Chapter 297. Rat Fight I

Chapter 297: 297. Rat Fight I

Maisie

I sighed inwardly and stole a glance at Quinlan. He had switched his suit for a gray silk shirt that looked like he had plucked it out of a woman’s closet, but on his broad, muscular frame, it only looked elegant. He left on his tailored black pants and boots, though.

He swung the wheel hard, taking a sharp hair-pin turn on two wheels and I gripped the sides of the chair hard, wondering if he was trying to get us killed.

No. He was angry, I noted as he punched a button a little harder than necessary and the windows came rolling down.

His nostrils flared like I stunk and I fought the urge to sniff under my armpits. I knew I smelled fine.

I opened my mouth to ask what his problem was, but the look he tossed me made my mouth clamp shut. The blue of his eyes were almost completely swallowed by black.

Okay. No talking, then.

I glanced ahead, but my gaze got drawn back when his fingers kept tapping impatiently on the leather. And then, I found my eyes tracing his long, aristocratic fingers and the veins standing out against the back of his hands and trailing up his thick, corded forearms.

My skin went hot as I recalled what they felt like curling inside me as they curled around the wheel again.

Row me like a wheel-a-boat-a-ship, my Lycan was singing in a horrid mimicry of a mezzo-soprano.

My temperature spiked and I shifted in my seat as fire raced to my groin. Gods, but he was only driving. I didn’t know what was happening to me. Maybe I did need that therapist more than I knew.

The tense silence settled for a few more minutes before I finally gave in and broke it.

"That woman..." I tracked off, noticing his muscles tighten even further, confirming he knew who I meant and the demon visit earlier was still messing with him. "Who was she?"

His knuckles went white on the wheel. His hand tightened until the leather creaked. "My mama," he answered, his words heavily accented.

I swallowed.

There was a line there. One I didn’t think I should breach. Since Violette had told me all about Quinlan’s mother, I had never spoken about it. Never demanded he told me about that part of his life.

If the memory brought only pain, I wouldn’t make him go back to relive it.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said without even glancing my way.

"Like what?"

"Like I’m a injured puppy you would like to shelter." He took his eyes off the road and settled them on me. "I’m big. And I’m bad. And I could rip out your throat as easily as I breathe. Think clearly about that before you pity me."

Yeah. And I’m quaking in my boots. Heels. Shoes. Whatever.

My lips pursed. "I just... I wanted you to know I didn’t write that letter."

The wheel creaked again and he returned his attention to the road again. "I figured."

He was still tense, and his words terser.

"I don’t think that way about you, either," I whispered. "I--"

I yelped as Quinlan took a sharp swerve, parking off to the side. And he killed the engine.

For a few seconds as my heart pounded, he said nothing. His eyes were an angry black as he looked ahead, but when he finally spoke, his voice carries a softness his body didn’t.

"J’taime."

I froze.

"Did you mean that when you said it to me?"

My face went cold and then hot. "I-I-" I did, but I couldn’t bring myself to say that I did.

Quinlan’s fingers tightened on the wheel. "What do you want, Maisie?"

I swallowed. "I already told you what I wanted."

"To leave?" He laughed, finding my eyes. "You smell like you want me to fuck you again. You breathe like you can already feel my hands on you. Your nipples are hard. Your thighs are pressed together. And I’m willing to bet all of my fortune that if pushed up that dress, I’d find you more than willing to ride me for the whole world to see."

My wrist snapped before I thought about it, my pride taking a hit.

Quinlan’s face jerked to the side and he laughed, tasting his tongue to the inside of his cheek, like the slap had hurt him.

When his eyes returned to me again, they were more blue than black now, though they weren’t back to normal.

"You tell me you love me," he whispered. "And then you want to leave. You kiss me. You touch me. You mark me. I am crazy about you. You know that. I’m here in this seat, and all I can think about is how good you smell and how much I want to kiss you. And hold you.

"But all you ever think about is running. How fast you can run. How far you can run." He exhaled. "It frightens me. That one moment you’re right there. And the next it’s emptiness. It was hell. By the gods, Maisie. Those months without you were worse than years in that whorehouse."

My throat closed as he reached across. Carefully. Dragging my hair behind my ear. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t want to.

"Give me this," he implored as he breached the gap with his body, his lips brushing the curve of my mouth. "Give me this. Don’t..." He exhaled slightly and his lips trembled. "Don’t abandon me again, sweetheart."

My chest was tight with a familiar ache. I shook from the force of the emotions swirling inside, looking for an out.

And when his fingers slipped behind my nape, sliding up into my hair, my eyes closed, tears falling.

I thought he might kiss me. But he turned his head at the last second and kissed my cheek instead. It was sweet, and it lingered, leaving tingles that seeped through my skin and into my head, my heart, so that even after he started the car and hit the road again, I still couldn’t think up a response.

How did one say no to that?

***

"Umm... Where are we going?"

We were downtown, where a good number of the masses lived. Those who couldn’t afford to live within the packs, despite being working members filled these parts of Ashbourne, as well a the larger population of half-breeds and humans who lived in Ashbourne.

I recognized a few of the streets, because I came here often, whenever we had to restock the Pack’s storehouse.

But then he turned down a long, lonely, deserted road and my mind ran through a good number of possibilities.

Aha! I knew it had been too easy. They were going to kidnap me and put me in chains somewhere until my head was set back on straight again--

"Have you ever been to a Rat Fight before?"

I blinked up at him. "Rat Fight?"

"Not figuratively. Think of it like a gambling den with sponsors who pay a good amount to watch wolves or anything willing tear themselves apart for sport. It’s only called a Rat Fight because most leave the cages with their entrails hanging out of them."

I couldn’t keep the appalled look off my face. "Umm.. no?"

Calmer now that he had expressed his feelings for me, he seemed to hum pleasantly as he said, "Well, you’re in luck. I’m taking you on a fun date."

I stared at him. "You think an idea of a fun date is watching people beat each other up?"

His mouth quirked up in a wicked smile. "No. I think a fun date is watching Mercer get beat up."

My heart stopped. "What?"