Quiet Ones (Hellbent Book 3), page 12
Lucas approaches the mirror, and a breath lodges in my throat as he stares inside. I freeze as he stops inches from me, and I look up, only one step from his mouth.
He fixes his hair. Brushing wet locks back off his forehead, he breathes hard before lifting up his shirt and wiping down his face. My mouth falls open, gaping at his stomach, his chest...
I touch my fingertips to the glass, inching my body closer as if I’ll feel his skin.
“Lucas…” I whisper.
He backs away, and so do I. My family stood here and watched each other and me just like I’m watching him now. All the times I thought I was alone, I might not have been. It’s not right.
But maybe now I understand why Hawke and Dylan kept this a secret. There’s power in this. To being right under people’s noses.
They were worried I’d stop it.
I unlock my phone and call.
Lucas’s phone rings a short distance away, and he glances at the screen, answering immediately.
“Quinn?” His voice sounds panicked, and I watch his eyebrows pinch together in worry. “You okay?”
What am I doing? Why did I call him?
But I know why. I needed to see what he looks like when he’s alone and thinking of me.
I can’t come out until he leaves. I don’t think I want Madoc, Jared, or Jax to know about this hideout yet, and he would tell them.
“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my voice low in case he can hear me through the mirror. “I’m okay.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m safe.”
He digs in his brow, his jaw flexing. “Where are you?”
His tone is harder, suspicious.
Does he think I’m with someone I’m not supposed to be?
I smile to myself. “I don’t want to tell you.”
“You don’t want to tell me?”
His chin rises, his shoulders squaring. “Tell me where you are,” he orders. “I’m coming to pick you up.”
I know what will happen if he picks me up. He’ll take me home. I’ll sleep. Then, I’ll get up in the morning for another day, and he’ll leave town.
I’m not ready to go home yet.
“No need,” I say in a light voice. “I’m having fun.”
He paces, turning around, and I see the ridges of his back muscles through his soaked shirt. The picture of the girl in the journal sits in my head. She looked like the remains of a love that was too passionate. Too consuming.
It doesn’t sound at all healthy, and I want it.
“Games were cute when you were a kid,” Lucas chides.
But I simply say, “I don’t play the same games I did as a kid.”
He stops in his tracks, inhaling and exhaling for a moment. He’s turned to the side, so I can’t see his face until he pulls out one of my chairs and drops down. “I’m not enjoying this.”
He sounds tired. Breathless.
“Quinn?” he presses when I don’t say anything.
I study him. I don’t want to talk about my family or Dubai or learning to drive or keeping away from the wrong boys. He’s been talking to me like I’m still a child.
“What do you enjoy?” I ask.
He lowers his eyes, his chest rising and falling. I’m not a kid anymore, and I don’t want him shielding me from his life or sugar-coating anything. I want to talk.
“Do you remember Ava, your college girlfriend?” I ask him, but I don’t wait for an answer. He had a lot of girlfriends, and I don’t care if he remembers her, because I do. “Madoc and his family were out of town, and you were supposed to come over to water the plants and feed the fish, but you brought her one night and got her naked in my brother’s pool.”
I lean into the mirror, taking my eyes off him only long enough to blink.
“I had seen your car pass and made you some pizza,” I explain. “I rode my bike over with it so you could take it back to your dorm.”
His gaze stays down on the table, his body barely moving. He never knew I saw them. No one did. It’s not like sex was a secret to me, even at that age. I’d walked in on Jax and Juliet in Madoc’s liquor storage. Jared constantly had his hands on Tate, and Madoc didn’t hide anything, boasting that practice was the best part of baby-making.
However, as soon as I saw what was happening, I hightailed it out of there, only happy when they broke up.
Until the next one came along, that is.
“Boys get to have all the fun, don’t they?” I challenge.
A small smile finally curls his lips as he picks a little flower out of the vase on the table. “I think Ava had fun.”
Prick.
“And how old was she?” I argue. “About the same age as I am now?”
Maybe even a year or two younger?
I narrow my eyes. “What did you do to her that night?”
“I get where you’re going with this,” he bites out. “I know you’re ready to feel things. And it’s normal.”
“How do you know I haven’t already?”
He cocks a brow. “Have you?”
Amusement pulls at my mouth. “I’m twenty-one.”
He curls his fist, crushing the flower.
I laugh to myself.
Oh, I like watching people. They don’t always tell you who they are, but they show you.
Why would he assume I’m a virgin? I went to a Catholic university with a hell of a lot of people who grew up in Catholic schools before that. When sex is such a taboo subject, the allure and mystery surrounding it only make everyone sex-obsessed when they get away from home.
I mean, I am a virgin, but it’s a leap for him to assume I didn’t have one night of poor judgment away at school.
“I’m going fall in love with someone here,” I tell him.
“It won’t be one of them.”
“Like you had plans to marry Ava when you had sex with her,” I try to reason. “Why can’t I—”
“Because you matter more than she did!”
I halt, the words on my lips fading away. What did he say?
It’s like sparklers are fizzing and popping under my skin, up my chest, and down my arms.
