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“Anywhere but here,” I reply, ignoring Polly’s malice. The cool breeze slaps my cheeks as I yank open the door.
Quinn is silent throughout the whole exchange, but I can tell by the way he’s chewing on his lip ring that he wants me to stay and talk to her because we came here for a reason.
As much as she doesn’t deserve an explanation, I’ll give her one because once I do, it’s the last thing I ever intend to say to her. When I leave this house, they will both be dead to me, and I will no longer miss something I never had.
“Oh, by the way,” I say over my shoulder, casually meeting her uneasy gaze. “I shot my father…but he didn’t die.” Her eyes widen as I continue. “So now he and his drug dealer friend, Phil, who used to be my boss, are after me, and they probably know I’m in Canada. I’m also on the run from the police.”
As my mother gasps at my news, I can’t help but spit, “I came here to warn you. So consider yourself warned.”
Then I take off into a dead sprint.
“Red, wait!” Quinn yells, desperately trying to catch me. But I can’t stop, and even if I wanted to, I’m unable to.
A sister? A fuckingsister?
With that thought plaguing my brain, I continue running to I don’t know where—it just feels good to be free. But now as my decision to run like the wind catches up to me, I realize I’m lost.
I slow down when I reach an open field of wildflowers because I have no idea where I am.
“Feel better?” Quinn puffs from behind me.
Pushing my sweaty hair off my brow, I bend low, placing my hands on my knees, attempting to catch my breath. My ribs protest in pain, as they are still tender and sore, courtesy of the life-threatening beating I received from Justin Miller—the megalomaniac psychopath. Just thinking about him and what he did to me has my breathing escalating into panicked gasps.
“No,” I reply breathlessly. “I do not.”
Quinn stands in front of me as I pant into my knees, trying to slow my heart rate to a semi-normal pace.
I know I’m being a spoiled brat, but I honestly can’t handle the gentle look in his eyes. I don’t want kindness. I want to fight. But I don’t want to fight him, and that’s what will happen if I face him.
I need to hurt something as my temper slowly overtakes my sanity. This is why I learned how to box. It was a perfect way to release all my rage and anger so I don’t hurt another. But sadly, the only thing to box right now is Quinn’s face.
“Leave me alone, Quinn,” I say from between my knees.
The only response I receive is a laugh—great. He’s not going anywhere, and I’m about to faint at this angle, so I rise to full height, meeting his stubborn green eyes.
“Hit me,” I order, my gaze never wavering from his stunned expression.
“Excuse me?” Quinn asks, taking a step back.
“You heard me. Hit me.” I’m angered that we’re still talking because the thought of violence is better than having to deal with this sinking, hollow feeling in my gut.
“What the fuck?” he gasps, shaking his head. “No. I will not fucking hit you. Why would you even ask that of me?”
“Because then I won’t feel so bad when I hit you,” I reply, taking a step toward him.
“What? You want to fight me?” he incredulously asks, retreating.
That’s the last thing I want, but I’m about five seconds away from losing it, and I refuse to allowhertobe the reason why I finally snap.
But I nod. “It’s the only way I know how to deal with”—I point angrily in the direction of the house—“that.”
“How about you talk to me?”
“No,” I growl, violently shaking my head.
I can’t confess my rejection out loud. The words will make me weak, and they will shatter the last tether of humanity I have left.
“It’ll hurt a lot less if you do,” he says, taking a small step toward me, his hands raised in surrender.
