Q

I rip the voice distorter and the connecting earpiece from my face and crush the delicate tech in my fist. One piece of it breaks through my skin, but the pain doesn’t register. It’s buried far too deep beneath the Everest of deadly rage.

Striding to the trashcan next to my desk, I open my hand and let the fragments fall. Turning my hand over, I see three bright spots of blood dotting one finger. I rub at it with my thumb, smear it across my palm. All too soon the capillaries close up, my body’s natural defenses rushing to seal the wound. Regret flickers like a heartbeat on a monitor before it flatlines. My gaze traces up my bare arm to the almost invisible scar on my inner elbow.

The doctors did a fine job. But they were instructed on pain of death to leave no evidence. Not even for me to find.

But at times like this I don’t need a visual aid to feel the scar. It pulsates with a life force of its own, an open invitation to lose myself. To surrender to permanent darkness.

I reject the invitation, close my fist and lay it on my desk. The other hand falls flat beside it. The strains of “Vissi d’Arte” fill my head. I count the sequences off one by one. Over and over.

Sweat pebbles my skin, drips down my face and neck and onto my bare torso as I count, my finger tapping faster and faster. But the dull roar in my head doesn’t abate.

It started the moment I saw her wrist. That blemish, there on her skin, was nearly my undoing.

My true undoing came the moment I touched her. That flame, searing and illuminating …hurt. It awakened. And alarmed.

Enough for me to contemplate giving in to the compulsion to end it all tonight, now. It writhes through me like a coiled snake, striking, ripping poisoned holes through me I make no attempt to staunch.

The temptation is overpowering.

But this isn’t how it ends.

I can’t let him get away with it.

I drop, drained, into my chair and stare into the gloom. In the near darkness my gaze finds her picture on my desk.

Mama.

Smiling. Always smiling. Trusting. So trusting.

I take a breath and it moves through me like a rejuvenating tide. Or as close to one as a soul existing in a vacuum can experience.

Except I didn’t feel that way this afternoon with Elly. Not when she stared at me with defiance and surrender. Or when she begged me to draw her deeper into my obsidian web. The vacuum shifted then, attempted to make room for fuck knows what.

I don’t want her soul. I have no use for her heart. Or her feelings.

But her body is mine.

And she dared to withstand it being, hurt…marred. To brush it off as nothing, the skin I’ve touched, the skin wrapped around the body that will bring an orchestral ending to a decade-long plan?

I surge to my feet, once again fully enveloped in my most comfortable suit of moral bankruptcy and scalpel-sharp focus.

No, not quite scalpel-sharp. That edge was dulled today courtesy of bottomless green eyes and a plump, quivering mouth that just begged to be fucked.

I thought my focus was back. But the conversation ten minutes ago…

The poison is acid-sharp, eating at my control.

I need something specific. Something to take my mind off Lucky. And Elly.

XYNYC is shut on Wednesday nights. I think about the Punishment Club, the underground club Axel opened five years ago. It’s most likely where I’ll find what I need, but I don’t think it’s a good idea tonight. For one thing, I don’t want to spend time hunting my prey. If I choose wrong, my state of mind will get worse.

For another, the Punishment Club is in Hell’s Kitchen, a defiant three blocks from the loft where I stashed Lucky. Letting myself into her space and bringing everything to an end isn’t a scenario I’ve mastered ruling out.

With my immediate respites out of the question, I reach for my phone.

Adriana Nathanson answers with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Your office. One hour.”

“Quinn? It’s…ten o’clock at night.”

“That early, huh? Make it half an hour then.” I hang up, stride through the apartment to my bedroom and pull on a black tee on top of my black chinos. A battered leather jacket to keep out the chill and a quick detour to the bathroom to throw water on my face and clean the blood from my palm before I head out. I activate the valet app on my phone and my DB9 is waiting for me by the time I exit my building.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Blackwood.”

I hand the valet boy a fifty and slide behind the wheel. Traffic is thankfully light and I reach Adriana’s office with five minutes to spare.

She must have alerted her office security because I’m escorted up to her office and let in by a security guard. I pace until the click of heels sends me to the door of her office.

She sees me and stops in the middle of the hallway. Her gaze rakes over my all-black clothing and she takes a nervous breath without moving.

“Why, Adriana. Don’t tell me you afraid of me?”

A single shake of her head. “You’re not violent. Not that way, anyway.”

I’m not sure why that soothes me, but it does. “Are we going to conduct this session in the hallway?”

“So you’re serious? You really want to talk?”

“Either that, or I want to fuck you up the ass. I haven’t quite decided yet.”

Her eyes widen and light up with suppressed excitement before her gaze drops. “Maybe we can do…both?”

I laugh. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? For me to send you back home to dear old Stanley with a sore ass and a heart brimming with fulfillment for all the good work you’ve done? Tell me, how is the darling husband doing these days?”

