Chapter 7 Reed
Reed
We make it back to my apartment, and somehow, I was able to restrain myself from unraveling from the boy smelling of sweet blossoms in my arms—like the fresh smell of blooming wildflowers.
On the journey back, I had to watch my six, ensuring that no other Baptistes were tracking us. In the woods, I only sensed one, but they are infamously skilled at keeping themselves hidden until they reveal their presence on their own terms.
His scent clings to my jacket, seeping into my nose, whiff by whiff, threatening to release a cascade of adrenaline that can’t be revoked once it’s set in motion.
I felt the trepidation in his heart beat when I picked up his body, but it quickly faded as he rested his head on my neck, his small breaths hushing against my skin.
I should’ve set him down the moment we crossed into my apartment, but his weight feels wonderful in my arms; I can’t help but to keep him in my arms for a moment longer and admire the huffs that flow in and out of his chest.
It’s been years since I’ve allowed myself to dabble in such a matter. To lay a kiss on another man. I swore that I wouldn’t let it happen. Put someone else in danger to fuel my desires. It’s inevitable that they would end up as collateral damage.
But my little mouse was in danger.
What was I supposed to do? Stand by and let the Baptistes kill another innocent soul?
Let his straw-blonde hair be rumpled into the soil?
Not on my watch.
I ease him onto the battered couch like a delicate sunflower, careful not to desiccate his petals.
He blinks up at me, his pupils still dilated from the rush of adrenaline, his cheeks a rosy red from the briskness of the outdoors.
For one moment in this life, I want to forget my past, forget the dangers that lurk around my history and snuggle with him as we fall into the cracks of the couch.
“How are you feeling?” I ask softly, as his lashes flutter.
He takes a deep breath. “I’ve never felt better, Dr. Quinn.”
“Please, call me, Reed,” I chuckle, amused at the fact that he’s still going on with formalities.
“Okay…,” he laughs, a smile growing on his lips. “But I like the ring that Dr. has to it.”
I roll my eyes at the ridiculousness, but his laugh warms a chilled part of my heart. “Fine. Dr. Quinn, when it’s appropriate.”
“Yes, score!” he blurts out as I manage to hold back a snicker.
“So… do you make it a habit of saving stupid blondes in the woods?” he asks, snuggling deeper into my shoulder.
“Only on Tuesdays,” I say with a smirk. “Wednesdays are for brunettes.”
“So, I’m special…” he quips, raising his brows with the pride reserved for a lion.
“Sure. Special. Let’s go with that Cooper… and let’s not mention that you have been prancing in these woods trying to get my attention, night after night.”
But boy, did it fucking work…
He gasps. “Prancing? I was running!”
“Running,” I repeat, lips twitching at the edges. “With the elegance of a white-tailed fawn… in the middle of a seizure.”
“Woah. Woah. Woah,” he huffs, a fire lighting in his beautiful blue eyes. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t toy with me tonight. What made you hesitate?”
I furrow my brows, biting back a smile. “Toy with you? You were begging to be stalked. Begging for the anticipation. Begging for a man to run you down. And you got exactly that tonight, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting a loony hobbit to pop out of the woods with the stench of a backwater casino.”
I sigh, shaking my head. “Well life is full of surprises. And the Baptistes are ruthless, regardless of their short and stocky stature.”
He stifles a laugh. “So what, are you saying that my assassin was fun-sized?”
“Fun-size,” I deadpan. “That’s one way to describe a man that nearly slit your throat tonight. The Baptistes are dangerous, albeit they do trend to the smaller side of the height scale.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah…” he mutters, brushing his cheek against my neck. “At least when you’re feeling homicidal in your goofy way, you execute it with style.”
I glance at him, arching a brow. “You think I’m homicidal?”
“Please, Dr. Quinn,” he says. “You showed up in the woods wearing a mask and repping big murder energy. If that’s not homicidal with a side of foreplay, I don’t know what is.”
I shake my head, letting the thoughts run wild in my brain.
“You are a unique one, Cooper.” I knew he was different from the first night I saw him.
He’s attracted to the darkness. To the intrigue.
