18. Quinn
18
QUINN
S moke’s mood seems lighter when we get into his truck to drive home.
Spending time with Atom and Wraith, outside in the cooler evening air, was just what he needed.
And it’s not lost on me that Bones is sitting on his lap as he drives.
“That’s not safe,” I point out.
Smoke gestures at the open road, then the dial on the dash.
“Doing half the speed limit,” he says.
Bones looks up and whines, as if telling me off for interfering with their situation.
I rub Bones’s soft fur on the top of his head.
“Fine. But don’t complain to me if you go flying through the windshield.”
“You didn’t pay attention in science, did you?” Smoke asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Force equals mass times acceleration. Newton’s second law of motion. You need a lot of force to smash through a windshield. And force is equal to a thing’s mass, which in Bones’s case is tiny, and the speed at which it’s going, which in the truck’s case is slow. Worst case if I brake hard, he gets a small jostle but doesn’t even leave my knee.”
“Stop bringing science to a sarcasm fight.”
Smoke grins, and I realize it’s been rare to see him so carefree.
“Did you enjoy book club?”
I lean back in the seat of the truck.
“I did. I always do. I think reading can be the foundation for good debate on everything from sex to politics.”
Smoke glances over at me.
“Romance books get political?”
I chuckle at that.
“Oh, God. Yes. There’s a big debate about whether romance books are political or not. I say that they are. They reinforce the idea that women’s choices about their bodily autonomy are their own. They illustrate what healthy and balanced relationships look like.”
Smoke’s brow furrows as he looks at me.
“Sugar, I just heard you talk about a romance where the dude was a serial killer, and he took the woman to the woods to chase her like prey and fell in love with her.”
My mouth opens wide.
“As soon as Ember noticed the window was open, I was certain you guys had heard what we were talking about.”
“Sorry, not sorry. Break it down for me.”
“I think there’s an acknowledgement that women have all kinds of wants and desires, and as long as they’re expressed in a way that the women have consented to, even if in her case it is a mental, rather than verbal consent, anything goes. It doesn’t mean I have to like it, but I do have to respect other people’s rights to choose it. Like, even reading books that have non-consent in them, the reader is the one who is consenting. If they want to revoke consent, they simply close the book and move on to another one. Which, again, is all inherently political and why book banning is utterly frustrating. Don’t like it, don’t read it, but don’t ban it.”
“So, what are you open to, Quinn?”
The mood in the truck changes so viscerally that I feel it in the goose bumps that form on my skin.
The way every single hair on my arms stands to attention.
I roll through possible answers in my head.
Where to start answering the impossible question?
I think about sexual things I’ve wanted to try, and the disappointments I’ve had, and what I want to explore.
I also think about the way he watched me while I touched myself.
How hungry he looked, and yet, how he constrained himself.
It was like he knew exactly what I needed, even though he didn’t let me get there.
I wanted him, but didn’t.
I wanted him to see, but was too scared he might touch me.
And yet, his eyes and words alone could have brought me the orgasm I craved.
“I’m open to exploring the facets of myself I know exist but have never been tested.” I turn to face him.
“I want a teacher, Smoke. Someone who already knows how to do the things I dream about.”
The muscles in the side of his jaw tighten and relax.
I don’t know whether it’s a good sign, but he swallows deeply.
Maybe I said too much.
But maybe for the longest time, I haven’t said enough.
I spent the evening with Raven and Ember, who are both wildly in love.
I’m happy for them, but envious, because they’ve found the other person who fulfills them.
It isn’t embarrassing when Ember tells us she bought a nurse’s outfit to surprise Atom; it’s joyful self-expression.
She’s happy. And she has a wonderful sexual connection to Atom that is mutually fulfilling.
I want that for me.
When we get home, Smoke parks the truck, and Bones scrambles for the front door like there’s an urgent call for him inside.
I don’t know what makes me remain in the truck, but Smoke comes around and opens my door.
His hands are secure when he puts them around my waist and helps me down, but I see the small wince he almost manages to hide.
Still, I let him have his pride.
Once inside, I head toward the kitchen.
I need some water to ease my parched throat.
“Quinn,” Smoke says gruffly.
“Come talk to me in the family room when you’re done in here.”
I nod and pour myself a glass.
But the ice-cold water does little to fix the dryness in my mouth.
My mind goes into overdrive, wondering what he wants to talk with me about.
Book club.
Moving out.
What I want.
What he wants.
I busy myself by grabbing a few frozen sweet treats I made, because, if in doubt, chocolate.
When I step into the family room, I find Smoke sitting on the sofa, his bare feet up on the low coffee table.
The sleeves of his black shirt are rolled up, revealing the strong, inked forearms that make me feel safe.
In his hand is a whiskey glass, half empty, and he swirls it gently, even though there’s no ice.
I’m not sure the treat I’m bringing him will go with the whiskey, but I wanted to do something…
nice.
“Hey,” I say, sitting on the sofa near him, but putting the plate between us.
But Smoke shakes his head and points to the cushion on the floor by his feet.
“I want to try something. Kneel for me, Quinn.”
It’s as though someone has flayed me wide open.
A wellspring emerges in my chest, and I do as he says.
He rubs his hand over my hair once, and I lean into it before he snatches his hand away and glances at my peace offering.
“What’s that?”
“It’s healthy. It’s a slice of banana topped with a thin layer of peanut butter that’s been dipped in dark chocolate, then sprinkled with sea salt and chopped nuts.”
