his direction. He’s leisurely sitting in an overstuffed chair near the foot of the bed and is still wearing the same clothes when he took me. I glance at the window behind him and confirm it’s dark outside, just like my mood.
“Where is Quinn?” I demand to know.He closes the hardbound book he was reading then quietly places it down on the side table, all while silently regarding my outburst.
“Quinn is not your concern.”
“He is very much my concern,” I snap back.
“And why would that be, Sweetheart?” He tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on mine. “Did you get attached to him in just that short amount of time?”
I bite my tongue, not willing to answer his question. When I don’t respond, he states, “Quinn is fine.” But I’m sure he’s only saying that to placate me. I don’t believe him for a second. Quinn is anything but fine.
“I know you’re lying. If anything happens to him I will...”
“You’ll what?” he challenges with a heated glare. “You think you're in a position to threaten me?” He leans forward in the chair, his tone hard. “Have you forgotten your place that quick? Two weeks on the run, and suddenly you think you’re holding all the cards, when you left here with none?”
“What did you do with Quinn?” I ask, my tone insistent.
As he stands up and saunters his way to the side of the bed, he shakes his head in disapproval, his boots quiet against the carpeted floor. His long-sleeved, camouflaged shirt is rolled at the cuffs, and the muscle in his forearms flex with tension as he comes to loom over me.My heartbeat kicks up a notch as I shrink back into the covers. I've agitated him to the point of anger, and he’s trying to restrain himself. His ominous hostility swirls around me. He’s on the brink of exploding.
Bending at the waist, his hands come to rest on either side of me as he hovers his lips close to mine.“I said he’s fine,” he slowly growls between clenched teeth. The fact that I’m concerned with Quinn’s wellbeing is clearly pissing him off.
“You say he’s fine, but for how long?” I tentatively whisper, pushing my luck. Seemingly amused with my question, he smirks, but says nothing more. The mattress dips down as he sits beside me. “Don’t I deserve to know?”
“No, you don’t. You’ve already done your part.”
“My part?” My brows rise in surprise. “What does that even mean?” I ask, not sure what to think about his subdued vexation. This whole escapade was a setup, and I’m confused beyond words. I’m physically sick about what happened today.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, because, God, my head is spinning with questions. After Quinn discovered the tracker in my backpack, I had originally thought Connor was keeping track of me for my own safety, and then perhaps Vince found out about our secret plan and was coming after me. But none of that was the case, because the entire time, the tracker was really meant to capture Quinn, but why?
I can’t seem to wrap my head around this. “What did he ever do to you?”
“Besides him fucking my girl?” he remarks in a derisive tone. His eyes narrow and he seethes with renewed rage. Leaning into my personal space, his tone is low and guttural, “You are mine.”
“I belong to myself, you don't own me,” I hiss, “and you set me up.” I no longer care about his threatening presence as I push against his chest, forcing him to back off. “Connor, the escape plan, getting Quinn involved, it was all orchestrated to trap him. You used me, and apparently you’ve been using me for years.”
“You may think I’ve used you, but I don’t see it that way.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t,” I quip.
He half smirks at my remark. “I don’t know what happened on that trail, but your newfound feistiness is going to get you into a shitload of trouble.” He runs the back of his knuckles over my cheek, and I pull away. “Alexis,” he tries
“Where is Quinn?” I demand to know.He closes the hardbound book he was reading then quietly places it down on the side table, all while silently regarding my outburst.
“Quinn is not your concern.”
“He is very much my concern,” I snap back.
“And why would that be, Sweetheart?” He tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowing on mine. “Did you get attached to him in just that short amount of time?”
I bite my tongue, not willing to answer his question. When I don’t respond, he states, “Quinn is fine.” But I’m sure he’s only saying that to placate me. I don’t believe him for a second. Quinn is anything but fine.
“I know you’re lying. If anything happens to him I will...”
“You’ll what?” he challenges with a heated glare. “You think you're in a position to threaten me?” He leans forward in the chair, his tone hard. “Have you forgotten your place that quick? Two weeks on the run, and suddenly you think you’re holding all the cards, when you left here with none?”
“What did you do with Quinn?” I ask, my tone insistent.
As he stands up and saunters his way to the side of the bed, he shakes his head in disapproval, his boots quiet against the carpeted floor. His long-sleeved, camouflaged shirt is rolled at the cuffs, and the muscle in his forearms flex with tension as he comes to loom over me.My heartbeat kicks up a notch as I shrink back into the covers. I've agitated him to the point of anger, and he’s trying to restrain himself. His ominous hostility swirls around me. He’s on the brink of exploding.
Bending at the waist, his hands come to rest on either side of me as he hovers his lips close to mine.“I said he’s fine,” he slowly growls between clenched teeth. The fact that I’m concerned with Quinn’s wellbeing is clearly pissing him off.
“You say he’s fine, but for how long?” I tentatively whisper, pushing my luck. Seemingly amused with my question, he smirks, but says nothing more. The mattress dips down as he sits beside me. “Don’t I deserve to know?”
“No, you don’t. You’ve already done your part.”
“My part?” My brows rise in surprise. “What does that even mean?” I ask, not sure what to think about his subdued vexation. This whole escapade was a setup, and I’m confused beyond words. I’m physically sick about what happened today.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, because, God, my head is spinning with questions. After Quinn discovered the tracker in my backpack, I had originally thought Connor was keeping track of me for my own safety, and then perhaps Vince found out about our secret plan and was coming after me. But none of that was the case, because the entire time, the tracker was really meant to capture Quinn, but why?
I can’t seem to wrap my head around this. “What did he ever do to you?”
“Besides him fucking my girl?” he remarks in a derisive tone. His eyes narrow and he seethes with renewed rage. Leaning into my personal space, his tone is low and guttural, “You are mine.”
“I belong to myself, you don't own me,” I hiss, “and you set me up.” I no longer care about his threatening presence as I push against his chest, forcing him to back off. “Connor, the escape plan, getting Quinn involved, it was all orchestrated to trap him. You used me, and apparently you’ve been using me for years.”
“You may think I’ve used you, but I don’t see it that way.”
“No, of course you wouldn’t,” I quip.
He half smirks at my remark. “I don’t know what happened on that trail, but your newfound feistiness is going to get you into a shitload of trouble.” He runs the back of his knuckles over my cheek, and I pull away. “Alexis,” he tries
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