It thrills him. He’s a junkie flirting with death.
Can’t say I’ve come across one with that wish before.
“And yet, you saved me Dr. Quinn. Putting your life on the line for the stupid blonde in the woods.”
I let out a slow breath, but before I can respond his lips open again. “Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”
“Enjoy what, exactly?” I ask.
“The chase. The rescue. The part where you got to be the hero and the monster.”
I should correct him, but his analysis is pretty spot on. This blonde isn’t a dumb one. Quite the contrary. He’s quick witted. Brave—which may be considered stupidity depending on the situation.
He studies my face, while I ponder my thoughts. “You think I don’t notice it, but I see it in your eyes. You like the danger as much as I do. The thrill. The unknown.”
“Danger gets people killed,” I warn, my voice low.
He shrugs. “Maybe. But it’s also the only thing that makes me feel alive. I know it’s a bit ironic—chasing the dragon wheel of death, just to feel the slightest sliver of excitement.”
I watch the way the dim light bounces off his cheekbones, the way his eyes gleam, the way the words spit like fire from his lips. Cooper reminds me of myself in my younger days—reckless and certain the world won’t destroy him.
The kind of confidence is intoxicating and suicidal in equal capacity. I remember that rush, thinking I could cheat and smile my way out of the consequences.
It’s eerie, watching that fire burn in him, when he was only moments away from certain death.
“You have to be careful,” I say, the words finally coming to mind. “Feeling alive and staying alive aren’t exactly the same thing.”
He glances up with a smirk. “Says the man who moonlights as a masked vigilante.”
“Exactly,” I reply with a slight chuckle. “Takes one bad idea to recognize another.”
He lays a hand against my breastbone, the tension draining from his body. “You think I’m a bad idea?”
I hesitate, the words almost fumbling from my mouth. “The best kind.”
Then I press my lips against his, embracing his sweet breath.
The world freezes, my mind clears of thoughts for the first time in ages.
His mouth is warm, soft, and rich like melted butter. His fingers curl into my shirt, sending my heart into a fluttering mess.
Every rational thought in my head is screaming: No! The disregard for family rules, the body still warm in the woods—but none of that matters. All I can feel is him: the hungry tremor of his breath, the throbbing of his pulse, the way he breathes back into my mouth like I’m feeding him deliverance.
When I pull back for a breather, his eyes are glazed over. “So,” he whispers, breathless, “you’re saying I’m growing on you?”
I manage a wry smile. “Like a bad habit.”
He grins, tracing a circle on my chest. “Good. I’ve always wanted to be someone’s worst decision.”
I laugh under my breath. A boy with a sense of humor, or maybe truth. He might end up being my worst decision.
Buzz. Buzz.
Jesus, now, really?
I pull back, forehead resting against Cooper’s, the vibration interrupting the best moment of my life. I swear God has the most tragic sense of comedy.
Candace: What did you do?
Candace: The Baptistes are blowing up my phone. Did you kill one of them?
Ha. That makes me chuckle, the thought of a dozen Baptistes growling in their enclave, threatening their revenge. What are they going to do, storm our family estate and get slaughtered like a poor flock of frothing lambs?
Me: There may have been a slip of the wrists and a twist of the neck now that I think about it.
Me: It was the short one, with the brains of a goldfish and a neck of a stump.
Candace: You really had to kill Jacque, their favorite one?
Me: He made it too easy.
Candace: You better get your ass back to Wolfton ASAP. I can’t have all the fun slitting their throats.
If only they would all come at once, then we could eliminate the Baptistes from this rock. Free this world of pathetic killers that do it all for a few bucks. They are relentless gamblers and addicts.
They love the finer drugs in life. Heroin, meth, MDMA.
You name it. They like to think of themselves as modern day berserkers.
Eating shrooms and running rampant in the woods, ready to smother anything that resembles a skeleton.
That might work on taking down an innocent sorority girl, but against a Quinn? We would barely break a sweat.
But if there was six of them against me and my little mouse?
That might be a bit of a tossup.
Me: Don’t worry, sis, I’ll be there soon. Send Bucks to MSP. We’ll meet him there.