Chapter 20
Quinnly
My feet are propped up on the couch arm rest, my head dangles off the cushion. The remote clicks as I flip through the channels of basic cable, who uses that anymore? Where are all the movies?
Lincoln would pick a house with no access to movies for two days. His way of torturing me, I’m sure.
“Come on,” he nudges my taco slippers and hooks his thumb to the door.
Eyeing him, I twist off the couch and kick off my slippers, slipping into my boots. I’m still undecided on whether I should kill him, so I keep my lips shut and my amazing banter to myself.
In the car, I flip the music on and scan the radio. When a song comes on that I love, I turn the volume up loud enough to rattle the windows. I don’t want to talk to him. He fucked up my system, and if there’s anything I hate, it’s that.
He turns it down to a more acceptable decibel, his jaw is so tense I can practically hear his teeth cracking from here. Turning away from him I watch the scenery pass by, and wait to see where we’re going instead of asking. He doesn’t deserve my impeccable wit.
“Bonav–” he starts and I cut my eyes his way, “Mr. WannaBeMafia had a bunker built out here about a year or so ago.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I smack my gum and lift a brow as if to say go on.
“And I have all the access codes.”
My bubble pops and my lips slowly spread into a smile. “And you’re going to give me the codes?” Leaning forward, over the console, I bat my lashes at him.
“No,” his voice is flat, “that wouldn’t be nearly as fun for me.”
“This isn’t about you,” I snip, baring my teeth. “This is my game and you aren’t playing.”
“For now,” he smirks.
Growling, I sit back in my seat and let out a hmpf. Crossing my arms, I chew on the gum I’ve worn the flavor out of and stew.
He pulls into the driveway of the home I’ve been carefully watching for a few days. It’s empty right now, and I know this, because I have alerts set up on my phone for when Mr. WannaBeMafia comes and goes.
“Are we just gonna sit here?” I ask, nearly ready to pull my hair out one strand at a time. “It’s been like two hours, and we’ve seen nothing.”
His eyes slide my way and he sighs, “We’re here to watch, and it’s only been twenty minutes, haven’t you done this before?”
“Twenty minutes?!” I shriek.
He nods and looks back out the windshield.
Climbing into the back seat, I look through the car Lincoln must have stolen, for snacks. But there isn’t anything here, no trash, no crumbs, nothing. Even under the seat is immaculate.
“Ugggh, you are the worst. Why didn’t you pack snacks?”
“Seriously?”
“It’s depressingly clean back here, Shadow. Are you some kind of germophobe?”
“It’s a rental, Menace,” he says, “which you would know nothing about, I assume.”
“Who needs a car in New York?” I ask, leaning my elbows on the back of the front seats and leaning into his space. “Can we turn the music back on?”
Lincoln starts to reach for the knob, but I lean over the center console and beat him to it with a smirk. Finding another song I like, I hum to the lyrics and tap, tap, tap on the glass.
“Can you not?”
“I’m a fantastic hummer, and I’ve managed not to chip the glass… yet.” Placing my boots on the opposite window, I lay across the back seat and look up at the ceiling. Lincoln doesn’t ask me anything else, and I mumble under my breath to keep myself occupied.
Eventually, one of my alerts for Mr. WannaBeMafia pings in my ears and I sit up, spotting his car. Clamoring back over the seat, I manage not to kick Lincoln in the noggin, and release the door handle at the same time he does.
“Finally!” I exclaim and pull my scissors from my ankle holster just as I feel Lincoln’s fingers grip my wrist.
Turning around to look at him I see his brows draw up his forehead and I gesture wildly around us, “What? There’s no one here.”
Pulling my wrist free and bolting away from the car, I pump my arms as fast as my legs will take me and my hair lifts in the wind. Catching Mr. WannaBeMafia around his waist, I tackle him to the ground. He squirms and yells for help, but he should know better than anyone that help won’t come.
Lifting my scissors, already looped through my fingers, I land a blow to the side of his head with the heavy handle and he stops moving immediately.
There’s no blood as I look down at him, but his pulse still beats.
Standing up from the ground, I kick his shoulder to try and rouse him. He groans, but doesn’t wake.
“He’s still alive,” I shrug, nodding to the house. “Wanna have some fun?” When Lincoln just stands there and stares at me, irritation slithers up my spine.
He’s just come out of hiding in the shadows and I’ve not had the time to figure him out, so I have no idea what he’s trying to tell me without words. I don’t know how to interpret his expression, he could be saying ‘get fucking wrecked and die’, and I’d have no idea.
