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He staggers back, stunned, as it was a blind attack, and although I’m not proud of my actions, it sure as shit felt good.
His hand flies to his jaw, and I take great satisfaction in seeing his lip bleed, but it’s not enough, and I launch forward, taking another swing.
He reads my attack this time and dodges my punch, but he doesn’t stand a chance.
I raise my leg and slam my kneecap into his groin, watching as he collapses to the floor. Just as I drop down to one knee, my fist raised and ready to strike, a pair of hands wrap around my middle and lift me off the ground, stopping my attack.
I kick my legs, bucking wildly as anger clouds my vision, and I won’t stop until the writhing, moaning sack of shit at my feet is dead.
“Red, stop!” Quinn snarls into my ear, but this time around, his voice of reason fuels my fury. I attempt to headbutt him, but I only make contact with heated air.
“Let me go!” I yell, kicking out and scratching at his hands, hoping he lets go.
But he doesn’t, and his grip around me only intensifies, foiling my plans of finishing what I started.
My eyes narrow on the slumped figure in front of me, and as I watch him cup his balls, crying out in pain, the seriousness of what I’ve just done hits hard.
Everything slows, and suddenly, I’m transported back to when I was him.
I’m the one dealing to naive kids who want nothing but a good time.
I’m the one dealing to children, accepting their dirty money, when I knew what they had to do to get it. Little did they know, every hit was slowly edging them toward the point of no return.
And I was responsible for their fall. I’m responsible for it all.
I’m going to be sick.
Quinn must feel my stomach roil as his grip suddenly loosens, and he lowers me to the ground. The moment my feet touch the floor, I pound on the concrete and dry heave in the corner of the room. Nothing comes up as I haven’t eaten all day, but I force myself until I’m gagging and retching, wanting to make the pain go away.
This whole situation has me thinking about what Phil proposed to me to do.
But tonight proves that there’s no way I can go back to that life without it doing severe damage to my already fragile mind. I’m as good as dead if I’m caught by them because Phil knows being kept alive and going back to a life I’m trying so hard to forget is far worse than being dead.
That thought is the mental slap I need.
We need to get the fuck out of here because of the scene I’ve just caused.
No doubt the police are on their way, and if Phil and Thomas are here, I have just waved a big red flag.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten up and turn to meet Quinn’s gentle eyes.
I focus solely on them because if I see the chaos I’ve caused, I don’t think I’ll make it out of here in one piece.
“We gotta move,” he says, his eyes pained when he sees my tears.
Nodding quickly, I reach for his hand, and we push through the circle of nosy bystanders who watch our escape with wide eyes. No one stops us, and even if they did, I know Quinn would kill anyone who stood in our way.
It takes us minutes to get outside, and as we both hear the sirens echoing in the distance, we quicken our pace, fleeing the crime scene as quickly as we can.
The moment I burst through the exit, the cool breeze slaps some sense into me, and I realize we have to go back in for Tristan.
“Tristan!” I yelp, violently tugging my hand from Quinn’s and turning to go back inside.
But his voice stops me, and I’ve never been so glad to hear him address me.
“Mia, I’m here,” he says and throws his arms around me, suffocating me with his embrace.
I hold on tight, burying my nose into his shoulder, and as I feel his frantic heart beating against mine, I realize he must have grabbed Polly and fled when I was having my meltdown.
