Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Aven
The coaster flies by on my left, and I spot Quinn’s golden ponytail whipping through the breeze.
She zips by too quickly for me to see her face, but I note that the seat beside her is empty.
As I’m processing this, the man who I believe to be Desmond comes strolling out of the ride exit.
He stops at the top of the stairs and turns to watch the coaster barrel down another hill.
I tuck myself beneath the stairs before he notices me. After a tense few seconds of silence, his boots clank overhead, and then he’s gone.
I pull myself from the hiding place, confused. Why isn’t he riding with her?
What happened?
I turn and watch the coaster as it comes around another turn, clipping the Cattle positioned on the edge of the track.
A spray of red coats the passing car as both of the figure’s arms and one of their feet disconnect and go flying.
The body flips through the air with a scream before slamming onto the track with a silencing splat.
I’d laugh if I weren’t so concerned about Quinn.
Seconds later, brakes hiss, and feet clomp on the ramp as everyone exits.
Ice Pick is all smiles as he totters down the stairs.
A splash of crimson coats his bald head.
He gives me a wave and a thumbs-up as he keeps walking, muttering something about riding again once they set up another body.
Grim and Rose follow close behind him, and the skinny guy—the one that always seems to be hanging around our Desmond suspect—brings up the rear.
But where the fuck is Quinn?
I push past them and hurry up the stairs. That’s when the phone in my pocket buzzes with an alert. I stop at the top of the stairs as I free the device. I can see Quinn now. She’s still seated in the last car, looking down at the phone in her lap.
I know this isn’t very attractive, but I’m scared and I don’t know what to do.
My heart squeezes in my chest. I never wanted the girl to be scared.
When I left her alone on the platform, I did so because I figured I’d just be in the way.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to ride this stupid coaster with him, then entice him back to her room.
After that, I’d kill him and deal with Jim’s consequences.
I’m not waiting any longer for him to hurt her.
I type out a reply and hit send.
It’s okay to be scared. I get scared all the time. Where are you?
She can’t know it’s me. I have to pretend I’m oblivious to the situation, though I’m not entirely pretending. The reasons for the man’s departure and Quinn’s tears are very big unknowns.
I hide my device and hurry to her side. When she sees me on the platform, she shoves the phone into her pocket and swipes the tears from her cheeks. I’ll pretend I didn’t see the cell, but I don’t think I can ignore the discomfort on her face.
I offer her my hand, but she gets off the ride on her own.
“No, don’t try to help me now. You weren’t here when I actually needed you, so there’s no need to make an effort at this point. You just left me alone”—she glances around—“with a fucking murderer.”
She whispers this last part, but it could have been a shout with how she delivers it.
“Quinn . . . we’re all murderers. Including you now.”
She hears the sense in what I say, and that just pisses her off more. With a grunt, she pushes past me and starts down the stairs. I try to grab her arm to stop her, but she just shakes off my hold.
“I thought I was being helpful,” I say as I hurry after her.
She stops at the bottom of the first flight and rounds on me like a madwoman.
Fire jumps in her eyes, and I take a step back to avoid getting burned.
“Helpful would have been you standing there when he fucking admitted he was Desmond. Helpful would have been grabbing his arm and asking him what the fuck he meant when he made a fucking comment about my mother!”
“He admitted he’s Desmond? What did he say?” The rest of her words finally slam into me, and I’m confused once more. “Wait, what does your mother have to do with any of this?”
Her small hands form clenched fists at her sides, and she screams internally before bursting into tears. Just standing there, she looks so small. Fragile, even, like if I reach out to touch her, she’ll shatter into pieces and cut me.
It’s a risk I’ll have to take. I can’t just stand by and watch the lass fall apart like this.
Not after what we shared last night—even if she doesn’t know it.
Despite the alarm bells blaring in my head, screaming how this is the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done, I step forward and wrap my arms around her.
“Get off me,” she mumbles against my chest. “I hate you. And despite these shitty tears, I’m not trying to kiss you!”
Her fists wallop my sides, but the puny blows don’t deter me. I don’t loosen my hold on her, and eventually, she relaxes against me and begins to cry harder.
“There, there,” I whisper. “Tell me what happened, lass.”
She pushes away from me again, and I let her this time.
She smooths the hair from her red, tear-stained cheeks and looks up at me with a quivering chin that threatens to break me.
If she looked small before, she’s practically minuscule now.
I step forward to take her into my arms again, but she takes a step back with a shake of her head.
“No, you don’t get to pick and choose when to support me. You don’t get to run off and leave me like my mother left me, Aven.”
She bursts into a fresh wave of sobs as she turns and eases down the last set of stairs. It would have been quite the dramatic moment had she not missed the first step and basically tripped her way to the bottom. Can the girl not even have a dignified exit?
Instead of feeling angry with her, I just want to make something go right for her.
I follow her out of the station, keeping a few steps behind to give her some space.
Her little sneakers pound the pavement as she swipes the tears from her face and tightens her ponytail.
Despite my long strides, she’s putting more ground between us. Anger is her great motivator, I guess.
As we near the park entrance, I slow even further. The only thing that way is the hotel, so I don’t feel the urgent need to keep her within arm’s reach. My heart rate slows a tad, but it picks up again when she glances back.
To make sure I’m still behind her.
I wince. I cannae help it. God, I was a feckless bampot for leaving the wee lass alone with him. Now I’ve either given her a complex or so firmly solidified an existing one that she’ll be in therapy for the rest of her years. Ach, what have I done?
When she’s finished glaring at me, she stomps her way through the exit turnstile.
