Chapter Eleven #12
After Sasha rattled off his address, Quinn was already slipping back inside his truck. “Find somewhere to hide, firefly. I’m coming. If he finds you, stay quiet. No scenes, sweetheart. Don’t push him.”
He jammed the truck into Reverse and tore out of the driveway, tires spitting gravel. The steering wheel felt slick under his white-knuckled grip as he accelerated down the mountain road.
“I don’t have anywhere to hide in my room.” Sasha’s voice trembled, small and frightened.
“Stay calm, baby.” Quinn’s truck roared louder as he pushed it beyond its limits, taking a turn so fast the tires squealed in protest.
He didn’t know the layout of Sasha’s bedroom, so Quinn was racking his brain for a hiding place he couldn’t even see. He was terrified because his mate was trapped, and the thought of Sasha’s fear was worse than any blade in Quinn’s gut.
Worse was the thought of what two men could do to Sasha…
Please, please, please, keep him safe. Quinn knew his silent plea was useless, but he kept repeating it in his mind regardless.
“He’s coming upstairs.” Sasha’s whisper was barely audible.
Every curve came too slowly, every straightaway too short. Quinn pushed the truck harder than he ever had, the engine roaring in protest as he took corners that should have sent him careening into the trees.
“Baby, hide.” Quinn’s voice cracked as he took a corner too fast, the truck tilting dangerously. “Closet, under the bed, behind something. Just get small, firefly. Please.”
Trees blurred into green smudges outside his windows. Every second stretched too long, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, his heart ready to give out. He couldn’t lose his mate. He just couldn’t. He knew he should’ve stuck with Sasha, but he’d ignored his gut instead.
Through the phone, Quinn heard knocking then Marcus’s voice, deceptively casual. “Hey, cuz. Need to talk with you. Open up.”
“Don’t open that fucking door!” He swerved around a slower car, horn blaring.
A crash echoed through the phone, followed by splintering wood.
“Goddamn it!” Quinn growled, taking a switchback so fast the truck nearly fishtailed. “If he touches you—”
Another crash.
“He’s breaking in.” Sasha gasped.
Another crash then voices. “Miss me?”
Where had he heard that voice before? It didn’t belong to Marcus.
Then it struck him. The skinny coyote from the waterfall.
The line went dead.
“Fuck!” He threw his phone onto the passenger seat and pushed his truck harder, taking curves at speeds that would’ve caused a human driver to crash.
Minutes stretched like hours as he tore through town, blowing through stop signs and red lights.
When Sasha’s street finally appeared, Quinn didn’t bother with the driveway.
He slammed to a stop at the curb, the truck half-mounted on the lawn.
The front door of Sasha’s house hung open, and Quinn charged through it.
The stench hit him immediately—unwashed clothes, spilled beer, and the unmistakable funk of neglected hygiene.
But underneath it all, the metallic tang of blood. Fresh blood. His mate’s blood.
Taking the steps three at a time, Quinn’s heart squeezed tight. The hallway stretched before him, doorframes tilting at odd angles as adrenaline warped his perception.
At the end of the hall, a door hung splintered, barely clinging to its hinges. He rushed toward it, the floorboards creaking under his weight.
Quinn froze at the sight before him.
Crumpled on the floor like a discarded doll lay Sasha.
“No, no, no.” Quinn dropped to his knees beside his mate. “Baby, no!”
Sasha lay sprawled on the carpet, face swollen.
Unconscious. His glasses, shattered, scattered near his cheek.
Blood clung to his red hair, thick and sticky, seeping from a wound on his scalp, staining the carpet beneath him.
His left eye was bruised shut and flushed with livid purple.
His lip had split open, leaving a dark crust of dried blood at the corner of his mouth.
One arm, bent the wrong way, made Quinn’s insides twist painfully.
“Firefly.” The word barely left his lips, gravelly and raw, burning a path through his throat. Rage swept over him. Not a cold, measured thing, but a blaze that threatened to swallow the world at the sight of his tiny mate battered and broken.
Quinn pressed trembling fingers to Sasha’s neck. It hit like oxygen after drowning when he felt a pulse. Weak, but steady.
“Sasha?” He gently touched his mate’s cheek. “Firefly, can you hear me?”
No response. His mate’s breathing came shallow and uneven.
With trembling fingers, he pulled out his phone and dialed 911, trying to keep his voice level as he explained the situation to the dispatcher while his wolf was howling to rip Marcus’s spine out.
