Chapter Twenty-Three
Harley - Present Day
A nuclear fucking warzone, that’s what I walked into. And nothing could have prepared me for a: what came next, and b: the realisation that I’d met a woman I’d willingly implode my entire fucking life for after twenty-four hours of knowing her.
You best believe, come hell or high water, that Quinn will never be going home to them, no matter what.
The one good thing about being my own boss is that I can leave the office whenever I want to. After I left, I went home to let Ted out for a wee and his dinner, and give him a fuss before heading to Quinn’s house.
A hidden talent of mine is that my brain is quite literally a sponge. Not quite photographic, but enough that you only need to show me something once before the information is locked in my brain, so I have no doubt I’ll be able to find her house despite only having been there once.
I close my front door, clicking the unlock button on the keys to my 1965 classic Mustang parked perfectly on my drive—the Shelby GT 350 model to be exact; she’s my pride and joy.
The exterior is a classic black, with two vertical red stripes on the bonnet.
I was determined to keep the interior as authentic as possible with original fixtures and fittings aside from the stereo.
It’s impossible for me to drive without some kind of music blasting in my ears, so the sound system wasn’t something I was going to skimp on.
Black vinyl trim, black leather seats, black carpets and lap seatbelts to maintain the originality.
The steering wheel is wood-rimmed with a cobra snake emblem.
Every time I sit inside her, I can’t believe she is mine.
When I was younger, my dad and I would work on her every weekend, religiously.
When he died, the car became mine, but at the age of twelve, it would have been frowned upon for me to get behind the wheel.
So, it was kept in storage until I was of legal age to claim it.
During the years in between, I watched every hour of footage I could about restoration and how to restore things authentically.
It’s taken me a few years, but I finally finished the work a few months ago, and revving her down the country lanes with the windows wide open and at full speed is my version of therapy.
And I’ve managed to successfully avoid any points on my licence from speeding. On the back of the car is a vinyl sticker that says Catch me if you can, fitting, I know.
As I slide inside Delilah—yes, Delilah—the important things in my life are named accordingly, I breathe in the familiar scent of the leather and exhale slowly.
No matter my mood or the levels of stress rolling through my body, there’s just something about the scent inside my car that puts me at ease.
It took me about fifteen minutes to walk home from Quinn’s the other night, so it should only take me a few minutes to drive there.
The bonus of living in a smaller town is that everything is within walking distance.
I don’t need to drive anywhere; some people run a 5k at the end of the day, and I like to play chicken with the speed limits and the wind howling through my hair.
I pull up outside of Quinn’s family home, switch off the engine, and take in the view in front of me.
It was dark the last time I was here, so the only thing you could really see were shadows and lights, but in the daylight it looks like your regular British, small-town house.
A two-storey building with large double-glazed windows, in close vicinity to the neighbours, and a decent-sized front garden that’s slightly overgrown.
A car occupies the space closest to the garage door on the two-car gravel driveway, with a back gate separating the houses from each other.
On first glance, you would never know this was a house filled with secrets.
Or that just three days ago, the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on was on the brink of jumping to her death.
Most people in today’s day and age would walk past this house, hear raised voices, and keep on walking with their attention engrossed in their phones.
I wonder if the neighbours know what goes on in this house.
Have they ever stepped in? Asked questions? Tried to help?
Gone are the times when neighbours looked out for each other or small town communities grouped together to make life the best it could possibly be.
Based on what Quinn has said out loud and the things I observed, this has been going on for an extended period of time.
How did no one notice? She may be twenty-eight now, but at one point she was a child, a teenager, and in the care of teachers and educational professionals.
How did they not see what was happening and try to intervene?
I open the door and climb out, but I don’t walk towards the house just yet. I stand with my arms leaning on the roof. I can’t quite pinpoint the feeling racing through me. Anxiety? Contemplation? Anger? All of the above?
After a few minutes, I open the gate and walk up the path to the green wooden front door with brass numbers on the front.
Imagine if, after all this, she gave me the wrong address and I’m about to make an absolute fool of myself.
What then? I lift my hand and rap on the door with my knuckles before I take a deep breath and steel myself for whatever reaction I’m about to get.
The best-case scenario is they’re agreeable to me taking over her care and her coming to stay with me.
Worst-case scenario, I get a punch in the face, and I have to figure out a way to break her out of a mental hospital. Simple, right?
No one answers, so I knock again. This time a little bit louder.
“Alright! I’m coming. Hold your horses.” I hear a woman’s voice approaching the door and the sound of it being unlocked before she pulls the door open a few inches and stares at me through the gap.
“Who are you?” she asks.