He closes his eyes, and I’m afraid to move. To speak.
“I didn’t mean that,” he whispers. “Of course, she mattered.”
But I matter more? I still matter to him?
His Adam’s apple slides down his throat. “Quinn, I don’t remember a lot from when I was a kid, but I remember you,” he explains. “I grew up, knowing what it was to care for a girl—someone’s sister, someone’s daughter. It made me a better man.”
His mouth opens, then closes, his eyes looking conflicted.
“At least, I thought it did,” he murmurs.
I don’t have time to ask to him to explain before he continues. “I didn’t have any siblings or cousins,” he goes on, “but with you I got to learn…to set an example and to be invested in someone’s happiness. Someone smaller and more vulnerable in the world. You affected me in a way no one else did.” He falls silent for a moment. “Quinn, sometimes people just want to connect and not be alone and have a good time. Blow off some steam. You’re not built like that.”
What does he know? He doesn’t know me anymore. Why can’t he see me like he sees everyone else? I’m not an angel. Or superhuman. I want to be touched and kissed hard and breathless, just like everyone else.
I don’t realize that my eyes are filled with tears until one spills over. I swipe it away.
And why the hell did he leave for so long if I was important to him?
“I think I might be,” I say, my throat so tight it hurts. “Built like that, I mean.”
I’d go somewhere with him right now and not be alone, just the two of us, and I don’t care if he’s leaving.
But he asks again, “Where are you?”
So much like my brothers in his duty to keep me away from bad guys. He doesn’t want to open up to me more, because if he did, I’d open this mirror, come out of hiding, and ask him to take me to practice driving tonight. Just the two of us.
I wipe my eyes. “Home,” I lie. “It’s raining. I got a ride from my barista. Tried calling you for one.”
He looks skeptical. “How are you calling me from your phone? Madoc says you left it at the bakery.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Tell him to update his app.”
He falls silent, looking like he has more to say, but then asks, “Will I see you tomorrow?” Because he wants to leave on good terms with me remembering him well.
“Yes.”
He nods. “Goodnight.”
I hang up without replying and wait for him to leave. I guess I could sneak out through Rivertown, or the hatch in the roof, but I need my bike. I’d risk running into him.
He rises from the table and tucks in the chair, but he doesn’t leave. Walking to the windows, he stands and looks out at the night rain. The strain in his eyes is visible from here as he folds his arms over his chest. The storm outside dances across his face in the lantern light from the sidewalk, and I raise my phone, snapping a picture of him. The only picture of him that’s all for me.
Don’t leave.
Is his life there so much better than us?
But then a vehicle passes outside, and Lucas lets his arms fall as he shoots to the side, out of view.
I freeze. What was that?
I glance out the window, thinking I might see the old, black Dodge, but I catch the tail end of a dark SUV—a Traverse, I think—go by. I don’t recognize it.
Does he know that car?
He looks like he was hiding from it.
His phone rings, and he stares at the screen for several seconds before ignoring the call.
What’s going on?
He leaves through the kitchen, the back door slamming shut, and I wait about two seconds before I flip the latch and climb out. Closing it back up, I run through the shop, spotting his car at the curb out front before I dash into the kitchen, hearing the lock click.
I wait until I hear his car start up at the front of the building before I dash out into the alley, locking up the bakery again. Then, I jump on my bike to follow him.
He could be going home. Or maybe he’s going somewhere I need to see.
Desperate for answers, I pedal to the end of the alley and peek around the corner, his rental car appearing. He takes a right, as if heading to Madoc’s house. Or mine.
As he approaches the curve, about to disappear, I take off, pedaling as fast as I can. Water sloshes under my tires, and rain soaks my hair, but I stand up and pump faster, just enough to stay in view. He cruises faster, speeding by the turnoff for Madoc’s and my neighborhood, climbing into the forest.
Trees loom on both sides, darkness surrounding me, and I look behind me, keeping an eye out for the old car with its headlights off from earlier. And for Madoc who might still be out looking for me if Lucas hasn’t texted him to tell him I’m home.
He continues to ascend the hill, disappearing around the corner, and I groan, my muscles on fire. An e-bike was a fantastic idea. Why did I resist it?
The road splits in two, but you can’t go to the left. It’s a one-way exit for the other highway, only for oncoming traffic. I veer right, continuing on, but as I reach the top of the incline, I don’t see him. There are no cars. Nothing on the long stretch ahead.
I look around for turnoffs and then behind me, in case he pulled off, but he’s gone.
Where the hell did he go? There’s nothing for miles.
But I can’t stay out here, and I’m not riding down some dark, lonely, gravel road. I got braver tonight, but not that brave.
Turning around, I head back into town, my head swirling. Where was he going? Who was in that car that he recognized? Who was in that damn car that followed me?
Why don’t I tell him to stay?
So many questions, but as usual, I’m the last to answer them. I’m always the one who knows the least, the one no one trusts to be up for a little fun. Or even better, to lead.
There’s only one thing I want more than Lucas Morrow, and that’s my freedom from him. My freedom from everyone who loves me, in fact. From everyone who thinks they know me.
