Page 142 of Quinlan

No more waiting. Done with watching. I’m ready with my fingers hooked to the top of the covers. I’m careful not to brush them on Quinlan’s skin. Not to wake her.

Only when I’m down there, kissing her, licking her, does she get to wake up. When she’s already needy, willing to agree to anything for me.

Our Quinlan would do that. She’d be such a good girl. She’ll come apart for me. Will come on my mouth. Will tell me she’ll stay.

“Help.”

I blink. Once. Twice. My dirty thoughts are gone as I stare down at her face. At hersleepingface.

Help.

Did she really say that? Or was it my imagination?

Tension settles in my bones. It’s uncomfortable, how I’m sent back in time. I wish I could reach out and grab my Zippo. Wish I could shed some light, flick it open a shut. Just until the panic settles.

Quinlan’s presence can’t comfort me when she’s in pain. When she’s like this, brow furrowed, eyes pinched, I’m anything but calm.

My fingers freeze on the covers. My free hand, the one I lean on, remains at my side. I could use it. Could grab the Zippo.

Except I can’t.

Help.

It might as well be on another planet. Panic rises in my chest, and I’m alone. With her and yet so fucking alone.

Minutes pass. They stretch out for an eternity as I wait, listening for anything that might come out of Quinlan’s mouth. A sign that I wasn’t imagining it. That this tightness in my throat isn’t for nothing.

What I get is silence.

I slam my eyes shut. Listen to theflickandsnapsounds in my head over and over until air pushes itself into my lungs.

When I open them, Quinlan’s lips are parted. She’s quiet, though. She doesn’t scream for help. There’s no way she feels caged in our penthouse. No way it haunts her in her dreams.

An hour. She couldn’t have been here longer than that. She had to have fallen asleep not too long after I ended the call.

Whoever gagged her—probably Damien—loved her. Teased her. Caressed and kissed her.

It was all part of a game.

Had to be.

“Help.” The pleading is urgent. “Help, please.”

Red, hot flames lick at my chest, curling up my neck. They’re a searing touch on my scar. A gasoline doused my psyche, about to catch fire.

It’ll destroy me.

Quinlan’s breaths quicken, or maybe it’s mine.

Quinlan’s mouth twists in horror. Her lips part wider.

I know what comes next. I fucking know.

“Help us!” Her scream is an explosion. It’s fire closing in on me. I’m hot everywhere. Burning up. “Mommy, where are you? Daddy! Help him! Help Blake, I can’t reach him!”

Her baby brother.

This isn’t about you, my subconscious urges. Tears streak her cheeks, and she isn’t crying for me. I’m not the one who’s hurting. Her brother is. In her nightmare, he’s drowning all over again.

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