“Hi. My name is Harley. I’m a friend of Quinn’s. She was due to attend an appointment today for therapy, and she didn’t show up. Due to the state of her mental health lately, I thought it was best that I check in on her and make sure she’s ok.”
“Therapy? Quinn doesn’t have a therapist. I’m her mother. I would know something like that.” You mean you’d have told her not to do it because you don’t want people knowing your business.
“Well, I don’t know what to say to that. Maybe she hasn’t felt comfortable enough to tell you about the issues she’s been struggling with.” I figured it was safer to pose as her friend than her actual therapist and avoid causing more issues for her in the long run.
“She doesn’t have any issues. They’re all in her head.
She uses them for attention. I used to work in care; I know all about it.
I’m so sorry she’s wasted your time.” She’s apologetic, but it’s obvious it’s fake.
There’s no sincerity in her tone, and she looks bored.
Looking at her, you can see her relation to Quinn, but it’s minimal, more like a distant relation than her mother.
They have the same hair and are a similar height, but that’s where the similarities end.
Her mother has a hard face. Her skin is aged.
She looks worn out. She can’t be much more than forty, but she appears on the outside at least a decade older.
“On the contrary, Quinn’s issues are very real from what she’s told me. She needs support in her journey to recovery, but she can recover. Can I please speak to her?”
“Oh, no, I’m afraid you can’t. She’s in bed with a virus, been up all night with it coming out of both ends. Best you don’t get exposed to that. I can ask her to call you?”
Why’s she lying? I know Quinn isn’t here, but why wouldn’t she want anyone else to know that? It’s almost like she needs to embarrass Quinn with irrelevant details in her absence.
“I’d rather take the risk and talk to her now. My immune system is top-tier. She said to me she had an appointment that she needed to attend yesterday and she was nervous. That's all. She never would have just not turned up or not contacted me.”
“Sorry, she’s unavailable. You’ll have to try again later.”
“Unavailable? You just said she was sick in bed, which would indicate she is here…”
“Uh, uhm, yes, no…” she splutters. “I meant she’s unable to come to the door.”
“But why? Even sick, she would at least be able to talk to me from a window so I can see that she is safe and well.” She goes pale at the realisation that I’m not going to back down or be talked around. It strikes me that that’s not something she encounters very often.
“Listen, Mr…”
“Harley, my name is Harley.”
“Yeah, well, whatever your name is, I said no.” Her voice is rising like she’s trying to alert someone inside to come and help her, without making it obvious and starting to shout.
“If I don’t see Quinn today, I will need to report a concern to the police and have them perform a welfare check. The choice is yours.”
Before she has a chance to answer, the door is ripped from her grip and opened fully, and I come face to face with who I can only assume is her brother.
“Who the fuck are you? What do you want?” He steels his face to try and intimidate me. Unfortunately for him, intimidation is not something I respond very well to. Years of homelessness and fending for myself taught me better. So I straighten my shoulders and stand up straight.
“As I explained to your mum, I’m here to check on Quinn. I’m her friend.”
“She doesn’t have any friends. And from what I heard, she doesn’t need to be wasting anyone’s time in therapy. She needs to be put down like the dog she is.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard. You’re not going to see her. You’ve been told no. Now, get the fuck off my property before I put you off myself.”
“If I don’t see or hear from Quinn in the next ten minutes, I’ll be calling the police.
You might scare her, but you don’t scare me, and I think it’s about time that someone put Quinn first and put you fuckers in your place.
” He irks me, and all I want to do is rearrange his fucking face.
With a twelve-foot barge pole straight to his nasty ass face.
“Care to demonstrate just how you intend to do that?” He steps over the threshold, and we’re nose to nose. I don’t move.
“If you think for a second you’ll be able to lure me into whatever trap you are concocting in your head, you’re stupider than you look.
But you best believe, if I wanted to demonstrate how, I would be the one walking away and you’d be the one put down like a dog.
” His face drops, and I smirk as I turn to leave.
“I’ll find her myself. And when I do, I hope you're ready for the storm she’s about to rain down on your heads.
You may not think she’s worth much, but I’ll give you fair warning.
When she’s better, I’d suggest you start running and never look back.
They say there’s nothing scarier than a woman scorned, and they’re right.
But imagine a woman scorned who wants to set the world alight, with a man by her side that will help fan the flames.
” I take a pause for dramatic effect. “You won’t stand a chance.
It was nice to meet you. I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.
” I glance over my shoulder and chuckle to myself at the sight laid out before me.
Temu Hulk is flexing his muscles like he forgot to take his steroid shot, and the egg donor is whispering sweet nothings to him, trying to calm him down.
Looking at those two, you would think they were husband and wife, and that shit’s just fucking creepy. Incestuous activities in books are hot, incest in real life? Absolutely not.