by Mary Martel
Still, I nodded my head in agreement because, outside of it being me doing the talking, it sounded like he was down to do all the work again—in a different sense, obviously—and that worked for me in a really big way.
"Alright, baby." He came forward and took hold of my hand, lacing our fingers together sweetly. "I see you've already got your clothes in here, but I'm going to ask that you wait to put them on until after we get rid of your boys. That way I can be here with you while you tell them to get lost, and then you can get dressed and do whatever girlie shit you need to do while I run down to my room and get dressed real quick before coming back here. I'm not putting on the same clothes I wore yesterday, I need fresh clothes. When I get back, it'll just be me and you. I'll cook, we'll eat, and you'll spill."
Bossy, bossy, bossy.
No matter if he sometimes tried to mask it with questions or suggestions, I knew I really had no say in the matter because he was freaking bossy.
I noticed he had no problem with leaving his clothes on the floor in a pile for someone else to pick up as he grabbed hold of my hand and dragged me toward the door. I didn't fight this. Mostly because it would be pointless and I suspected I didn't actually have any fight left in me at the moment. He'd wrung it all out of me.
He unlocked the door and dragged me into my bedroom. Both Trenton and Simon looked up from the same places they'd been in when I'd left them not that long ago. They both also stared at Quinton in obvious surprise.
"How the hell did you get in there?" Simon blurted.
Quinton gave him a look that his question deserved. Hello, there were two ways into the bathroom. Geez, I rolled my eyes.
I caught sight of the TV and my mouth dropped open. "Are... Are you watching one of the Housewives shows?" I choked out.
Simon grinned up at me. "Yeah. Though, this one isn't my favorite. I prefer the Jersey one. I didn't know you watched the Real Housewives. Trenton can't stand any of them. Says he doesn't understand rich old ladies with too much time and money on their hands. I think they're fucking hilarious."
Something painful pierced my chest, right over my heart.
I did not watch the Real Housewives of where the fuck ever and I likely never would. But Vivian had after we'd moved in with Marcus and had cable television, which we hadn't had on our own. I imagined she'd watched with a notepad in her hand, all the while taking notes on how real rich old bitches were supposed to act as opposed to her fake ass.
God damn.
Vivian.
She was creeping up everywhere all around me and threatening to drive me insane. I needed to talk to someone about her soon, or maybe get a journal to write it all down in so I could get it out of my head once and for all. Yeah, I liked the sound of that a lot better than talking to someone. I mean, who would I even talk to, Rain? Maybe I should buy him a journal to write his thoughts on Vivian down in as well.
"Ariel," Quinton barked sharply, making me jump. I looked around, remembering I needed to get rid of “my boys,” and Quinton probably wanted me to get on with it so he could put some clothes on. Probably so I could put some clothes on too.
"Right," I muttered under my breath. Then, louder, I said, "You boys need to go now... Please."
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Quinton groaned, sounding exasperated. "You could have at least tried."
I shrugged sheepishly. Why did everything require an explanation? If I wanted someone to leave they should just leave, it was that simple.
Simon aimed the remote at the TV and hit a button, muting the show. Trenton sat up on the bed, looking alert, and scooted over to the edge. His bare feet come down on the rug but his eyes never left mine the whole time.
"What's going on?" Trenton asked in a quiet, serious voice.
Quinton glared at me.
Huh. Looked like his orgasm induced happiness had worn off. For some reason I had expected it to last longer. Like, a whole lot longer. He couldn't even give me ten minutes.
"We're going to have breakfast up here," I shared helpfully. At the excitement on the brothers’ faces, I hurried to inform them, "Just the two of us. Sorry, guys."
And I really was sorry to see them go. It made me feel bad, they just wanted to be around me so they could see for themselves that I was safe and in one place. Later I would have to make it up to them. After, of course, I ran off and did my own thing again.
They both got up without a word and their faces shut down. I felt like even more of an asshole. I wasn't used to having so many people wanting to spend time with me, and I feared I was failing miserably at this friendship gig. I could always make out with Tyson and he'd immediately forgive me for whatever sins I'd committed.
