Page 41 of Wicked S.O.B.

I stop when his phone peals loudly. “Dammit! Hold that thought, my love, let me turn this thing off.” He stays on his knee, his hand gripping mine as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. His finger hovers over the power button but then he glances down. Frowns.

I’m not sure why my heart jumps into my throat when his finger moves to theANSWERbutton instead.

“You have the worst fucking timing in the world.” His voice is terse. He listens for a moment, his frown deepening by the second. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Quinn’s gaze snaps to mine, and I’m hit with a heavy dose of déjà vu. “Quinn.”

“Say that again. Slowly. Please.” Every emotion is bled from his voice, and the hand clutching the phone is white with the strength of his tension.

Almost a full minute passes before he speaks. “Yes, come up. The code hasn’t changed.” He hangs up and stares at his black screen with unseeing eyes.

When he lifts those eyes to me, I know I’m totally fucked.

“Elyse.”

“Y-yes?”

“When in the name of fucking God were you going to tell me you havea goddamn stalker?”

Chapter Ten

Elyse

Judder

No.No, no, no.

I close my eyes. I want to cry. I want to curse karma for messing with me like this. But I can’t. This is no one’s fault but mine. “Quinn, I was going to tell you.” Hollow words that sound too weak. Too late.

Whether he believes me or not doesn’t matter. I’ve waited too long. I watch a myriad of expressions chase across his face. Pain. Puzzlement. Despair. Anger. Frustration. Agonizing pain.

His phone drops from his hand, and he staggers to his feet. He starts to yank at his tie, and that’s when I notice he’s not breathing right.

I reach out for him. “Quinn?”

He stumbles back, his eyes eerily unfocused. Then he whirls away from me. “I can’t…Jesus. I can’t breathe…” The words are mumbled and thick, as if he can’t get his tongue to work. I step toward him again and then freeze as I hear a vicious rip as his tie comes apart in his hands.

“Oh God…”

He flings the torn pieces away. His jacket comes off next before both hands claw into his hair. His whole body is caught in deep shudders that strike fear into my heart.“Why?”Again the word is a rough whisper, as if he’s talking to himself. That he can’t bear to look at me.

“Please listen to me—”

The sound that tears from his throat is the kind a severely wounded animal would make. A half keen, half howl of utter desolation. I freeze in place as the sound whips into a frenzy around me before it trails off in an eerie echo.

Jesus, what have I done?

His hands link at his nape, and still without looking at me, he stumbles over to the bar at the far right corner of the living room.

After nearly drinking himself to death when I left him last year, Quinn limited his alcohol intake to the odd glass of red wine or a shot or two of his favorite Macallan whiskey. Now I watch him gulp down half a glass of whiskey before he balls his shaking fists on top of the bar counter.

I force my feet to move toward him after a minute. I need to make him understand. Somehow.

“It was just a feeling at first. I didn’t say anything because I thought I was being paranoid, after what happened last year.”

His head bows, and I watch his eyes squeeze shut.

“Well, you know what they say about paranoia, dear. If it walks up to you on the street and talks to you, then it’s probably real.”

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