I park the bike in the alley behind the bakery, take my chain lock, and head inside. Once in the hideout, I climb the spiral staircase, loop my bike lock around the handle and the latch, securing the door tightly from the inside.
One door down, two more to go.
The hideout is mine now.
Lucas
I envy Farrow Kelly and Noah Van der Berg. For their youth. For their proximity to everything I love.
Unease has been chipping away at my mind like a pickax, and talking to Quinn tonight on the phone made it worse.
I want to go home. To Dubai.
I miss the restaurants. I miss the pool at my gym. I miss coming into my office building and hearing the music Isobel has playing because she’s already been there for two hours and loves having the place to herself before everyone arrives in the morning.
My mind calms there.
But I’m dreading every minute that passes too. Every second that takes me closer to my flight leaving. Why?
The time on my phone reads 1:36 a.m.
The party still goes on. Sitting in my car at the curb, blending between two SUVs, I can’t take my eyes off the firehouse about thirty yards down the street.
Green Street. The name of the road, the firehouse, and the people inside. The headquarters of Weston’s racketeering, which according to my research, includes crime that isn’t as petty as I’d hoped it had become in Drew’s absence. Hard drugs, weapons, embezzlement, thievery, prostitution…
Hugo Navarre runs it now, and I guess that’s who’s been trying to call me. It’s a local phone number that I didn’t have saved, and with the car parked outside of my house a couple of days ago, it’s a safe assumption they know I’m back.
Green Street wasn’t always bad, and Weston wasn’t always rundown. The faded red brick firehouse still stands three-stories tall, surrounded by a parking area overrun with grass and weeds, unmanicured trees, and a quiet road, dilapidated from years of neglect. The town is a quarter of what it used to be. Maybe two-thousand people now. There are no police, and barely any businesses to service the community.
This mill town across the river from Shelburne Falls was once an eclectic place, I’m told, with hiking trails, restaurants, and community gatherings like carnivals, car cruises, and bingo nights at the VFW. Always a little poorer than Shelburne Falls, but it had its own character.
Unfortunately, a flood more than twenty years ago instigated a mass evacuation, and most of the citizens never returned. There’s a spot in the forest full of cars that had to be moved off the streets when they were abandoned in traffic because no one could get out, and people needed to find higher ground quickly.
Many houses were destroyed, but the buildings downtown still stand. The massive warehouses, mills, and anything made of brick. The thousand or so windows that once had lives and stories playing out behind them are now just views into rooms of silence.
I glance down at my shoes, the ones I wore to the gym when I tried not to look for her, or wait for her, when I was there earlier. Caked in fresh earth, I shouldn’t have worn them out to the forest tonight. They’ll leave easily identifiable tracks.
With the rain, I’m hopeful my prints are already gone, along with any other evidence of my visit to the grave. I shouldn’t have driven out there at all, but I needed to face it one time before I left.
It’s such a lonely place. Dark. And cold.
Forgotten.
Engines zoom past, and I count four motorbikes speeding to a halt in front of the firehouse. My elbow rests on the door as I rub one of my fingers over my lips, watching Farrow Kelly climb off his bike. No helmet and his hat on backward, he swings open the door that I put on that fucking place twelve years ago. Three others follow him in.
Quinn won’t have the future she deserves with someone like him. I don’t want Green Street to touch her at all, and if that means I can’t be in her life either to ensure my past doesn’t spill over onto her, then I’ll continue to live without all of them.
Even though it feels like it’s going to hurt to leave this time a little more than it did the first.
I was so desperate for something of my own back then that I sold my integrity for nothing.
It didn’t seem like it at the time. Young and excited, we only saw life getting better and better. Remembering that first day, it’s amazing how little I anticipated what Green Street would become.
Or how shit would change for me.
“What are we doing here?” I griped, climbing out of Lance’s 4Runner.
“I’ve got something to show you,” he called out, running for the old building. “Come on.”
Drew Reeves jumped out from the back seat, leaving his black ski cap and buffalo plaid button-up on even though it was clear we weren’t hitting the slopes. At least, not yet.
Lance broke his arm last week falling wrong on a black diamond run, and I thought he insisted on coming today so he could sit in the lodge and get drunk, watching us have fun.
Instead, we were in Weston, or what was left of it. This town had been dead since I was a kid.
Following him around the side of the building with its door missing and all the windows broken, I winced at the stench that hit me as we entered. Damn, did an animal die in here?
The water line from the flood more than a decade before rose up the walls about two feet, and various pieces of furniture sat broken, ripped, and decaying. I wandered deeper in, the large cement floor and closed garage door to my right allowing for one fire truck, or a few smaller vehicles, to fit inside. I let my head fall back and gazed up at the fireman’s pole.
“It’s the old firehouse,” Lance explained, “but it’s got a kitchen, bathrooms, and a shitload of space.”
“For what?” I asked.
Drew kicked a piece of wood out of the way, hands in his pockets as he strolled.
“A hangout.” Lance grinned.
Drew and I stared at him.