Making out with Trenton and Simon was not an option open to me, so I'd have to find a different way to make it up to them. Too bad they weren't into material bullshit, the fat bank accounts Marcus and then Rain made sure I had got little to no use and I could easily afford to spend money on the brothers.
Simon placed the remote on the nightstand before following his brother out the door. His face might have been blank, but there was something close to hurt blazing in the depths of his silver eyes. I flinched at the sight and automatically took a step back as if the more space between us the less amount of pain I'd be able to feel, the less damage he could impart simply by looking at me with those quicksilver eyes of his.
The door clicked shut quietly behind him and I almost wished he would have slammed it.
I blinked away the sudden onslaught of tears that hit my eyes. I would not cry! Why did everyone around me make me want to cry lately? Was it them or me?
Fingers wrapped around my hand, and I looked down in surprise to see Quinton prying my fist apart. I'd dug my nails into my flesh again, something I knew he hated. I tried to pull my hand away from Quinton's, but he refused to let me go.
"Knock that shit off," he growled at me.
Honestly, I would if I could, but it wasn’t something I even thought about until it was already happening. It was second nature to me at this point, and I knew I'd been doing better with it and had been healthier, but things had been getting a little stressful as of late and I'd found myself slipping back into my old ways. My safety net, if you will.
"Shouldn't you be getting dressed so you can feed me?" I asked snidely. Inside my brain, the sign was on and flashing bright red in warning: Retreat! Deflect! I could do that, easily.
I placed my hand over my belly and blinked slowly at him, innocently. "Quinton, I'm hungry. If you plan on cooking then you should hurry up before I decide I can't wait and just heat something up in the microwave." I paused and pretended to think about it. "I think there might be some pizza roles in there or a corn dog I can eat."
Quinton gave me a look so full of disgust that I couldn’t keep my lips from twitching. He was so predictable at times.
"For fuck's sake, Ariel," he snapped at me. "You're not eating that garbage. You better wait until I get back. And I'm going to have to talk to Dash about the shit he lets you eat here. Or you can walk your ass downstairs from here on out and sit your ass on a stool in the kitchen every night while I cook for you."
Shit.
That was not what I wanted. I'd inadvertently screwed myself here.
He leaned in and kissed me sweetly on the corner of my mouth. "Don't think I don't know what you just did or that you got away with it because that shit isn't happening. We're going to have a conversation about this, just not right this second. Now, get dressed and I'll be back in less than ten minutes."
He slapped me on the ass, making me jump, and sauntered out of my bedroom in nothing but one of my yellow bath towels slung low around his hips. He, of course, didn’t bother with shutting the door behind him.
I stood there stupidly, staring at the empty doorway, and I couldn’t help but think... well, shit.
Chapter Twelve
It’ll Be Worth It
I got dressed in a hurry and scooped up both my pile of discarded, dirty clothes along with Quinton's. I walke
d them into my closet and dumped them into my hamper in there. I rushed back to the bathroom and quickly ran a hairbrush through my ash blonde hair. I brushed my teeth, something I had been dying to do until I'd been confronted with the firing squad, and then what with the sex and all I'd completely forgotten about my need for clean teeth. Though, Quinton hadn't seemed to mind when he'd stuck his tongue in my mouth.
I put on deodorant, skipped makeup altogether, and didn't even consider putting on perfume. In order to keep my wet hair off my face, I put on a thick, white headband and called it good enough.
I didn't know if that was the extent to what Quinton had referred to as girlie shit, but this was all I had in me to do today. Quinton loved me to the point of unhealthy obsession, I could have skipped the deodorant and he wouldn't have given a crap.
I thought about what we needed to talk about and almost locked myself in the bathroom again, for all the good I knew it would do me.
