Something Like Redemption (Something Like Normal #2) (35 page)

And Quinn’s.

And to avenge Hank.

Fuck!

Justin is a psychopath, and the saddest part is—I created him.

Justin could just shoot me, my father and Phil, and still get the reward by reporting it to the cops, saying he stumbled across us. But where’s the fun in that? He knows the forever torment I will suffer, being put on trial and found guilty for my past, and in turn, watching the people I love suffer with me. That prospect is far worse than being dead. Watching the hurt and regret pass over Tristan, Tabitha, and Quinn’s faces when I’m deemed a criminal would kill me. I would much rather be dead than hurt them that way.

And Justin knows that.

Killing me would be too easy. Living with regret is the hard part.

The same applies to my father and Phil.

Once the police start digging around, they’ll discover just who Phil is, and I have no doubt Phil will take my dad down with him, tying him to Hank’s murder.

There is no loyalty.

There is only self-preservation.

And drugs.

And money.

And greed.

“On that note, I better get you nice and docile for when your father arrives.” He rears forward, punching me in the guts.

A gush of wind leaves my lungs and I gag, unable to breathe. But Justin doesn’t stop. He stands to his full, dominating height and sucker punches me in the ribs. I grunt, my body slumping forward, the pain radiating to my toes.

But I don’t scream. I remind myself that I deserve this.

“Scream!” Justin roars as he punches me in nose.

My head snaps back with a sickening thud and I can feel hot blood,
my
blood, dripping down my face, over my chin, to dribble onto my jeans.

But still, I don’t scream.

As Justin slaps my bloodied cheeks over and over again, my left eye closes over, and I wish unconsciousness to overtake me.

Sadly, it doesn’t.

It’s only when I feel the soiled t-shirt being torn from my body, and my bra ripped from my shoulders, my breasts roughly palmed, and my jeans being yanked down my thighs, do I scream.

It’s a pathetic scream, but a scream nonetheless.

“Oh, so the fact I’m going to fuck you is the only thing you’re afraid of?” Justin snarls.

My vision is blurry and clouded by my matted, loose hair, but there’s nothing wrong with my hearing as I listen to the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle being unclasped, and a zipper being unfastened.

“I’m sure you had no problems spreading your legs for that cocky motherfucker!” he yells, his voice shredding my eardrums. “I thought I could sever the morbid obsession you have with one another, as
he
has been a thorn in my side since the very beginning… a problem which I thought would be easily disposable, because how could you love him, and not me?”

“You flirted with me to get what you wanted, and I nearly believed you because love is really fucking blind! But that night, it was
my
name you should have been screaming, not his! And that night, I knew it was the beginning of the end for you both, because that asshole would die for you, and you will never give him up!”

His words slap me across the cheek, because the truth of what he says makes me ache for Quinn.

“I’ve earned your sweet little pussy after you’ve flaunted it my way all these years!” Justin spits as his pants hit the floor with a nauseating thud.

His heavy breath whips at my cheeks, and I can smell his desperation as he violently pinches my nipples, laughing when I attempt to pull back from his assault.

My entire body feels like a raggedy doll. I’m all floppy and have no control of my frame, but I tell myself to focus, because in about five seconds, Justin is going to make good on his word as he skulks behind me.

My limp head is yanked backward by my hair, and Justin’s huge arousal pushes into my cheek. I’m hoping he takes off my gag and forces that disgusting thing near me, because if he does, I will happily bite it off so he can never hurt another person with it ever again.

Stunned tears however, slip from my eyes, as he reaches over my shoulder, tearing my panties in half. His desperate fingers suddenly push into me with such brute force, I scream out in pain. And more tears fall as I realize, he’s going to take the only thing that’s mine. The only thing I could offer Quinn that is pure and untouched, unlike the rest of me.

“You think you belong to that fucker, Quinn? Well, I’ll show you who you really belong to,” Justin heavily breathes, inches from my ear, and I close my eye, unable to watch as he brutally takes away my humanity.

However, a loud sound of something being thrown into the wall and sliding onto the floor with an ear-splitting thud has me shakily opening up my good eye to see what’s going on.

