Something Like Love

by Monica James

  I know he’s baiting me and its working. I’m thankful Quinn has removed the gun from my hands as I would have used it, punishing him for his threat alone.

  “Polly, go downsides and tell a few guests I’ve gone to bed with a migraine. Pass on my sincerest apologies for calling it a night,” Cynthia says, breathing through her pain.

  “Then they’ll go home, right?” I ask, hopeful.

  “No, Mia, they’ll stay until the sun comes up. They don’t care who’s here, as long as there’s food and brandy, they’re oblivious to anything else.”

  “Rude, inconsiderate jerks,” I spit under my breath.

  “Polly?” Cynthia coos, and I turn to look at a broken Polly, who is still sitting, rocking in the corner.

  Quinn gives me a small smile before he turns and crouches down in front of a comatose Polly. I’m hoping he can help her pull this off. Tristan takes his spot beside me, and every muscle in my beaten body is cramping in protest, but I won’t move.

  “This one likes you,” Phil leers, looking at Tristan. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you?” He laughs, while my temper rages.

  How dare he think he knows me, and talk to me as if we’re friends. I may be forced to leave him here, but there’s no chance I’m going to go quietly.

  “Listen to me, you low-life scumbag,” I snarl, dropping to both knees in front of him.

  “You are a parasite, a bottom feeder wishing you were a somebody, when in reality, you’re a nobody. You’re a weak, pathetic loser.” Phil clenches his jaw, as I know how much he hates being called a loser. But I continue as his face turns a fiery red and the muscles in his neck pop out in anger.

  “The next time I see you, I will kill you. You will pay for what you did to Hank, and so help me god, if you have so much as touched a hair on Abi’s head, you’ll pay in unimaginable ways.”

  “Tough words, little girl,” Phil says, but he backs up against the wall when I hover inches from his face.

  “I’ve learned from the best,” I state, displaying no fear. “Mark my words, this is the face of the person who is about to tear down your empire, brick by brick. You created a monster, Uncle,” I hiss, and Phil’s nostrils flare. “I won’t stop until I destroy the one thing you love more than yourself—power. You’ll watch it all crumbling before your eyes, and then, only then, will I fucking kill you,” I conclude, slowly rising to full height.

  “You fucking little whore! I’ll end you!” Phil screams, pounding his bloodied fist against the wall, as he can hear the truth behind my words.

  “Not if I end you first,” I reply, reaching for his discarded gun behind the desk. I pistol whip him so hard across the temple his head snaps back with a sickening thud.

  Not expecting the blow, his head bobbles forward, and the fact he’s still awake pisses me off, so I drop to both knees once more, and I hit him again, and again, and again.

  He’s scarcely conscious, but I yank his hand away from his bleeding shoulder and dig my fingers into the bullet wound, which has him gasping for breath, and then passing out cold from the pain. As he slumps to the floor, I barely resist the urge to pound him till he’s a bloodied, beaten pulp on the ground.

  Quinn bends beside me, whispering in my ear, “Enough, Red.” His soft lips touch my temple as he adds, “C’mon, we’ve got to go.”

  My chest is heaving from the force of my strikes, and my body is humming with adrenalin, and although every muscle is telling me to fight, I don’t. I allow him to help me up and watch mutely as he places his suit jacket over my shoulders, cloaking my bloody, disheveled form.

  I blindly watch as he leads me away from the scene of pure bedlam and into our room, where he packs me a bag and replaces my wedges with my boots, as I sit comatose at the end of the bed.

  I guess now I really do look like a punk Cinderella, lathered in blood and gore. But fairytales are for children, because this right here, it’s real. But maybe I could write my own fairytale, one with a modern twist of the girl who slays her own monsters, and never looks back.

  Chapter 19

  Something Like Love

  I don’t remember getting into a car and driving three hours up north.

