Burn (Brothers of Ink and Steel #2) (17 page)

Then, just as Liam begins to pull back out of reach, the second guy bursts over and grabs him from behind, securing his arms in a hold so he can’t punch or hardly even move!

“NO! STOP IT!” I scream.

I watch as the knife guy jerks up his arm and slits Liam wide across the belly.

Liam uses the guy holding him from behind as leverage, jumps up and kicks the knife guy in the gut with his boot. Then, he smashes his foot hard behind him on the thug’s instep. He turns and punches the guy so forcefully across the chin that the momentum throws him to the ground.

But then I see it. While Liam is still turning away from the guy on the ground, the guy with the knife comes up behind him fast. I can barely form the words of warning before the knife plunges into his side.

Liam howls in pain.

“LIAM!” I scream.

I think he’s going to drop, but he doesn’t, he just looks angrier, spins around and punches the guy in the crook of his elbow, causing him to drop the knife.

When Liam lifts his knee to slam it into the guy’s stomach, blood spurts from his wounds. He grips the guy’s hair, shoving his head down, and rams his knee into his face. The guy flies backwards and crumples to the street.

Both of Vince’s assholes are on the ground, Randy is run-crawling back to his house and I can hear sirens approaching.

“This isn’t over,” Vince promises as he walks over to the driver’s side of the Cadillac and tears away, leaving his gang members broken in the road.

Liam stumbles towards me. I catch him, but he’s so heavy I can barely hold him up.

“Help me to the stairs.” He indicates the neighbor’s front step. Once we’re there, he half sits, half falls. “You have to get out of here.”

“I’m not leaving you!” I cry. He’s bleeding horribly! I drop my pack and pull out a t-shirt.

I press it to the worst of the wounds—the puncture where I think the knife could have gone all the way in!

He grabs my hands. “Yes, you are.”

I shake my head and ignore him, focusing instead on the blood, his blood, that’s soaking the balled up t-shirt and now spilling over onto my hands.

I hear myself crying. I don’t know if the knife hit any major organs!
He could die from this!

His hands grip mine with urgency. “If you don’t run, Quinn …”

“Maybe St. Anne’s won’t be so bad,” I lie.

“Quinn—”

“Shut up! Just shut the hell up! I’m not leaving you!!”

“Look at me,” he says gently.

I won’t.

“Look at me, goddamnit!”

I force my eyes up to his. And I’m so fucking frightened that I’ll never see those ocean colored eyes again.

“Run. I will find you.”

I’m sobbing. I can’t leave him! How can I leave him? What if they don’t get him the help he needs?

“I can’t leave you like this,” I whisper.

“I can’t get to you if they put you in St. Anne’s. I’ll be okay. I always am. Lay low for a little while, and I promise I will find you.”

The sirens are so close. But there’s so much blood. All of his blood!

“Go!” he begs me.

I shake my head.

“NOW!” He shoves me.

I run over to where we dropped our packs when this all started and throw mine over my shoulder.

I look at him one more time, knowing it could be the last.

“Go. Hurry,” he tells me and looks so sad and stern at the same time, as if he’s trying to talk himself into staying resolute.

I know he’s right. But I hate it. We have no options.

I turn away and run, wondering if I’ll ever see him again. 

Chapter Eight

2015

Liam

As I pull the car up to my house, I see that Josh’s car is taking up half my driveway. I wish this was a coincidence, but I know the almighty hand of Cade must have moved. That saying,
Be careful what you wish for
, is brought to mind. I just wanted to fight with him. He’s going to want to talk.

After I park and turn off the engine, I sit quietly, listening to the sound of my own breathing and remembering how she was sitting here next to me just a little while ago.

Confused as fuck, I’d been torn between my own selfish wants and desires. I wanted to hurt her, to break her like she did me, wanted her to know the damage she’d done. But, then, there was the girl—no, woman—standing before me like a dream, and all I could think about was holding onto her and never letting her go again.

Of course, there’s the miserable reality that she’s dealing with, causing like ten different levels of super-premium agony.

I wonder if I fit in there at all.

I know her being so near to me with so much unresolved is like … fucked up, unfathomable cruelty.

I can’t believe I said that to her … the same words I did when we were kids.

After she was satisfied with going through her mother’s things, I dropped her back off at Cade and Debra’s. I watched as she walked up the steps, stopped and looked back once before going through the door.

That look
… it was all I could do to stay in the car. My body, my mind, my heart, still react to her like they always have.

“Want to go out for a few drinks? I know you could use one,” Ryder offered right after I dropped Quinn off.

“I just want to go to my house and try to get some sleep. I still have a fight to prepare for.”

