the door and head to the pavement. The car pulls away, and I’m left looking at my home. It’s the afternoon. The street is quiet, but I feel like it must be the middle of the night.
Finally I’m home, and I take my keys from my purse and push open the door, smiling at the familiar sound of squeaking. It’s cold, the heating barely on as I’m usually out during the week and I only turn it up when I’m at home. I push open the door to the front room and a gasp of air rushes into my lungs.
My eyes scan the room, but I don’t find the familiar comfort from home. Anything electronic, my cameras and some of the furniture is gone. The small sofa remains, but anything of any value is missing. Magazines, papers and other material litter the floor. I barge out and check on the bedroom. The same. Drawers opened, the wardrobe empty. The small wooden box I keep some of my jewellery in is emptied on the bed. The silver charm bracelet my Grandmother gave me as a child is missing, so is anything real. A few glass bead necklaces remain.
Hysteria bubbles up and tears that I’ve become so familiar with streak down my cheeks. The only other person to have a key to my place is Jenny. It seems she wasn’t content with setting me up with a gangster to take her place; she needed to steal from me as well. I look for where the phone was, but even that’s gone. I shove my phone charger into my mobile and wait for it to have enough power to phone my parents.
My heart drops to my stomach when I think about the studio. I didn’t consider Jenny would rob me. If she’s done this, I fear for the business.
An inner steel, developed over the last few weeks takes over and I force the waterworks to stop. I pull a change of clothes from the dresser and chuck what I’m wearing into the bathtub. They’re covered in dirt and blood from my fight with Quinn. The cream coat I wanted to keep for some silly sentimental reason is ruined.
I take my purse and keys and make my way on the familiar journey to the studio. My head pounds, I don’t even know what day i
t is. My eyes are scratchy, and I keep them riveted to the floor, embarrassed that people will see me in such a state.
I rush from the tube station and around the corner until I can see the studio that I invested so much of my life building.
There’s a closed until further notice sign in the window, which sends my heart sinking to my stomach. I open the door and look around. The computers are gone, but everything else is there. A pile of unopened letters litter the doormat. A letter on my desk, in what I recognise as Cheryl’s handwriting, catches my eye. I tear it open and scan the words.
Sorry that you’re struggling personally. Jenny explained the situation. I have to find a new studio. Take care. Cheryl. A cheque for her last session accompanies the note.
I thought that I’d lived through my nightmares these last few weeks. It turns out that other fears can hurt just as much as physical pain.
I’ve lost everything. I have no business, no savings, and my belongings have been taken. The enormity of the events hits me, crushing my spirit until I collapse onto the sofa.
Chapter Twenty-One
My fingers roll the dice, unsure what to do for the best. Josh has fucked up. He’s still grovelling as I gaze at him in the corner of my downtown office, the black eye lessening with each day that passes. Of all the gambles to get involved in, Joe Mortoni’s family gathering was not one he should have been anywhere near. Drunk or not.
I’ve spent three days trying to alleviate the tension between our two families, offering thousands to cover the debt, but Joe wants the casino Josh offered as collateral. My fucking casino. Or Josh’s life. Neither of which is fucking happening.
If only I could roll these cubes of ivory for family.
“You need to get out of my sight for a while,” I drawl, barely containing the rage that continues to thunder inside my chest. “Go hole your ass up in the old family home. No one knows it’s there.” Josh stands, a sneer developing to cover the grovelling of a few minutes ago. He opens his mouth at the same time as my dice spin in the air. It’s enough of a threat for him to sit the fuck back down.
Innocent Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 1) Page 20
