Page 6 of The Unforgiven
“Splendid,” Jude snarled. “Can’t wait.”
“Jude!” Sylvia cried. “What is wrong with you today?”
“Nothing.” Jude pushed his chair back with a vicious scrape and got up from the table. “I’m going out.” He turned so suddenly that his kaffiyeh moved aside, revealing purpling bruises on his neck. He quickly adjusted the scarf and fled the room without saying goodbye. Neither Sylvia nor Logan seemed to notice the bruises and carried on as if nothing had happened.
“Well, I think it’s time for pudding. What do you say, Emma? What’s your favorite?” Sylvia asked as she began clearing the dishes.
“I like ice cream.”
“And a lucky thing it is too, because I got ice cream in three different flavors and a sticky toffee pudding as well. Do you like that?”
“Not really. I’d like some ice cream, please,” Emma replied, remembering to be polite.
“Ice cream it is then. Coffee, anyone?” Sylvia asked, looking around the table.
“Tea for me,” Colin replied.
“Me as well,” Quinn added. She liked coffee, but now that she was pregnant, the bitterness gave her terrible indigestion and the caffeine made her jittery. The tea had caffeine as well, of course, but for some reason didn’t have the same effect.
Sylvia bustled off to the kitchen with Logan on her heels, and Colin joined them. Quinn turned to look at Gabe over Emma’s head, but he shook his head.
“Later,” he mouthed.
It wasn’t until Emma was safely tucked into bed that Quinn and Gabe finally got a chance to discuss the evening. “Well, that was a bit awkward, wouldn’t you say?” she asked him.
“Logan is a great bloke, and I’ve always liked Colin,” Gabe replied, leaving it at that.
“So what did you think of Sylvia now that you’ve met her in person?”
Gabe shrugged eloquently. “I don’t know, Quinn. It’s hard for me to trust her, given what I know. I will take my cues from you when it comes to her.”
“Fair enough. And Jude? Did you see those bruises?”
“Quinn, don’t get involved. Sylvia won’t appreciate it.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Jude is clearly a drug user. He kept pulling down his sleeves to hide the track marks on his forearms.”
“And the bruises on his neck? Do you think he’s been in a fight?” Quinn asked.
Gabe shook his head, an expression of pure skepticism on his handsome face. “No, darling. The bruises encircled his neck and were too even to be caused by someone grabbing him by the neck. I think they were left by a leather belt.”
“What? Why? Like a dog collar?”
“Maybe. Or more likely erotic asphyxiation. I’ve seen those types of bruises before. My roommate at uni was very fond of hanging himself off anything that would hold his weight. He said the orgasms were so powerful you could never go back to straight sex.”
“Oh, dear,” Quinn replied, shocked. “Whatever happened to him? Have I ever met him?”
“He died when he was nineteen. Took it too far one day and asphyxiated himself. I found him hanging off the back of the door, purple-faced, eyes popping out of his head, prick still in hand. Apparently, hanging gives one a massive erection, or so the police surgeon said.”
“God. How old were you?”
“Eighteen. It was horrible. I couldn’t sleep for weeks. Kept seeing his face. I might have saved him had I come back to our room sooner, but I went to the library and was late getting back.”
“It wasn’t your fault, Gabe.”
“No, it wasn’t, but I still felt responsible somehow.”