  Nor do I remember walking into a cabin in the woods, a cabin which is Cynthia’s secret holiday home, tucked away in a hidden nook of lush green bushlands and remote open spaces.

  And I certainly don’t remember the bullet in Cynthia’s leg being removed by a local, retired doctor friend, who swore his secrecy over what he saw.

  But it happened.

  I know it did because I watched it through someone else’s eyes, and although those eyes belonged to me, I felt like a stranger within my own body.

  How could I have left them there? Yes, in theory it made sense, but practically, it made no sense at all. I wanted them dead, and I had that option, but we took this road instead, and now, we’re on the run once again.

  I’m curled on my side, barely clothed, in a bed with soft white sheets that provide me little comfort because all I can think about is how tonight changed me. I will never be the same person I once was. I terrified myself with my venomous words because I meant it all. I meant every single, awful word, and that’s what scares me.

  I don’t want anger, violence, and revenge to be my fuel for survival, I just want to be normal, and this anger eating away at me is far from being ordinary. All my steps forward have just been erased, and now I’m back at the starting line, with no energy to finish the race.

  I just want to sleep, but I can’t. I’m too tired for slumber, and I’m too tired to think, but my overactive mind won’t switch off, and I doubt it’ll do so any time soon.

  Wearily raising my head off the pillow, I see it’s just after 2 a.m., but it feels so much later. I slump back down onto the pillow, and my eyes take in the small room, which is only lit up by the bathroom light peeking out under the adjoining door. It’s then that I realize the shower is running and my hair is wet. I don’t remember showering, but the jasmine body wash indicates I’m freshly bathed, and I know that’s thanks to Quinn.

  I can’t believe we’re back here, on the run, after foolishly believing we’d finally caught a break. When will this shitstorm end? When will it finally be over?

  A little voice inside of me whispers I can change that because I know what Phil wants. I was stupid to think I could ever cut free from a life you never leave, unless it’s in a body bag. I’m never going to be normal because this, this fucked up, crazy shit, is starting to slowly become my normal once again.

  The shower switching off has me returning to the here and now, and I want more than anything for Quinn to hold me. I need him to make me feel safe and be the tether to my withering sanity, which slips away with every breath I take.

  After a few minutes, the bathroom door opens, and I catch a quick glimpse of Quinn, naked, as he turns off the bathroom light. I make no attempt to move, and just lay still, listening to Quinn softly shift around the room, rifling through his bag and slipping on a pair of boxers.

  His actions have me aware of my lack of undergarments, and I feel I’m wearing a huge t-shirt which I know is Quinn’s, as I can smell him on the material. Most likely, he showered me and bundled me up in his shirt before putting me to bed.

  I don’t remember that either.

  The blankets are pulled back and Quinn tiredly lowers himself onto the smooth sheets, no doubt his beaten body protesting with every move he makes.

  “You okay?” Quinn whispers, knowing that I’m not asleep.

  “No,” I honestly reply, as there’s no point lying because Quinn would see straight through me.

  “It’s okay to not be okay. But just know I’m here if you want to talk,” he coos, reaching for my hand.

  “I don’t know where to start,” I confess on a sigh, interlacing my fingers through his. “I mean my dad, and my uncle, they both sold me out. How does one accept that and stay sane?” I state, not expecting any answers.

  “Uncle?” Qui
nn asks. I forgot he wasn’t present when the revelation from hell was revealed.

  “Yup. Phil is Cynthia’s brother. Therefore, that son of a bitch, sadly, is my uncle.”

  “Holy shit,” Quinn gasps.

  “Yeah,” I blankly reply, feeling so numb, I actually ache. “It’s just one thing after another. When will we catch a break?”

  “I know.” He sighs, bundling me up into his bare chest and kissing the top of my head.

  We have so much to discuss, but I don’t even know where to start. But there is one question I need to know—where was he? When I was looking for him, where did he go?

  “Where were you?” I ask, sinking into his warm embrace.