“If you’re trying to relay a message, it has not been received…” I pout.
“You want to do this one together?” He asks, looking down at our prey.
“You and me, Shadow.”
Lincoln doesn’t answer. Instead, he bends down at the knees and picks Mr. WannaBeMafia off the ground, throws him over his shoulder, and walks into the house.
Well, I think we’re off to a fantastic start.
Mr. WannaBeMafia’s still nighty-night, even after Lincoln ordered dinner for us, picked it up, and came back.
“What the fuck?” Lincoln grumbles when he gets back. “You destroyed the house.”
I don’t wear boredom well, so while he was gone, I might have made a mess in the house above the bunker. I’m nosey, and all his stuff was just there.
He’s got a strange collection of those nesting dolls, some of them have creepy faces and I smashed them.
I thought they were laughing at me. There were so many, and they just kept popping up in every room I went into.
I might have also smashed a window with a hockey stick, and raided his pantry because I was hungry, but alas, no Pop-Tarts.
It’s not like Mr. WannaBeMafia will care that his house is a mess anyway. Hell, maybe the esteemed FBI will think it’s a home invasion gone sour, or whatever garbage they spin to make the public feel safer.
They’ve officially given me a name for the media though.
The Chameleon.
What lizard is as creative as me, huh? None. I guess it’s because I get into places that are highly secure, I never leave prints, and they never see me. Come to think of it, it’s kind of awesome.
Looking around at the glass glittering around the floor, and the broken doll pieces, I turn back to Lincoln and offer him a smile. “He’s not gonna care.”
“Menace.”
Walking into the kitchen, he drops the bags of food on the counter and I subtly brush my body against his, listening as he inhales but doesn’t move. I eye the bags of food dubiously. I have no idea what he got for us, and normally that would irritate me, but I trust him. Which is shocking, I know.
“You know, I like a little mystery when it comes to getting laid.”
He chokes on the water he’s sipping and slams the bottle on the counter. Ripping open the bags, he yanks out the contents of whatever the hell he ordered. Everything’s in tin containers with condensation covering the inside of the lid, and it smells divine.
“I’m open to blood play too if–”
He spins around so fast I hardly have the time to register it before his large hand wraps around my throat, covering the tattoo there with the name he so aptly gave me. Lifting me off my feet he slams me onto the island, and I can’t help the manic giggle that erupts from my mouth.
My head flares in pain, but I love it. My Shadow’s looking down at me with intensity in his eyes, nostrils flared, and lips set in a grim line. I want to reach up and lick him, but he’s got me firmly under the palm of his hand.
“Cut. It. Out.” He grits through clenched teeth. The deep, guttural way he says it makes my pussy ache. I’m not sure the last time I enjoyed fucking with my partner this much, some people just can’t understand the need to be treated like a ragdoll.
“Or. What.” I smile, showing all of my teeth and hissing out the words as his hand gets tighter and tighter around my windpipe.
Leaning down, his silver lip ring and nose piercing sparkle against his dark skin drawing my gaze to them.
He’s so pretty.
“Pretty,” he scoffs, releasing my neck and pushing himself as far away as he can. Well, I guess that wasn’t only in my head. “I could kill you in less than two seconds, and yet–”
Laughter rockets out of me, “You wish you could, Shadow, or do you not remember?” Running my finger across my neck, I mimic the nice little scar that runs across his throat.
“Oh I remember, you couldn’t even finish the job,” he sneers, stalking closer to where I’ve stayed on the island since he let me go. “Seems you should have had a cleaner–oh wait…”
“Seems I should have,” winking, I hop off the island and pluck two plates out of a cupboard. He watches, shoulders lifting and falling as if he’s trying to read me.
Good luck. I’ve tried for thirty-one years to self analyze, not to mention the countless therapists who gave it a go, and haven’t gotten anywhere.
Looking down into the tin bowl, my stomach growls and I look up, giving him a bright smile. “Tacos.”
“Fucking tacos,” he nods, grabbing two of the tins and walking to the couch. Sweeping the leather clean, he takes a seat and scarfs down the food.
Eating our meal in silence, I savor every last bite. He got me tacos, and he ordered them the way I love them. None of that avocado gloop on them, just meat, cheese, tomato, and lettuce.
Honestly, it’s a work of art.
I don’t mind the silence, it means there’s one less sense I have to try and numb. No meaningless words need to be shared, no awkwardness, just peace.
Just, quiet.
However, there’s still something I want from my Shadow, and I have no doubt I’ll get it.
“So, Mr. WannaBeMafia man downstairs, what do you know about him?”