He was already moving around in the kitchen by the time I made my way there. I think it took him less time than it had me because he'd put on less clothes than I had. He stood in front of the stove with his back to me in a pair of extremely faded blue jeans that were frayed at the bottom hems, and a worn through hole in the right back pocket at his ass. There were probably more worn through holes in the front, and not because he'd bought them like that, but because he'd worn them for so many years and they'd been washed so many times it showed. Like, wear and tear.
And he wore nothing else. Well, maybe he had boxers on under those jeans, but I couldn't tell.
Good lord. He couldn't cook in Dash's and my kitchen dressed like that. He was crazy!
"Uh, Quinton," I muttered as I stepped into the kitchen. "I thought you went to go get dressed. Where are the rest of your clothes?"
He turned his head to the side, grinning at me. "I'm not going to put on more clothes, Ariel. Why would I deprive you of the gift of being able to check me out while I'm cooking and then while we're eating? I'm a dick, but I'm never outright mean to you, so no, I'm not gonna put a shirt on. Get over it."
My mouth dropped open and I gaped at him. I could not believe he'd just said that to me.
"Someone is clearly full of himself and thinks he's hot stuff," I snapped at him in outrage, because he was incredibly outrageous.
He ignored this, which wasn't surprising. So I decided to ignore it as well. I couldn't change Quinton even if I wanted to. And I didn't want to. He could be as outrageous as he wanted to and say the most ridiculous crap and it wouldn't matter to me. I'd still love him very much.
I backed up against the counter beside the stove and between the fridge. I placed my palms behind me, flat against the countertop, and hoisted myself up. I sat my butt on the counter and scooted back until I was comfortable. My feet no longer touched the floor and they dangled in front of a cupboard.
"What are you making for breakfast?" I asked curiously, deciding to completely ignore everything else.
"More like lunch," he replied and I whimpered.
"Nooooo," I whined. "It can't be lunch yet. I haven't had any caffeine yet today. And you didn't answer my question."
"I stuck two energy drinks in the refrigerator for you. Sugar free Red Bull. I think you'll like them. And I'm making cheeseburgers because it's easy and good. I also brought up a tub of pasta salad I made yesterday. It's in the fridge."
Right.
Okay, well that was surprisingly easy. And I already knew that I liked normal Red Bull, but I'd never tried the sugar free kind before. But Red Bull was Red Bull so I was sure it would be delicious.
I moved to heft my butt right back down from the counter, but stopped when Quinton's palm landed on my knee and he gave me a gentle squeeze. "I'll get one for you. Stay put."
That I could do. Easily. I smiled sweetly at him in thanks. He went to the refrigerator and brought me back a large can of sugar free Red Bull. He went back to the stove and I popped the tab on the can and took a large swig. Not as sweet as the regular kind, but it definitely did not suck. Plus, caffeine, so it wouldn't have mattered either way.
"So," Quinton said while he flipped burgers in the pan, "talk."
My immediate reply? "I'm going to need you to trust me."
Those dark brown eyes of his came to me immediately. There was a sweetness to them and his face had gone entirely soft.
"I do trust you," he said with confidence.
See, here was where I had a problem. If he trusted me entirely then why the firing squad? Why the seven thousand text messages and phone calls? Why get my dad involved and upset? All of that screamed the exact opposite of trust.
I didn't say any of this to him because I could see it in his eyes that he really, truly believed his own words despite his actions, and me bringing it up would just start a fight between us. I didn't want to fight with him anymore.
"I figured out a way to go and search for Romero," I informed him while glancing over my shoulder at the door that led to the stairs, making sure it was just the two of us. Still, this conversation definitely did not need to be overheard.
"Oh yeah?" Quinton said curiously. He opened up single slices of cheese and slapped them down on top of the burgers sizzling in the pan. He moved around the kitchen, getting out plates, forks, and the tub of pasta salad. He scooped some out onto each plate and put the tub back into the refrigerator.
He went back to the stove to check on the burgers, and I figured it was now or never and I needed to get it over with before I psyched myself out and lost my nerve.
