39. Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Quinn
“She's dead. I need a pickup. Brackis is a traitor, and he’s on the run. You need to track him.”
The moment Jacob’s words rang out over the speaker, my knees went wobbly, and I had to sit on a lab stool before anyone else noticed. Two hours later, I still don’t feel right. I don’t think I will until I see him.
Once the excitement was over, I visited Grandad in medical. He’s shaken up but okay. The sedative Brackis gave him had already worn off by the time the Gilda found him. He grumbled so much about staying in medical that the doctors gave up and told him he could leave under strict instructions to come back if he started to feel unwell.
“I’m fucking eighty-five. I feel like shit most of the time,” he griped as we made our way back to the apartment to wait for Jacob.
Food arrived, but we haven’t touched it. We’re sitting at the table, a newspaper spread out between us, as Grandad tries to distract himself with the crossword.
“Lover of birds imprisoned in Alcatraz. Too bloody easy.”
I frown at the page. “I don’t get it.”
“The answer is hiding inside the clue. Look. Cat.”
“Oh!” I smile as it leaps out. “I see it.”
“They’re just puzzles. You can work them out if you—”
The door opens, and we both startle. I’m braced for it to be one of the guys or another Gilda soldier, but Jacob walks in.
The first thing I notice is his wet hair. He’s showered and changed. My stomach clenches as I realize why. His eyes scan both of us, and the tightness in his jaw softens. Neither of us says a word as he takes a seat next to me at the table.
Grandad is the first to break the heavy silence. “Well, my boy, you did what needed to be done. Same as I did. You won’t feel good about it, but you had no choice.”
Jacob picks up the pen from the newspaper and spins it in his fingers. He’s not one to fidget, and it just adds to the sense of wrongness. He’s not himself and might not be for a long time. That shouldn’t make me sad, but it does. I reach out my hand and lay it over his.
He shifts to grip my hand instead, and the firm, comforting pressure relaxes my tense muscles. I close my eyes and lean my head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
His voice is scratchy, as if words don’t want to come out. I get it. After the car crash, I didn’t speak for a week. “Marlowe. You saved her.”
“As well he fuckin’ should.” Grandad’s voice is outraged. “If you’d let that bitch blow up that hospital to save me, I’d have killed you myself.”
Jacob laughs, and it’s genuine, if short and quiet. “Good job I didn’t, then.”
Grandad looks between the two of us. “Well, I’m knackered. Better be getting to bed. Give you two lovebirds some privacy and all that.”
He gets to his feet, moving more slowly than usual. For all his British tough-guy act, tonight has really taken it out of him. Unable to help myself, I jump up and give him a hug. He wraps his arms around me and pats my back. When he detaches himself, he’s smiling. He turns to Jacob.
“You got yourself a good one here, my boy. Don’t let her go.”
“No chance.” There’s a ghost of a satisfied smirk at the corner of Jacob’s lip as he gets to his feet. “She’s stuck with me.”
We’ll see about that.
It’s an automatic thought, but there’s no power or venom in it. I’m stuck with him. It doesn’t feel like a prison sentence anymore. All I want right now is to cuddle up in bed with my captor and stay there pretty much forever. It’s not what I should want, but feminism and common sense can take a hike.
I want what I want.
Jacob lumbers to his feet. His movements are jerky and uncoordinated, with none of his usual lethal speed and grace. It’s like a vampire has drained all his energy and left him a husk. He gives Grandad a stiff, awkward hug, and I roll my eyes. They’re male and British, a double whammy of repressed emotional bullshit.
Grandad heads to his room, and Jacob closes his eyes and rubs a hand over his forehead. He hasn’t even glanced at the food. I should be checking him for a pulse.
He focuses on me, green eyes dull. “Bed.”
I’m not going to argue.
It seems to take forever to get there, slogging through air that feels thick. There’s tightness in my throat, tears preparing to pounce, even though for once, I’m not the one with something to cry about. It’s too much, the silent tension is too cloying, and as soon as the door closes, I break it.
“What do you need? Tell me.”
