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Justin is a pathetic, crumpled pile of moaning, barely clothed flesh slumped onto the floor, where he fell after Quinn threw him across the room. He attempts to sit up while groggily rubbing the back of his head, but Quinn stalks over to him, yanking him up by the collar of his ripped T-shirt.
Justin tries to fight him off, but Quinn is a vision of pure wrath as he smashes Justin up against the wall, once, then twice, pushing Justin’s breath out of his lungs in pained exhalations.
The fact that Justin is still breathing enrages Quinn, so he lifts Justin’s feet off the ground, his hands still fisted in his collar, and headbutts him, breaking his nose.
I flinch at the sound, but Quinn doesn’t stop, nor does he speak, which is scarier than watching him beat Justin with his punishing fists. Justin slumps to the floor, moaning, attempting to curl into a ball to protect himself from Quinn’s rage. But Quinn drops to one knee and repeatedly punches Justin, connecting with any andeverypart of his body, until Justin is a bloodied, unconscious mess on the floor.
Quinn never gave Justin a chance to fight back, and like me, minutes ago, I bet he was wishing for unconsciousness to overtake him. The fight lasts for no more than a minute, but I will remember the sound of each brutal strike for as long as I live.
With one final kick to the guts, which echoes off the cabin’s walls, Quinn lets out an animalistic yell and slowly turns to face me, his fists dripping in blood.
I wish I wasn’t so naked because as Quinn scans my body, his face contorts in pure pain. I know what I must look like, and I close my eye, his pain hurting me more than the physical abuse my body sustained.
He is across the room in seconds, dropping to both knees in front of me. The first thing that overwhelms me is his signature scent. Under the wrath and blood and fear, I can smell him.
I smell home.
Opening my good eye, I see him covering his face with his palms, his shoulders shuddering in rage. I want to comfort him but can’t because I’m still tied. So I sit and allow him to grieve because we will never be the same after this.
After a few moments, Quinn raises his pained eyes, his long hair sticking to his bloodied cheeks, and to me, he looks like a warrior. My Prince Charming, who slayed the dragon.
“Oh God, Red,” Quinn says, his voice wavering, his eyes filled with unshed tears.
He reaches for the gag in my mouth, untying it softly, not wanting to tear my matted hair out, and throws it to the floor.
Wincing as I move my jaw from side to side, I hope to soothe my sore facial muscles. It hurts like a bitch, but the pain is welcomed as I’m grateful to have the stupid gag out of my mouth.
Quinn slowly reaches behind him, pulling out a knife from the small of his back, and begins carefully cutting through the ties that bound my injured wrists. As soon as the pressure releases, a sigh passes through my cracked lips, and Quinn’s warm hands rub my numb fingers, attempting to get the circulation flowing through my cold digits.
“My feet,” I croak, my throat hoarse and sore, my arms hanging limply by my sides.
I can’t stand to be bound for a second longer.
Quinn nods and goes to work, cutting through the rope at my feet.
The moment I’m unbound, I slump forward with a sigh of relief, and Quinn catches me. He slips off his black sweater and bundles me up into it. He does all this while still on his knees before me, and I don’t miss the gesture behind it.
“Forgive me, Mia,” he cries softly, his face twisting in pain.
That’s the first time he’s ever used my name. And I like it.
Shaking my head, I don’t accept his apology, as he has nothing to be sorry for. I realize I want to stand, but I don’t think I can.
Quinn wraps his hands around my waist, slowly helping me up, and he makes a pained face as I cringe because my ribs feel battered and bruised.
“I’m so sorry,” he says as I steady my hands on his shoulders for support, thankful my legs don’t give out.
“Not your…fault.” I pull up my jeans. “Let’s go. Dad…coming,” I say, each word pained.
“Your dad?” Quinn asks as I lean onto him, insisting I walk.
I nod, biting my lip in pain as I take my first baby steps, my feet stinging with pins and needles.
“How?” Quinn asks, steadying me when I almost fall.
Gesturing with my chin toward a moaning Justin, who is slowly waking up, I reply croakily, “He was working with my dad and the police,” I mumble and whimper when my feet give out.
Quinn catches me, supporting me against his warm body, and I groan softly, the contact warming my broken soul.