“Right, Milano.” 

Ryder didn’t pry; the night had been excruciating enough. He took off on his bike—crazy son of a bitch. I’m thankful he was there, though, tonight, I know he has both of our backs.

Sitting in my driveway, I’m not ready to face Josh … or maybe I’m just not ready to let go of Quinn.

I think maybe, at the very least, I helped her get through the vortex she was getting sucked into tonight. Other than that, I feel like a helpless bastard hanging on a cliff from a weak, breaking branch.

My hand floats to the passenger seat of my car and rests where she sat. I know, I must be a lunatic, but she was here, just two feet away from me.

My phone bleeps with a text message.

Get the fuck outta the car. I have a 4:30 am run!

Josh.

I roll my eyes and reluctantly pull myself away from her warmth and scent.

Walking into the house, Bailey comes to greet me. Josh is sitting with his feet up on my kitchen table, drinking my beer.

“Some watchdog you make,” I scold, scratching behind Bailey’s ears.

“Oh, yeah, there is nothing like being slobbered on and furred—sort of akin to being tarred and feathered only much more—”

I’m tired. “What are you doing here? And you better have saved me a beer.”

“Of course I didn’t drink all of your beer, and you already know why I’m here.” He tips the bottle straight up.

I go to the fridge and grab one. “Which one called you?” I pop the bottle cap.

“Yeah.”

Of course. “All of them.”

“How is she?” he asks.

“She’s wrecked over her mother’s death.” I sit down at the table across from him. “But I can’t say I understand why. The woman was a frigging monster.”

“Yeah, that’s not what I meant.” He’s giving me a look like I
should
know what the fuck he meant.

“Then what?” I grumble.

“I mean, how is
she
? What’s she been doing with herself?”

I don’t say anything.

“Did you bother to ask her?”

My vision focuses in on a spot on the wall. “No, man, I didn’t fucking ask her.”

“Ah. How did I know?” Josh quips.

“Asking would have meant I wanted to know,” I tell him. “And honestly, I don’t want to know … alright!?”

I shove my chair back, stand and begin pacing the floor.

“Do you think I want to know if she’s happy?” I snap at him. “Hey, Quinn, haven’t heard a fucking word from you for ten years, so how’s life? Did you get to graduate? Bet you’re married. Bet you have two cute little kids and a house out in the country!”

I kick the chair with my boot so it takes a noisy tumble across the floor. “Bet you’re fucking happy without me! Is that what I was supposed to ask her, Josh?”

I want a fucking cigarette, and I don’t even fucking smoke anymore!

Not wanting to hear Josh’s answer, I force the front door open and stalk onto the porch.

Don’t know what good it does me. I stare into the night sky and only see her anyway.

I lean a shoulder against the porch column and take a pull off my bottle. Bailey comes out to the porch and flops his body down behind me.

“It’s obvious she’s moved on and I haven’t. Do I really need to hear her say it?” I mutter into the night when I see that Josh has followed me out.

He sits on the step.

“Man, you have no idea where she is in her life.”

“I know that what finally brought her back here
wasn’t
me.”

“I can understand how you feel that way.”

“It’s not the way I
feel
; it’s a cold hard fact,” I retaliate. “And today it was like,
poof!
She’s right there, as if I’ve been sleeping for the last ten years, woke up and it’s just like any day, and no time has passed.” This conversation sucks.

“You still feel connected.” Josh nails it.

“Completely,” I admit. “When Cade made me take her to her mom’s house … and I was near her … I knew her thoughts, I could still read her signals, and it was like I could still feel what she’s feeling ...”

“So what’s your plan?”

“Man, I got nothing.”

“Want to get shit-faced?” He sounds excited at the prospect.

I laugh a little. “No. You know I have a fight with Milano coming up.”

“You want to go open up the gym and spar?” he asks. “I mean, it’s only one in the morning.”

“Shut up, Josh.” I shake my head.

“Fine. What’s on your schedule tomorrow?”

“I’m tattooing a full sleeve all morning,” I tell him. “And I have training in the afternoon.”

“I have a thought …”

“Of course you do.”

“I’ll get a call in to Quinn, and if she’s up to it, I’ll take the two of you out to that new Japanese restaurant. They make some amazing yakitori, and I can be a buffer between the two of you. She’d probably appreciate the distraction with everything going on.”

“Yeah, cause you and
buffer
go together synonymously,” I quip sarcastically. “Maybe you should take her to lunch with Ryder. He seems excited to be with her.”

“He was just overcompensating,” Josh says, excusing him.

How should I answer? Dinner at North House with everyone isn’t the same as going out with just her and Josh.