Smoke looks up at me.
“That’s a mouthful.”
“I call them S’Mines. You know, like S’Mores, only these are mine.”
He smiles.
“You should trademark that before someone else does.”
I shrug.
“Life is too short to be litigious. Please. Take one.”
Smoke does as I say, then pops the whole thing into his mouth.
And I can see the moment his opinion of them changes from weird to the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.
“They’re good, right?” I ask.
“Yeah. They’re really fucking good.” The words are mumbled as he chews.
He picks another one off the plate and offers it directly to my lips.
It looks dainty in his hand, clad with thick rings.
I open my mouth, and Smoke places it on my tongue, his eyes on me the whole time.
Tension crackles through the air as I close my mouth and savor the crack when I break through the cold chocolate.
As I chew, Smoke rubs his thumb over my lips.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I look at Smoke, uncertain what to do.
He holds his palm out for it, and I dip into my pocket to grab it and offer it to him.
I don’t care who it is.
They can wait.
But then my heart rate leaps when I see the notification.
“The alarm is going off at the bakery.”
“Let me see?” Smoke says, immediately coming alert.
The mood shifts immediately.
The intensity of it.
And I feel a wash of grief that whatever was about to happen no longer will.
He takes my phone out of my hand so quickly, I haven’t had time to open the app that shows me what’s on the security cameras.
I move the plate and place it on the table before turning the phone in his hand so I can open it.
It takes a moment for the app to load.
Intellectually, I know it’s only a few seconds, but it feels like forever.
There are four men looking in through the windows, then two of them break off and have a conversation we can’t understand.
But one thing is clear.
They’re Eastern European, and my heart gallops at their accents.
An audible reminder of what happened last time they came to my bakery.
I freeze in place.
There are many ways we can take payment if you don’t have cash.
The man’s lips, wet with spittle, were close to my ear when he suggestively implied I could work off my debt.
“The fucking Bratva,” Smoke says.
Even though he’s looking at the phone, he takes a second to squeeze my shoulder, grounding me back in this moment.
His own phone is on the table, and he reaches for it and dials someone’s number.
“Wraith,” he says finally.
“The Russians are at the bakery. Out back. Four of them. Maybe more of them in town, I’m not sure. I’m headed there.”
I don’t catch what Wraith says.
“Meet you there,” Smoke says, suddenly jumping up from the sofa and marching towards his room, taking both our phones with him.
When it dawns on me that he just left, I jump up and follow him.
“What’s happening? What are you doing?”
“One minute.” He dials another number.
“Geoff, hey. It’s Ronan Callahan…yeah, can’t talk about that now. Are both trucks out?”
There’s a pause as he reaches for his holster, then his cut.
With his burns and a phone to his ear, he struggles to get it on, so I reach for it and help him get both arms through the holes.
Smoke winks at me in thanks and then unlocks the gun safe in his closet.
“Good. Can you take one without sirens or lights to the bakery on Main Street?” A pause while the person on the other end replies.
“Yeah. Just a suspicion that the men who set fire to Whiskey Fever are out back. Pre-emptive measure. I’m on my way there now… Yeah, bringing some of my brothers... Thanks.”
“You called for a fire truck?” I ask when he hangs up and grabs a backpack from next to the gun safe.
In it, there’s already a collection of cable ties, tape, and rope, but he also pulls ammo from the safe.
“I did. You know how to use one of these?”
He hands me a gun.
I’ve never held one before.
It’s heavier than I thought.
Colder. “No. Never even held one.”
He takes it back from me and does what I assume is get it ready to fire, then places it on the dresser, the muzzle…
nozzle…whatever the bit the bullet fires out of is called, facing the wall.
“It’s ready to shoot. Literally point and squeeze the trigger. But, please, Quinn, be really fucking careful; it’s as close to live as you can get, and there’s no safety.”
I look at it warily.
“I don’t know if I can bring myself to kill someone.”
Smoke is stuffing guns and knives into various belts and holsters.
“If it’s a toss-up between you and anyone else, you fire that thing and don’t think twice. Castle Doctrine means you won’t face charges for killing what will likely be a male assailant. And your life is worth a thousand times what theirs is.” He turns and looks at me.
“You hear me, Quinn? Don’t ask questions, don’t try to aim for a less life-threatening part of their body, because you’ll miss. Aim for their chest—it’s the biggest surface area, so you have the best chance of hitting it.”
My palms sweat and my hands shake at the thought I might have to.
“You’re leaving me here?”
Smoke touches my cheek softly.
Tenderly. The move is out of place with the urgency of the current mood.
“Sure as fuck not taking you to a place where we know there are four Russians. I gotta go.”
Then, he shocks the hell out of me by kissing me.
It’s soft and brief and nowhere near enough.
“Be careful,” I say.
“You too. There isn’t time to bring someone in to watch over you. Lock the doors after me. Give me your keys to the bakery. And the alarm code.”
“I should come with you.”
He shakes his head and gives me my phone back.
“It’s not safe.”
I hand him the keys and tell him the code, then follow him to the door.
Should I beg to go?
Am I a coward if I stay?
Instead, I opt to blurt, “I feel safe with you, Smoke. Not sure why I feel safer with you than with anyone else in the world right now.”
He runs a knuckle down my cheek.
“Probably the same reason my thoughts quell around you. We’ll have to finish the conversation we were about to have some other time.”
And when the door slams behind him, I open my phone, and watch the trouble unfold.