Page 48 of Wicked S.O.B.

I rush past the two guys who’re peering into classrooms. The woman spots me and her eyes widen. “Mr. Blackwood—”

“She’s in there!” I point to the bathroom as I launch my body at the door. It doesn’t budge. “Fuck!Elyse!”

There’s no sound from inside. I step back and aim my booted foot at the top of the door handle. The pain barely registers, but the door gives way a little. Another vicious kick and it splinters away from the lock.

I hear a whimper and a scuffle from a closed cubicle, and my heart stops. “Elyse!”

The cubicle door is far easier to kick in, or I’m probably just that much more out of my head for the pain to register. I shove aside the shattered wood and see the mountain in front of me, with his beefy hands around her neck.

“You killed him, you fucking bitch! You killed my brother. Now I’m going to kill you,” he growls.

I’m don’t recall what happens next. All I know is, by the time I’m dragged away, by the time I have Elyse’s warm body in my arms again, my fists are raw and the front of my shirt is covered in blood.

Chapter Eleven

Lucky/Q

You killed my brother…

The words blaze across my mind through the trip to the hospital and the medical exams and police reports. I remember it every time I swallow and my bruised throat protests at my near-strangulation at Deacon Matthews’s hands.

Turns out Deacon was in prison for assault and battery when I shot and killed his younger brother, Ridge, in self-defense last year. The moment Deacon was released a month ago, he came after me. His re-arrest for violation of his parole meant he was back in prison before nightfall on Monday, even before fresh charges for his assault on me were brought.

But a week after the incident, I still can’t get the words out of my head. I can’t shake the melancholy weighing me down. I knew taking a life would be a burden I’d have to live with the rest of my life, but I didn’t think it would become this recurring nightmare.

Quinn is worried out of his mind. He called a board meeting first thing on Tuesday and temporarily handed over the reins of Blackwood Estates to his vice president, after which there was a press release announcing he was taking a leave of absence.

He never stopped to regroup after all the shit that happened with his father and stepmother and me last year. And with every adversity that’s been piled on us since then, we’re both at the breaking point. I understand his need to take a step back from it all. And although that means I’ve become his sole project, I can’t even summon the enthusiasm to find out whether I’m pleased or worried about it.

Jets of hot water stream over me as I stand, head bowed, in the shower. I have no idea what day or time it is. I know I’m healing because the bruises around my throat have faded. Beyond that, nothing much registers.

The door opens behind me, and I hear Quinn enter. The sound of a bottle opening precedes the slide of gel-filled hands over my body. My nipples pucker, and heat flows through my body, but the heavy weight in my head stops me from moving, from enjoying his touch.

“Elyse.” His voice is low and deep. I still love the sound of it enough to close my eyes and absorb it.

“Hmm?”

His arms slide around me, pulling me against him. “Sweetheart, are you all right?”

I nod woodenly.

“Please look at me when you say that.”

I attempt to lift my head, but I give up and shake it instead.

He doesn’t say a word. In silence, he finishes washing me and then dries me off. When we leave the shower, he drapes a bathrobe over me before he throws one on himself. I faintly register that as not normal. Hell, I didn’t even know we owned bathrobes.

When we walk into the bedroom, I know why.

Three members of the concierge staff are moving briskly between our dressing rooms and the bedroom, piling clothes and accessories into suitcases.

“What…what’s going on?”

He links our fingers and brings them up to his mouth. His lips graze my knuckles as he stares at me. “We’ve both had enough of New York for a while, I think. So pick a destination. Anywhere in the world and I’ll take us there.”

I look from his pleading, captivating face to the organized chaos around us. I think of all the places I dreamed of visiting a million years ago. I can’t summon even one. I shake my head. “I can’t…”

“It’s okay. I’ve got this. I’ve gotus.” The way he stresses the last word makes my heart jump a little, but I’m still lost in my head when he leads us out of the bedroom. There are two more staff members going through the apartment gathering stuff. We wander to the living room, where one of the catering staff is setting out a tray of what looks like a Spanish tapas meal. I look out the window and notice the sun’s setting.

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