  He remains silent for quite some time, and I think that he may not answer, but when he does, my heart breaks all over again.

  “The moment I left you, I was jumped from behind. I was so stupid because I let my guard down, and when I came to, it was because Polly was slapping my cheeks, screaming at me to wake up because you were in trouble. They dumped me in the room next door to ours, so I grabbed what I could weapon-wise from our bags, and searched for you. I was so worried about you. If anything had happened…” He pauses before he adds, “I let you down, I’m so sorry.” The resentment in his voice has tears stinging my eyes.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for.” I sniff into his chest, encircling my arms around his waist.

  “Yes, I do. I shouldn’t have let my guard down, and thanks to my carelessness, you and Tristan got hurt.”

  The mention of Tristan hurts my heart, and Quinn feels me freeze under his hold.

  “He’s fine, the doctor stitched him up. He’ll be a little sore, but he’s okay,” he says, but I don’t fail to pick up on his robotic tone.

  I know his bitterness is because of the misunderstanding that Phil just had to point out, when indicating that my and Tristan’s reunion was romantic and sordid. But in reality, it was just two friends reuniting after being apart for so long. Quinn needs to know that.

  “What Phil said,” I utter, but Quinn shifts, loosening his grip around me.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he replies. I wish it wasn’t so dark because I can’t see his face.

  “Nothing happened between Tristan and me,” I continue, because it does matter. “I hugged him, and to onlookers, I can understand how one could misinterpret our exchange as being romantic, but it wasn’t. I was just so happy to see him.”

  Quinn softly pushes me away, sitting up against the headboard. “I don’t want to talk about your reunion,” he spits out. “Whatever happened, happened, and that got Tristan hurt. I mean, the fact they thought he was your boyfriend…” Quinn whispers, the hurt in his tone clear as day.

  “Quinn—”

  But he cuts me off. “It doesn’t matter, don’t worry about it. We’ve got better things to—” I don’t let him finish. I crawl up his body, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  “It matters, Quinn. You matter,” I whisper. “You’re everything to me. I’m sorry…for everything,” I say, not even sure what I’m apologizing for as I’m damn sorry for the whole evening.

  “Sshh,” he coos, resting his chin atop my head. “We just stick to the original plan and we wait for Abi’s dad to come through. I called her, and she’s fine,” Quinn says. I feel awful for not even checking up on her.

  “You told her everything?” I ask.

  “Yes. She’ll be careful, she’s a smart girl,” Quinn replies sleepily.

  He’s right, now that Abi knows it all, I have no doubt she’ll push her father even harder to prove our innocence.

  “When will this end?” I whisper, closing my eyes and encircling myself around his body.

  “Soon,” he replies, but I know he can’t guarantee that. “Besides, Tristan is here now, so that makes you happy, right?”

  My eyes pop open as I have no idea what he means by that comment. Yes, of course I’m happy that Tristan is here, but does Quinn think that he was some kind of substitute while Tristan was away? Does he think I was using him until Tristan arrived? I don’t understand why there is a jealousy between them. I mean, I don’t think I have ever given Quinn reason to think I want anyone other him. I know back home he believed Tristan to be the better suitor for me, but I never wanted Tristan, it was always him. It’ll always be him.

  Deep down, I can’t help but think this inexplicable jealousy has something to do with their childhood, a childhood Quinn still refuses to discuss in full. The glimmers he has shared are painful, and I don’t blame him for being so reserved about his past, as I have firsthand experience with how a tainted past can pollute a bright future.

  But whatever his history, I need him to know that he’s all I want. All I need.

  Shakily reaching for the hem of my shirt, I pull it up over my head, tossing it behind me. I’m now totally naked, exposed, in front of him, and this is the only way I can show him that I need him, and only him.

  “Touch me,” I boldly whisper, reaching for his hand and drawing it up to my bare breast.

