Page 64 of Body Lock

I should've expected that he would have one of those messages that hooked you in, made you think you got them on the line, only to find out you've been talking to no one.

With all the anger and emotions flowing like a hot spring, I still let out a laugh.

I had to admit, it was funny, he got me.

Quinn was made of steel, muscles as solid as concrete. The ink sheathed his skin, masking his internal pain with physical displays of art. Each layer a prowess of what he lived through, cresting his chest with strength.

I wish he didn't run off like that.

For a man who seemed to fear nothing, he feared facing me after leaving that room.

He didn't just seem pissed off or angry, he refused to even glance in my direction. His eyes bore a hole through the bar when he left, and not once had his eyes been off me for more than a quick blink all night.

I could feel him undressing me with his deep browns since he had walked through that door. I loved how it felt when he looked at me that way, like I was the most beautiful woman in the room. It made my stomach twirl, heart race, and my pussy call for him.

Tucking my phone away from the rain that had turned into a dusting mist, the air nestled with droplets just thick enough to dampen everything like a muggy summer's day.

Biting my lower lip, I tried to think hard about where he could have gone, I didn't know where his apartment was. Quinn mentioned it wasn't in the best part of town, but it wasn't like I lived in a classy high-rise, with a doorman and concierge.

We lived in a rundown apartment, where blood spilled in the basement, and men lost everything just to watch.

Suddenly it hit me, my arm flying out over my head. “Taxi!” I yelled, flailing my arm wildly into the street.

The rain had started to pick back up as I ducked into the back of the car. “Where to, young lady?” The driver asked, pressing large square glasses up the bridge of his nose. A bright red and yellow sweater fit snugly around his shoulders, and if this had been any other day, I would have asked him where he got that shirt. It would have won the ugly sweater contest at Christmas time.

“I need to go to East Sixty-Third and Second street.” Pressing myself into the seat, my head fell back, watching the street lights through the rear window.

There was only one place I could think of he might go when he was upset, it was a gamble but I had no options.

The youth center was my only hope.

---