All my questions are answered when I fuzzily see… him.

As his heavy boots pace onto the wooden floor, murderously calm, I know it’s Quinn. I don’t know how he found me, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m just so happy he’s here.

What happens next however, occurs in slow motion, and although I’m seeing it, I don’t believe it.

Justin is a pathetic, crumbled pile of moaning, barely-clothed flesh, slumped onto the floor where he fell after Quinn threw him like a ragdoll across the room. He attempts to sit up, while groggily rubbing the back of his head, but Quinn stalks over to him, yanking him up by the collar of his ripped t-shirt.

Justin tries to fight him off, but Quinn is a vision of pure wrath as he smashes Justin up against the wall, once, then twice, pushing Justin’s breath out of his lungs in pained exhalations.

The fact that Justin is still breathing engages Quinn, so he lifts Justin’s feet off the ground, his hands still fisted in his shirt collar, and headbutts him, breaking his nose.

I flinch at the sound, but Quinn doesn’t stop, nor does he speak, which is scarier than watching him beat Justin with his punishing fists as Justin slumps to the floor, moaning, attempting to curl into a ball to protect himself from Quinn’s rage. But Quinn drops to one knee, and repeatedly punches Justin, connecting with any and every part of his body, until Justin is a bloodied, unconscious mess on the floor.

Quinn never gave Justin a chance to fight back, and like me, minutes ago, I bet he was wishing for unconsciousness to overtake him. The fight lasts for no more than a minute, but I will remember the sound of each brutal strike for as long as I live.

With one final kick to the guts, Quinn let’s out an animalist yell, and slowly turns to face me, his fists dripping in blood and gore.

I wish I wasn’t so naked, because as Quinn scans down my body, his face contorts in pure pain. I know what I must look like, and I close my eye, his pain hurting me more than the physical abuse my body sustained.

He’s across the room in three steps, dropping to both knees in front of me. The first thing that overwhelms me is his signature scent. Under the wrath, and blood, and fear, I can smell him. I can smell home.

Opening up my good eye, I hazily see him covering his face with his palms, his shoulders shuddering in rage. I want to comfort him, but I can’t because I’m still tied. So I just sit and allow him to grieve, because after this, we will never be the same.

After a few moments, Quinn raises his pained eyes, his long hair sticking to his bloodied cheeks, and to me, he looks like a warrior. My Prince Charming, who slayed the dragon.

“Oh God, Red,” Quinn groans, his voice wavering, his eyes filled with unshed tears.

He reaches for the gag in my mouth, untying it softly, not wanting to tear my matted hair out, and throws it to the floor.

Wincing as I move my jaw from side to side, hoping to soothe my sore facial muscles that hurt like a bitch… but the pain is welcome as I’m grateful to have the stupid gag out of my mouth.

Quinn slowly reaches behind him and pulls out a knife from the small of his back. He begins carefully cutting through the ties that bind my injured wrists. As soon as the pressure releases, a sigh passes through my cracked lips. Quinn’s warm hands rub my numb fingers, attempting to get the circulation flowing through my cold digits.

“My feet,” I croak, my throat hoarse and sore, my arms hanging limply by my sides.

I can’t stand to be bound for a second longer.

Quinn nods, his beautiful eyes searching my battered face, a tear sliding down his cheek. He quickly wipes it away with the back of his hand and goes to work, cutting through the rope at my feet, massaging my calves as the rope slips free.

The moment I am unbound, I slump forward with a sigh of relief. Quinn catches me. He slips off his black sweater and bundles me into it. He does all this while still on his knees before me, and I don’t miss the gesture behind it.

“Forgive me, Mia,” he cries softly, his face twisting in pain.

That’s the first time he has ever used my name. I like it.

Shaking my head and not accepting his apology, as he has nothing to be sorry for, I realize I really want to stand, but I don’t think I can, as my insides are screaming in protest just by breathing.

“I. Can’t... walk. Need help,” I choke out, struggling to lift myself off the chair, but my legs feel like spaghetti.

Quinn wraps his hands around my waist, slowly helping me up and he makes a pained face as I cringe, because my ribs feel battered and bruised.