That is, until she spots a group of familiar faces just outside the gates.
Her posture shifts from pissed-off She-Hulk to the infamous sway and soft curves that I’ve grown to think of a tad too fondly.
The soft lilt of her head reveals more of her cheek, which is raised in a gentle smile.
She’s back to playing pretend for an audience.
She’s painfully beautiful, and after last night, I’d do anything to keep her smiling.
Bearing witness to the perfection that was her at her most vulnerable .
. . Fuck, I can’t even think of words. It was something beyond beautiful or heavenly.
Fantastic is too fake, and there was nothing fake about that orgasm.
Okay. Thinking about that moment with Quinn was a terrible idea when I’m about to walk into a group of people who do not need to see the way my dick is straining against my shorts.
I have an image to maintain, and “the boner guy” is the last thing I want to be known as.
Asshole? Aye. Feckless prick? On occasions such as these, yeah. But not the boner guy.
I push through the turnstile, purposely ramming the metal arm against my cock as hard as I can.
I anticipate the pain, which is meant to help deflate the raging—and incredibly inconvenient—erection.
What I don’t consider is that, as the stiff bar travels up the length of my concrete cum-gun, the damned steel will inevitably collide with the metal balls sitting on either side of the head of my dick.
My linen shorts don’t dampen the distinctive clink-tink as the arm rips my soul from my body.
The pain is exquisitely horrific, and I nearly pass out on the spot.
Worst of all, I don’t even know if the damned pain has accomplished its purpose.
I grit my teeth as heads turn my way. I’m doing my very best to raise my cheeks in a smile.
I also raise my hand and open my mouth to say I just bumped my arm, as everyone is now looking directly at me, but my voice refuses to register to the human ear.
The tuning-fork vibrations continue running up and down my dick, and now I’m not even sure the piercing is still attached.
For that matter, I cannae even be sure my godforsaken dick is still attached because I cannae even feel my godforsaken dick.
Just that gnawing, grating, searing, never-ending pain.
White haze clouds my vision, and I’m fairly certain I’m about three seconds away from kissing the concrete. That’s when an angel steps in front of me. A halo surrounds her golden ponytail . . .
I blink away the tears birthed from my pain, then look down at Quinn. Her eyebrows pull together, and she glances back at the group before stepping closer to me and putting her arm out. As her fingers wind around my wrist, I’m reminded of the way she let me hold her down last night.
Fuck! You cannae think of that!
Fresh pain shoots through my cock as it either tries to harden again or reaches the apex of hardness. Is that piss, blood, or sweat running down my leg? Hell, maybe it’s come. I’ll never know because I refuse to look down and see what’s going on below my abs.
Quinn cocks her head. “Are you okay?”
I raise my arm again and clear my throat. “Yep, just hit my watch on the metal—” My voice cracks when I try to say arm. God, the pain is too much.
With a growling grunt, I lean over the metal banister, peer down at the red mulch, and vomit every ounce of protein shake I guzzled before she woke up this morning.
Some of it comes out my nose. I’m sure the lass will find me irresistible when she spots all the stomach contents on my damned face.
Now I’ll never make her like me more than Green Guy.
You are Green Guy, you numpty.
As I grip the metal banister for my life and blink away the fuzzy haze of slowly receding pain, a soft touch lands on my shoulder.
I’m too ashamed to look, but I know it’s Quinn.
Her smokey-vanilla scent breaks through the protein powder, traveling straight to my gut and soothing the tumbling torrent.
She licks her lips and looks toward the group. “Bennett, could you and the other guys—”
I wave her off and stand upright before she can finish that sentence. “I’m fine, pal!” I shout toward the group.
Someone starts walking toward us, and I see that it’s Eve.
I turn toward Quinn. “Ach, call off the cavalry, lass,” I whisper.
“Will you come back to the hotel with me and have a . . . a talk?”
“Fine,” I whisper. “Just make them go away.”
She puts on that blinding smile and turns toward Eve. “Thank you, but he looks a bit better now. He has more color in his cheeks.” Her bratty little fingers reach up and give my cheek a pinch. “See?”
Eve halts, and aye, I’d pay good money to have a framed picture of her face just as it is now. The entire group is busy gawking because they’ve just witnessed this wee lass reaching up and pinching the resident asshole’s cheeks. And what is the resident asshole doing?
Letting it happen.
Aye. And that’s how I know I’m in trouble.
Quinn hooks her arm through mine, but motherly concern crosses her face when she looks up at me.
After pulling me to a halt with my back facing the others, she hurries to remove her jacket, then hands it to me.
As discreetly as she can, she motions to my mouth and chin.
She wants me to use her attire to clean the puke crust from my face.
Five minutes ago, she was throwing a toddler-sized tantrum, and now .
. . she’s making a sacrifice for my honor.
I can’t turn her down. It would hurt her pride, and Christ knows that’s a tender spot for that lass. I know another tender spot for that lass, but it’s in my heartless chest. So, I take the jacket and use it to clean up my face.
“Let’s get up to your room,” she says once I’ve tidied up. “We really need to talk.”
Those words have never meant anything good before, and I don’t think that’s about to change now.
Swallowing the knot in my throat, I nod and follow her lead as she smiles and heads toward the hotel.
I can’t muster a smile, but at least I can walk upright now.
The pain has receded, and I’m assured by the gentle throb against my balls that my dick is still intact and is very much soft and sad.
Just like I’m going to be at the end of this assignment if I don’t find a way to overcome this obsession I have with Quinn. Either overcome it or allow it to overcome me. I don’t know which outcome terrifies me more.