He opens his mouth.
Something’s coming. Something bad. This might be the only chance I get, so I pre-empt him.
“Quinn.”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
His eyes flare wide. Wider than I’ve ever seen. His face loses all color and he starts to shake his head. “Elyse…”
The mobile in the console blares through the car. We both look at it and freeze. Three rings. Four. He looks at me and shakes his head. But he picks up the phone.
The voice is female. And it’s agitated. Quinn’s eyes dart to mine and I read his icy trepidation. He throws his door open, then freezes.
“What are you talking about?” he fires. His eyes search the rear view mirror frantically before his head swivels round. The glance he throws at me is filled with dread and black fury. “No, dammit. Where are the damn bodyguards? I don’t see them. I don’t see anything. Are you sure?”
As he’s turning back round, his thumb hits the speaker button.
“Yes! I’m telling you, Quinn. You need to get Lucky the hell out of there. Now!”
Fionnella’s voice.
Fionnella!
For a few seconds, my mind freezes in blessed self-preservation. Then shock sucker punches me, along with the wrecking ball that is my own epic stupidity.
Quinn stares at me, the regret, dread and alarm finally beginning to make sense. The hand I have on his thigh turns to ice, along with the rest of my body. I want to move it, but I can’t. His grip is locked tight on me as we stare at each other.
My mouth drops open, but words refuse to form.
Of course, fate decides not to give me time to process it. I’m still locked in the shock vault when rough hands grab my shoulders and yank me right out of the car. Quinn lunges for me, but his seatbelt prevents him from gaining any traction. His filthy curse rips the air as I hit the sidewalk sideways and pain ricochets through my bruised hipbone.
Quinn surges out of the car with a furious roar and vaults over the hood of the Mercedes as I’m dragged backwards and tossed over someone’s shoulder.
“Elyse!”
The otherworldly sensation of what’s happening forces a scream from my throat. But it emerges a gargled croak.
Quinn’s heavy footsteps charge after me and my captor.
“Put her the fuck down, right fucking now, asshole!”
“Or what?” I hear a taunt from the voice that has given me nightmares for the better part of seven years.
I twist my head to see several men rushing alongside those of my captor. My heart sinks.
“Elyse! Jesus. Let go of her. I swear to God, if you hurt her—”
His words are cut off abruptly, and he grunts in pain.
My heart lurches at the sound of pounding feet. A tussle. Someone groans and curses. Then pounding feet again.
I’m tossed into the back of a van. My tailbone wails in pain as my head cracks against the side.
The last thing I see before the van door slams shut are fists flying. Quinn goes down. The van door opens and shuts. “Let’s go!”
I stare into the blackness. I want to scream again.
But I’m locked in deeper shock.
Quinn is Q.
Q is Quinn.
This has been one twisted game for both all along.
Fuck.
My.
Life.
***
QUINN
I pry my eyes open. Faces are swimming above me. Some hold concern, others rabid curiosity. Pain radiates from the side of my head, from my wrist and ribs. I know the metallic taste in my mouth is blood before I swallow. Someone mentions an ambulance. Someone takes a picture.#p#分页标题#e#
I struggle to sit up. Look around.
Memory returns in a blinding flash of cold fire.
38
CUTTING ROOM FLOOR
QUINN
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, Fuck!
39
IT’S A WRAP…OR NOT
Q is Quinn.
Quinn is Q.
My shock is wearing off.
Bitch-slapped with reality, the truth becomes glaringly obvious.
Dear God, I must be the stupidest woman on earth. Even when my brain force-fed me the information, I ignored it.
I believed myself in love with two men. Ha!
What I am is addicted to two sociopaths who are actually one person, thus ensuring I doubt my sanity for the rest of my life.
If I have a life left to live, that is.
The black cloth over my head is stifling. Even more so than the tape across my mouth. I’m not sure exactly how much time has passed. A day? Two? The gnawing hunger eating my intestines tells me it’s closer to the latter.
The whole production meant to scare the living shit out of me has so far bounced off my armor plate of shock.
The ominous footsteps. The hands tied behind my back. Feet bound. The bright light in the face one moment, then the black bag over the head again? Rinse and repeat. It’s so cliché I want to laugh. Except I suspect I’ll choke, what with the tape and all. So I plead with my brain to hold on just a little bit longer. Breathe, Elyse. Just breathe. The terror will probably return in good time, I don’t need to help it along.