“I’m so sorry,” he says as I steady my hands on his shoulders for support, thankful my legs don’t give out.

“Not, your… fault,” I whisper brokenly while pulling up my jeans. “Let’s go. Dad… coming,” I say, each word stinging my diaphragm.

“Your dad?” Quinn asks as I lean onto him, insisting I walk.

I nod, biting my lip in pain as I take my first baby steps, my feet stinging with pins and needles.

“How?” Quinn asks, steadying me when I almost fall.

Gesturing with my chin toward a moaning Justin, who is slowly waking up, I reply croakily, “He was working with my dad and police,” I mumble and whimper when my feet give out.

Quinn catches me, supporting me up against his warm body, and I groan softly, the contact warming my broken soul.

“Was going to turn me over to police for money, and revenge.”

I know I’m making no sense, but I’m starting to feel faint, and I’m pretty sure I’m on the cusp of passing out.

I stumble, as Quinn has frozen beside me.

“He sold you out? For money?” Quinn asks, lightly running a hand down my cheek as he turns me to face him.

Trying not to mewl at the contact, I nod, and my head feels like a bobblehead toy.

“Motherfucker,” he snarls, and without warning, he gently places me onto the mattress and walks over to a moaning Justin.

My eye widens as I watch Quinn kick Justin over so he’s lying on his back, helpless and afraid. I internally celebrate when I see the damage Quinn inflicted on him as he moans and splutters up bloodied spittle. But that celebration turns to shock as Quinn reaches for the knife in the waistband of his torn jeans, his face reflecting nothing but raw loathing. Flipping it over once, he drops to one knee and plunges the knife upward, straight into Justin’s side.

The astonished breath catches in my chest, as I’m pretty certain Quinn just stabbed through Justin’s ribcage, puncturing a kidney or lung.

The pool of blood seeps through Justin’s shirt, staining the white material a bright red as Quinn yanks out the knife, which makes a sickening, sucking sound. Justin gurgles from the pain, while his broken body writhes from side to side as he blindly reaches for his torso, attempting to put pressure on the gash.

My eye zeroes in on his wound, because unattended, Justin will die. But that was Quinn’s intention. He rises to his full, towering height, and I am mute. I can’t scream because I’m pretty certain I’m about to slip into shock.

“C’mon, Red,” Quinn says, leaning down, wrapping his bloodied hands under my knees and lifting me into his chest.

Wrapping my thankful, shaky arms around his neck, Quinn carries me away from the horror.

He kicks open the door, and the brightly shining moon is our only light. The trek through the forest is long, but I don’t mind, as I’m in the arms of my savior. Quinn leads us to an old, beat-up Dodge, and opens the door for me, placing me along the bench seat, softly rearranging his sweater so I am covered.

My open eye closes as soon as my head rests on the leather seat.

The engine roars to life and Quinn reverses out slowly.

“Sorry, Red,” he tenderly apologizes when I hiss in pain as he drives over a bump.

He brushes the hair off my sticky brow, and I cry out when he passes over my temple, which is caked in coagulated blood.

“Fuck, I’ve got to take you to the hospital,” he says, his fingers passing alongside my closed over eye.

Curling myself into a ball, I groan, shaking my head. “No, Quinn,” I choke out, shuffling toward him. “You look after me. No one… but you. Promise.”

Warm fingers barely stroke my cheek, but I sigh, comforted by his tender touch.

“Okay, I promise,” Quinn whispers. It’s all I need to hear, because with that, I slip into a black abyss, and stay there for days.

Chapter 30

Dreaming in Color

I know I’m not awake, but I’m also not asleep. I’m just here and there, floating in and out of consciousness.

But it’s better this way, as every time I come to, my body aches, and it’s better to not have to deal with the pain—just yet.

I know when I do, nothing will ever be the same.

***

I never knew you could float amongst the clouds. But here I am, doing just that.

I jump from cloud to cloud, laughing, because the texture feels like marshmallows between my toes. I know I’m dreaming, unless I’m dead? But I doubt Quinn would let me go.