He gives me that ghost of a smile again. “You’re polite today. If I knew all I had to do to get you to behave was bump off my own sister, I’d have—”
He trails off as his attempt at black humor crashes to the ground in flames. He follows it, stumbling to the bed and thumping down on the edge, head in his hands. I sit down and lean against him until he tugs me onto his lap and holds me against his chest.
It’s weird how comforting it is and, by the way he’s clutching me, it’s just what he needs, too.
After a long, long silence, he says, “She was a fucking monster, Quinn. I didn’t remember until today. But to do the things she did at seven years old…”
His chin rests on my head, and I tuck myself into his neck. He carries on, “I did what I had to. But fucking hell. Maybe if I’d been born first, I’d have ended up just like that.”
“No. You wouldn’t have.” I shift myself around so I can see him. “You’re not like that.”
He snorts. “Oh, really. I’m a stand-up guy now? A kidnapper with a heart of bloody gold?”
“No, you’re an overly strict, controlling asshole. But I do kind of like you. I’ll get the stick out of your ass yet. Just give me a while.”
He shakes his head, but his face has softened. “I’ll have fun watching you try. Now, get undressed. It’s time for bed.”
“See? Controlling asshole.”
A few minutes later, I’m tucked against Jacob in the dark. His breathing quickly deepens to the long, even sounds of sleep. It’s the first time he’s ever fallen asleep before me. Right after the accident, I went through a period of crashing at seven and waking up at noon. It’s like your body needs to cushion shock with rest.
His arm traps me in a protective cage. No collar in this bed, though he’s promised it’s coming back as soon as we’re in our normal room with its creepy Dracula bed and excessive number of sex toys. There’s a twisted little part of me that’s looking forward to some privacy again.
Privacy. With the man who is holding me prisoner. Maybe someday soon, I’ll wake up and be sane again, but I’m not placing any bets on it. He saved Marlowe. He risked Grandad’s life just to save her. On the one hand, it seems insane, but on the other, it’s perfectly Jacob.
I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him.
***
Two days later, I’m seated at the kitchen table with Jacob and Grandad. It’s supposed to be Grandad’s last day, and I’ve been dreading saying goodbye, but now, the stubborn old man is giving Jacob a glare to match his own. “I said I’m not fucking leaving.”
Jacob has recovered a lot in the last couple of days, regaining some of his usual energy. But at this statement, all he can manage is a blank look. “You can’t stay, Grandad. It’s a military—”
“Don’t give me that bollocks. This place is as military as my arsehole. It’s some secret club, and you’re a bigwig. I’m staying.”
“But…”
I almost feel sorry for Jacob, but seeing him lost for words is just too much fun. I cross my legs and lean back in my seat.
“Grandad. Listen. I might be able to swing you staying here, but if you do, you can’t leave. You’re stuck here.”
“So what? Ruth’s off back to England. She’s got her husband and her fancy job. She don’t bother much with me. I’ve only got a few years left, son. I want to spend them with you, not stuck in some geriatric home getting a visit every few weeks.”
Jacob winces, guilt splashed across his face. “I’m sorry. I know I didn’t visit as often as I should have. I was just—”
“Busy. You were busy, and that’s okay. It’s what you’re supposed to be at your age. But I spent your mum’s childhood working all hours and missed out on that time with her and your gran. And for what? A pay packet each week. I’m staying.”
Jacob shoots me a helpless glance, and I shrug, though inside, I’m glowing. I didn’t want Grandad to leave, and now he might not have to. Just another shiny stone in the bucket of good things about the Compound.
I’m collecting them like a crow. I haven’t accepted the impossibility of escape yet. There’s always a way. What I’m struggling with is the very real possibility that I might not want to leave. Even thinking it makes me feel guilty, as if I’m betraying something important. But I can’t deny what I’m feeling.
Outside, every day was a struggle just to keep afloat. Here I wake up feeling bright, even with the collar around my neck. I’ve got real friends—some human, some not. I’m doing important work with Candice, building a virtual world. I get the best medical care possible, and for the first time in forever, I’m thinking of life in decades, not years.
