Page 81 of Princes of Carnage

“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice sounds… far away. Like she’s not really focused. “I just—I need a minute.”

She doesn’t take her eyes away from the flashing light for another few seconds, but then all at once, she rips her gaze away and starts walking. Not across the street, but down the block, turning a corner and disappearing into an alley.

I frown after her, my shoulders tensed. I’m not sure what’s happening here, what caused this reaction, but I don’t like it at all. Her energy has been agitated lately, but this is something completely different.

I follow her, and as I step into the alley, I see her crouched on the ground, her hands over her head, tucked into a little ball.

Her back rises and falls rapidly, and I can tell from the way her breathing sounds that she’s close to hyperventilating. Her harsh breaths echo around us in the alley, and I stride closer, realizing what’s going on.

She’s in the beginnings of a panic attack.

Something about the light or the place caused this, and it makes irritation flare up in me that I don’t know what it is. I’ve been following her for months and she’s never done anything like this before.

But that doesn’t matter right now. Right now, all that matters is that I take care of her. Get her somewhere safe and more comfortable than an alley to ride this out.

I walk over to her and touch her back, not moving away when she flinches hard. Her gray eyes are wild as she turns and sees me, and she lifts her hands, almost like she’s about to fend off an attack.

I hold up one hand in a gesture of peace, giving her a second or two to digest that, then I scoop her up from the ground like she weighs nothing.

“No!” she rasps, struggling in my hold. “Put me down. I don’t—”

Her struggles aren’t strong enough to break free, so I cradle her against my chest and carry her out of the alley.

Either she realizes that I’m not a threat to her, or she doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore, because she goes still. I can still feel the light tremors wracking her body and the way her breathing is shallow and uneven.

We make it to my bike without any interference, and I put her on the front, turning her so that we’re chest to chest. I take her arms and wrap them around my body, and she catches on quickly, wrapping her legs around me as well.

I stroke one hand down her back before putting my focus on getting us out of here.

Luckily, we’re less than twenty minutes from Quinn’s house, and as soon as we reach it, I get her inside quickly. If any of the neighbors see me carrying her up the walkway in the fading evening light, they don’t come out to say shit about it, which I’m grateful for.

I take her upstairs, hesitating at the top of the steps because I’m not sure what she needs.

Quinn is still shaking, still struggling to breathe properly, but she manages to gulp down enough air to speak to me.

“A bath,” she chokes out. “I want—just run a bath, and then go.”

It’s easier when I have a direction, and I take her to the bathroom, settling her on the counter so I can do as she asked.

Her tub is an old one, large and spacious, and it takes several minutes for it to fill with steaming hot water. The air gets humid around us, and Quinn hunches over on the counter, her shoulders shaking as her hair curls lightly in the steam.

Once the bath is full, I get her down from the counter and help her undress. Her hands bat at mine as if she doesn’t want my help, but she doesn’t make any move to take her own clothes off, so I keep going. I tap one leg and then the other, urging her to step out of her jeans and panties, and then to lift her arms so her shirt and bra can come off.

She’s fucking beautiful, naked in the overhead light. Her tattoos and scars are on full display, all that teal hair falling around her shoulders. Even hunched over in the middle of a panic attack, she’s still the brightest thing in the room, but I don’t let myself get wrapped up in that.

Not right now.

I lift her up again and settle her in the tub, stepping back to make sure she’s not going to drown or anything. She wraps her arms around herself, shaking hard as if she’s cold, even though the water is warm enough that it’s turning her skin pink.

Something deep inside me aches at the sight. I can’t just leave her like this.

Without thinking too hard about it, I toe off my shoes and socks and then get in the tub with her, folding myself in behind her, still fully clothed.

“What are you doing?” she whispers, her voice low and unsteady.

In answer, I wrap my arms around her, enveloping her against my chest.

I half expect her to fight me all over again, to tell me to fuck off and get out so she can ride this out in private. But instead, she sinks into my embrace, finally letting herself cry.

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