  The instant his warm fingers encircle my flesh, my nipple instantly hardens, and after the fucked up night we’ve just had, it’s nice to feel this one simple act of passion and honesty.

  I remain still, immobile, as his fingers softly pull at my pearled nipple, his large palm cupping my breast in one hand. He walks his fingers to the other breast and my head falls back, my long hair tickling my heated skin, adding to the flawless sensation of the right here, right now.

  As he lowers his lips and tugs at my nipple, an unrefined groan bubbles from my throat because it feels so damn good. Arching backward, I thrust my chest forward, pushing more of myself into his mouth. He feverishly reaches down, cups my flesh, and sucks my entire breast into his warm mouth. I gasp and my hips begin moving of their own accord, needing the delicious friction I feel from his growing erection.

  The moment my breast pops free, he quickly reaches behind my neck and pulls me down to meet his eager, sinful lips. We kiss like starved creatures, and the moment I draw his lip ring into my mouth, I know we’ve crossed the line of no return.

  He hurriedly reaches between us and begins running his finger along my wet entrance. I moan and buck forward, needing more. I want him, more than I’ve ever wanted him before, and I think back to my idea of what I wanted to give him for Christmas. It’s a gift which I know isn’t much, but it’s the only thing I can offer him that isn’t stained, and remains untainted by my past.

  And that gift is me.

  The moment his finger enters me, a raw moan resonates in my chest, and Quinn let’s out an animalistic growl which has my entire body undulating in desire and need. But I need more, and I make that clear as I reach down between us, freeing his erection from the confines of his boxer shorts.

  “Make love to me,” I whisper, biting my lip as I hear him hiss in response to my words.

  However, he surprises me by sadly confessing, “I don’t know how.”

  That’s not entirely true as I’ve seen him. I’ve caught him in the act, and although there was nothing loving about it, he engaged in the deed with much passion and enthusiasm.

  “But, I’ve…seen you,” I say, hating to taint this moment with that vulgar memory.

  Quinn shakes his head, his hair brushing my cheeks. “There was nothing about that that involved love.”

  I don’t understand what he is telling me.

  “Red.” He sighs, removing his finger from my heat. “I’ve…fucked plenty of girls,” and I cringe at not only the word, but also the visual. “But making love,” he continues. “That’s totally uncharted waters for me.”

  What is he telling me? Has he never been in love?

  He thumbs my bottom lip, as my mouth is hanging open, stunned by his revelation. “And you’re not ready,” he concludes, which infuriates me.

  How does he know if I’m ready or not?

  Enraged and extremely horny, I reach for his hand and violently plant it back between my legs.
“I beg to differ,” I retort.

  He hisses when he feels my wet folds practically begging him to touch me, but once again he draws his hand away. “I don’t mean there,” he says, saddened by my reaction. “I mean in here,” he explains, reaching forward and touching my temple.

  Deep down I know he’s right, but I can’t help but think he isn’t ready, either. I bite my lip, feeling stupid, vulnerable and shy. I also feel slightly rejected. This isn’t the first time Quinn has said no, and it’s a blow to a girl’s ego.

  “If you don’t want me, just tell me,” I childishly say.

  Quinn’s heavy breathing rattles in his chest as he reaches for my hand, shoving it between us so I can feel his throbbing, hot erection. “You know how much I fucking want you.”

  The massive bulge tenting between us indicates that he speaks the truth.

  “Listen to me, because I’m only going to tell you this once,” Quinn says, pressing our naked chests together.

  “I don’t know how to make…love,” he says the word with such distaste, I jolt with his aversion.

  Feeling a little self-conscious I attempt to shift off of him, but he stops me as he grasps my chin between his fingers, pressing a soft kiss against the corner of my mouth.

  “I don’t know how to love, Red, because I’ve never been in love. I can fuck you,” he whispers, and I shiver at his crudity because it’s a total turn on. “But love? We’re both virgins when it comes to love,” he confesses, his lips tenderly caressing my cheeks.