Everyone I care about already thinks I’m dead. I cut them all off so completely after the accident that they already feel like a previous life. If I did escape, would they want me back after what I did? Would anything ever be like it was before my life went to shit? Maybe, but maybe not. My happiness here is a solid thing, growing brighter and shinier each day.
And here, I have Jacob.
Anyone watching from the outside would tell me I’ve got the worst case of Stockholm syndrome in history, and maybe they’d be right, but if I can’t tell the difference, does it really matter? When Jacob’s gone, I want him back. Getting through his grouchy British attitude and making him laugh has become my new favorite game.
I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but I am, and I’m starting to lose sight of why I keep fighting it.
Jacob’s heavy sigh brings me back to the moment. He’s got his most terrifying glare fixed on Grandad, and I’m glad I’m not on the receiving end of it. “Is this really what you want? No more bingo down the pub? No flying back to Blighty for footie season?”
Grandad scoffs. “I wouldn’t do that fucking flight again if you paid me. And I’ve been having more fun here with you, Quinn, and your friends than I did with the codgers at bingo.”
Jacob tries again. “Look. Quinn and I—we’re not having kids. We’ve talked about it, and we’re not. What if Ruth does? You’d be missing out on your great-grandkids.”
Grandad shakes his head. “She don’t want ’em either. Seems a common theme with you young ones. Can’t say I blame ya, the world the way it is.”
I can add that to the bucket of shiny stones, too. No kids. I never wanted to risk passing on my Brugada syndrome, and when Jacob told me he’d had the snip, it came as a big relief. One less thing to worry about.
Jacob glances my way again, and this time, I grin. “Looks like he’s staying. Think you can clear it with Kendrick?”
“I think so, but…” Jacob’s forehead creases, and his gaze flits between Grandad and me. My stomach drops as I guess what he’s thinking. He’s insulated Grandad from the realities of the Compound so far, keeping him away from most of the public areas. If he stays here, that won’t be possible anymore.
He’ll find out about the Wards. He’ll learn the truth about Jacob and me. Is that something he’ll be able to get past?
Jacob’s voice drops into the same serious cadence he used when he told me about my captivity. “There’s something else you need to know about this place. The women here…they’re—”
Grandad holds up a hand. “I didn’t come down in the last shower. I saw the collars on young Eve and a couple of the others. I know what they mean. It’s a sex thing, like in that Sixty Shades of Gray book the women all went mad for. Your business is your business, my boy.”
I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold in the laugh that wants to tear its way out. Jacob, my solid, unflappable soldier, turns flushed, and his mouth drops open.
Grandad notices and rolls his eyes at me. “He thinks I’m an old prude. Truth be told, I wish that bloody book had been around when his gran was still here.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Grandad!” Jacob splutters, and it tips me over the edge. I crumple into helpless laughter, tears streaming down my face.
After a minute, Jacob mutters, “Are you done?”
I recover just enough to blurt out, “Your face! Your fucking face!”
Then I lose it again.
By the time I get myself together, Jacob seems to have recovered and is watching me with a look so exasperated it almost sets me off again, but I manage to keep it together.
Really, he should be grateful for the turn this conversation took. It’s saved him a much more difficult one. If Grandad is happy to believe we’re all consensually enslaved, then let him think that. It’s better than the alternative.
“Right, then.” Jacob gets to his feet with a decisiveness that helps me get my fit of the giggles under control. “I’ll talk to Kendrick, if you’re really sure?”
Grandad nods. “I am.”
Jacob turns his attention to me, and a smirk crosses his face. The dangerous one. I can’t say I’m sad to see it, though. It's another sign he’s getting back to his old self. If that costs me a spanking, it’s worth it.
“I’ll ask what rooms Grandad can keep permanently, too. He needs his own space, and so do we. I’ve been keeping a list of things we need to attend to once we move back in. It’ll keep you busy for a while.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. I knew he’d been keeping score. With a last, knowing look over his shoulder, Jacob heads to the door.