“Twenty-eight-year-old male, unconscious, signs of assault. Yes, he’s breathing. No, I don’t know how long he’s been out.” Quinn rattled off Sasha’s address, his free hand hovering over his mate, afraid to touch and cause more damage.
The dispatcher’s calm voice did nothing to steady his nerves. Every instinct screamed to hunt down Marcus and the coyote and tear them apart limb by limb.
After ending the call with the dispatcher, Quinn immediately dialed Zeppelin. His alpha answered on the second ring.
“They hurt him,” Quinn said when his alpha answered. “Marcus and that coyote from the waterfall. They hurt Sasha.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” Zeppelin replied.
Quinn gave a quick recap, including only the important parts about what happened at the waterfall and to Sasha just now.
“Where are you?” Zeppelin’s voice was deadly calm.
Quinn gave him the address. “I’m with him now. Ambulance is on the way.”
“We’re coming to you.” Zeppelin hung up.
His alpha hadn’t said it, but Quinn had heard the accusation, or maybe that was his own guilt. He should’ve never left Sasha with so much danger around him.
He turned back to Sasha. Blood continued to seep from the gash on his temple. Quinn grabbed a shirt from the floor, folding it into a makeshift compress, and gently pressed it against the wound.
“Come on, firefly. Stay with me.” His voice cracked. “I just found you. Who’s going to keep me on my toes and be my sassy little mate who bosses me around?”
Sasha remained still, the only movement the slight rise and fall of his chest. The room around them looked like a hurricane had torn through it—drawers upended, clothes scattered everywhere, mattress half off the bed. They’d torn the place apart looking for that money.
Quinn grazed a hand over Sasha’s pocket, stunned to feel the knot of bills still there.
Marcus had assaulted his cousin without checking to see if he had the money on him?
That made no sense. And why was the coyote with Marcus?
Had they been working together? Did Marcus send them after Sasha at the waterfall?
But Marcus didn’t know they would be there. The trip had been a spontaneous idea.
“I’m here now,” Quinn whispered, though he knew Sasha couldn’t hear him. “I’ve got you, firefly.”
The distant wail of sirens grew closer. Quinn kept the pressure on Sasha’s head wound, murmuring reassurances, because what else could he fucking do?
Lights flashed through the window, painting the walls with urgent colors. Heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs, and suddenly the room filled with paramedics in navy uniforms.
“Sir, I need you to step back,” one of them said firmly.
Quinn reluctantly moved away, giving them space to work. He watched as they assessed Sasha’s injuries, attaching monitors, stabilizing his neck with a cervical collar, checking his pupils.
“What happened?” one asked as they knelt beside Sasha.
“Home invasion,” Quinn lied, knowing he couldn’t explain the truth. “His cousin and another guy. I got here just after they left.”
“BP’s 90 over 60 but dropping,” one paramedic called out. “Possible concussion, suspected fractured radius, multiple contusions.”
“Relationship to the patient?” one asked as they secured Sasha to a backboard.
“He’s my…” Quinn swallowed hard. “He’s mine.”
The EMT nodded, not questioning further. Quinn followed them down the stairs, never taking his eyes off his mate’s pale face.
Outside, neighbors had gathered on their porches and lawns, watching with curious expressions as the paramedics loaded Sasha into the ambulance. Quinn started to climb in after them.
“You can’t ride back here.” The paramedic blocked his path.
A low growl rumbled in his chest. If they hadn’t been helping his mate, Quinn would’ve destroyed the EMT for standing between him and his mate.
The guy jutted his chin. “Ride up front. I need space to work.”
Quinn slammed the passenger door just as vehicles roared up the street. First Zeppelin’s black SUV, followed by Wade’s motorcycle and Bayne’s Jeep. The pack had arrived.
“Go with him,” Zeppelin called through his open window. “We’ll handle this and get your truck to you.”
Quinn nodded grimly as the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring. Through the small window separating the cab from the back, he could see the paramedics working on Sasha, cutting away his shirt to reveal more bruises blooming across his ribs.
The hospital came into view, its emergency entrance lit up like a beacon.
Everything moved in a blur once they arrived. Sasha was whisked away through double doors where Quinn couldn’t follow. A nurse directed him to a waiting area, promising updates when they had them. Quinn paced the small room, unable to sit still, hands still stained with Sasha’s blood.
His phone buzzed with a text from Zeppelin: Found their trail. Following it now.
Time crawled by in agonizing increments. Quinn alternated between pacing and standing at the window, staring unseeing at the hospital parking lot. The waiting room television droned on about local news, the words nothing but meaningless noise.