“Dude, forgiveness is tough, but not impossible,” Josh says.

I want to bite back and say,
Easy for you to say
, but it’s not easy for Josh. I know him and pain and forgiveness had a very fragile relationship not too many years back. But still, I don’t know if I can do it.

“She didn’t leave because she wanted to, man,” he reminds me. “She was dying.”

I close my eyes against the agony of memories that threaten to overwhelm me. “Okay. I’ll do lunch if she does. Happy? I’m going to bed.”

Bailey follows me upstairs and lies on the floor beside my bed. I lay with my hands folded behind my head, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling.

Another hour passes, and sleep is a thousand miles away.

I can’t take any more!
I’ve got to get her out of my head!

Jumping up, I trip over Bailey on my way to the bathroom and get dressed in layers for an ice-cold February Minnesota run.

I check my watch. Three a.m.

I sneak out quietly so I don’t wake Josh, who’s crashing on my couch. Outside, I put in my earbuds and put my iPod on shuffle, hoping to drown out every thought till my head is clear. Theory of a Deadman’s “Hurricane” pulses through the buds, and I run. Whether it’s away from her or towards myself, I can’t tell.

The late night-early morning air circulates through my lungs, and the freezing ache is comforting.

And as hard as I try to hold onto my pain and anger towards Quinn, Josh’s words about Quinn dying before she left hit me square between the eyes. If I had been fully honest with her, would I have spared us both a decade of misery? Would it have made a difference?

Could it have helped her?

The guilt and shame I feel is saturating my psyche. Isn’t that why I put all the blame on Quinn?

I’m still not sure if it would have brought us to the other side if I’d told her.

And what about now, douchebag?
I ask myself.

I don’t know about now. All I know is that I feel everything so sharply. It’s all so all-encompassing, like arrows of each emotion being driven through my body. Anger, fear, hate, shame, guilt, pain … and love.

So much love.

Love that has never faded or died.

I do a once around the lake and decide to drive to The Core. Maybe throwing punches, like Josh suggested earlier, would be better than running.

I let myself in the back door and into the private therapy room, which has equipment and a kitchen area. Sometimes we come in here when a kid is really troubled—one-on-one—work it out, cool down and make a protein shake and talk. These walls have heard a lot of stories.

Might as well add my own.

I blast Nine Inch Nails on the docking station and pound the living shit out of the bag.

“This is what I do, right?” I say to myself. “I fight. I fight for what I want, what I can’t have, what I don’t have.”

I fight my past and I fight against my future—a future without Quinn.

Time will get you over her,
they said.

You’ll fall in love again when you’re ready,
they said.

They
were all wrong.

Only Cade said the thing that kept me going,
Focus on you and make yourself healthy.

I’ve done that. For years. Now what?

Now this!

She’s all around me now. No more imagination buffer, no more saving grace, just send in the tsunami and break the levee because I’m going down!

She’s so painfully beautiful.

Sweat drips from my head down my nose and chin as I pound the bag, trying to relieve the building combustion inside of me. I feel the sweat roll down the center of my back, soaking my shirt. But I can’t … hit … the bag … hard enough to satisfy the anger!

The rage fills me, encompasses me, but it won’t come out, won’t release me, won’t let me go.
It will never let me go.

Fuck this!
I use my teeth to rip at the Velcro straps that tether the gloves to my hands, protecting them. I don’t want protection! I want the pain.

I spit the gloves to the floor and hammer the leather until I feel the familiar swell and break of the skin around my knuckles. I’m so fucking grateful for the crimson climbing my forearm.

I blame Talon.
It’s a sign.

Dreams suck! They’re not premonitions or a picture of something better yet to come, they’re psychological tortures that come when you’re sleeping and defenseless!
You’ve somehow managed to shut me up and put me down throughout the day, while you did all the shit you did to distract yourself, but now you’re all mine, asshole, and oh, how I’m gonna fuck with you!!

“Liam …”

What the fuck?!
I whip around. The air rolls tumultuously through my lungs, making my chest heave
. Quinn??

“What the hell are you doing here? It’s fucking four thirty in the morning!” I bark at her.

Her eyes travel down to her boots—like she’s scared … or ashamed, maybe. Maybe I’m reading into it.

Stop looking at her!
I shout inside of myself and turn my attention back to the bag.

You’re my everything, Liam.

Lie!

“I was hoping I’d find you here.” Her voice is small and quiet against the buzzing fury in my ears.

“Yeah, well here I am,” I snarl.

I’m nothing without you, Quinn.

True!

“I thought … maybe … we could talk,” she says.

“I’ve got nothing to fucking say.” It’s official, I’m an asshole.