"Adrian," I blurted, and Quinton cocked his head to the side, now alert and focused on me as he used the spatula to remove the cheeseburgers out of the pan and into the open hamburger buns he placed on the plates. Even though his hands were busy, I knew I had all of his attention.
"What about him?"
I closed my eyes briefly and forced myself to relax. Then I laid it out for him.
"Adrian is how we're going to get Romero. Right now, he wants to make amends with me, he's almost desperate for it. But there's something he wants more and that's for me to join the Council. Now, you and I both know I'd rather gouge out my own eyeballs with an ice cream scooper than join the Council, but... what if I called him and told him I wanted to join, that I'd changed my mind? He'd be all over that, Quinton, and you know he would be. If I were out at the motel, then I could look for Romero. Since I gave him my blood and it's me who has a tie to him, unless you've changed your mind and want to tell Dash about everything now, it'll be easiest for me to find him. It's not safe for you guys to be roaming the property there right now, but if I do this they wouldn't so much as question me."
I knew everything that had come out of my mouth was the truth, but I still knew Quinton would argue with me about it regardless. And he did not disappoint.
His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits and the friendly expression left his face, making him look incredibly angry, and someone who didn't know him would probably say he looked terrifying.
"Are you out of your god damn mind?" he whispered, and for some reason he sounded scarier being quiet than he would have if he had yelled at me. "You cannot honestly think I'd ever be okay with you going to the motel and the Council on your own without us there to back you up. Where in the—"
See, this is what I was talking about with the trust issues we had. I cut him off before he could say something we wouldn't be able to come back from, and I'd never be able to forgive him for.
"Quinton. Shut up."
His mouth snapped closed and he glared at me. I let it just deflect right off me almost as if I never saw it in the first place.
"We started this by you telling me that you trusted me. Then not two minutes later you shot me down. So either you trust me or you don't. If you can't get on board with my plan, then let's hear yours. Come on," I goaded him, "tell me what you think we could do to get him out. What's your bright idea? Tell me, Quint, I really want to know."
I jumped down off the counter and my
arms automatically crossed over my chest, showing him just how pissed off I was at the moment. It was like the first protest he made had him going right back on his word.
A muscle ticked in his jaw and I knew I absolutely was not the only person standing here in this kitchen who had instantly morphed right into a seriously angry person.
"I'm still working something out," he snapped at me, and my eyebrows rose as a cruel, mocking smirk crossed my face.
"You're still working something out," I repeated slowly in a dark, cruel voice that was very different from the one I normally used. "When I've already got it all figured out, but you'd rather Romero stay there and suffer all because you can't stand the thought of me beginning to take care of myself. And not just myself, but the rest of us as well. It's not even like I'm asking to do it all by myself either. I'm going to need Jules's help to get him out from behind the bars, and I'm going to need you waiting for me somewhere we agree to meet at so we can get him out of there safely. I can't do it all by myself, I'm going to need help."
All my points were valid, and I knew he agreed with everything I said when the muscle in his jaw ticked again angrily. Admitting I was right would not be something he wanted to do right about now, it went against everything he stood for, everything they'd all been taught about women.
Work was a dirty word when you had magic and a vagina.
I'd thought we were over this.
I kept pushing, because I needed to get through to him and I needed him on my side for this.
"Do you want to be the one to tell Dash that his father had to stay in that horrible fucking place even one second longer than what he had to because you didn't want to swallow your pride and allow someone else to take charge for once and handle things? Because I sure as—"
He leaned in toward me threateningly and cut me off as he waved his hand through the air in between us in a slicing motion. "If you think Dash would ever be down with you putting yourself in harm’s way on his behalf, then you don't know him like you think you do, because you'd be way the fuck wrong. None of them would ever do that, but especially not Dash. Christ, Ariel. He's still all fucked up over what happened when that creep Chuck showed up on his fucking doorstep wielding a knife like a damn sword. I swear, to this day, he still has nightmares about it. If something else were to happen to you and this time because you went off searching for someone he thinks is long since dead, he will lose his motherfucking mind."