She resumes walking toward me. “Quinn, if you dragged me all the way here to toy with me, be warned, I’m not in the mood.” The practiced sway of her hips beneath the wraparound dress she has on contradicts her words. I don’t care enough to point it out.

I turn sideways for her to precede me into the office. She stops and stares up at me.

“Something’s happened,” she muses quietly. “What is it, Quinn?”

“Inside. Now.”

She walks in, and I shut the door. I decline the drink she offers, cross the room and drop into the sofa. Both hands spear into my hair and I search for words.

“You’re right. I’m…affected.”

“It’s understandable, seeing as your father’s back in the city—”

“It’s not him. Well, it’s not all him. But he’s being a good demon for now and staying in his allotted box.”

“Then who is it?”

“Names aren’t important.” I don’t want to mention her name here, even the names that I know are fake. Not in this place of sickening filth and half-baked healing. For the first time, I wonder what her real name is. Where she’s from. I catch myself and return Adriana’s stare. “All that’s important is how to get rid of it.”

“Rid of what? What are you feeling?”

“The need to succumb.” I say. My voice is barely a rumble. But with the time of night, and the quiet of the office, she hears me.

Her gaze moves over me. To the side. Down my arm. “Are you self-harming again?”

I silently commend her for not beating about the bush. She’s in full shrink mode, and I realize I need that.

“No. That’s not what this is about. Besides, harming implies an ongoing situation. Mine wasn’t. It was a one-time thing.”

“But you said you’d been thinking about it for a while before you did it, so there was forethought.”

I shake my head once. “That’s not what this is, Adriana. Trust me.”

“Okay. Tell me in what way this person affects you, then.”

Her image rises up. Defiant. Gorgeous. Fucked up. Utterly fuckable. Dangerous. I shrug. “They’re poking holes in my black spaces.”

“And this distresses you?”

“Hell no. I’m distressed for them.”

“Why. Do they matter to you?”

I pause a second before I answer. “There’s a potential they might fall through my cracks. I don’t need the collateral damage. I thought I didn’t care. I’m still not sure that I do. But it’s…affecting me.”

“Maybe consider cementing your cracks first? Put off involving this person in your situation just yet?”

I think of my fingers touching her satin-smooth skin, the white-hot flame on my desolate landscape. “It’s not that easy. I’m already invested.”

“Have you thought about setting yourself a hard limit?”

“It could be too late.” I have a feeling it’s already too late. For Quinn, anyway.

Q is another matter.

“Only you can decide by which point the investment will begin to lose its value. You’re not afraid of making tough choices, Quinn. But you also enjoy the buildup of chaos. That has been one of the things you’ve refused to tackle. Maybe now is the time to start?”

“Timing’s not good for me. Come up with another solution.”

She sighs and sits back. “The only other alternative is to let them see who you are. Give them the choice to walk away. But I don’t recommend that.”

“Why not?”

“Because people see what they want to see. And because you’re especially skilled at getting people to walk down a path they may not necessarily want to go but are unable to stop themselves from taking.”

“Are we still talking about just me here, Dr. Nathanson?” I smirk.

Unease flits over her face. “I’m serious, Quinn.”

I shrug. “So your solution is to save this person from my sociopathy before they hurt themselves through their own choices?”

“This isn’t a game, Quinn. You wouldn’t have woken me up at this time of the night if you weren’t worried—”

“Seeking clarity doesn’t equate with worry.”

“Then let me be clear. Until you take steps to fix what’s wrong with you, you’re putting them in danger. You probably know this already, but have convinced yourself you don’t care. But what you need to ask yourself is, do they deserve it?”

The stillness descends on me. It stops everything, including the roar.

I wanted clarity.

I’ve got it.

Will the demons let me keep it? Will the weight of my destiny let me even contemplate it?

I stand and walk over to her window. Down below, traffic on Lexington Avenue trips on as usual.

Through the reflection, I see Adriana stand. She hesitates for a moment before she makes her way to me. Her hand touches the middle of my back. No higher. She knows what that will earn her.

“I miss her too, Quinn. She was the best of all of us. That’s why I want to do everything I can to help you heal. I know if anything were to happen to you, Adele would never—”

She gasps as I twist around, grab the hand on my back and use it to propel her against the window. My hands close over her arms, and I lift her slight body up until we’re face to face.

“Do not fucking speak her name, do you hear me? I don’t want her name to ever pass your lips again. Not because she was your best friend and you miss her. Not because she made you my godmother, but you’ve taken delight in sucking my cock since I came of age. Do. Not. Speak. Her. Name. Because you know what happened. You were fucking there. And you did nothing.”

Her face goes as white as the walls in her office. “Quinn, please—”

“Shut the fuck up. I don’t want you to say my name, and I don’t want to hear your excuses.” My hiss is low, deadly enough for her to understand I mean business.

Her mouth snaps shut. I take a minute before I release her.

The roar is back. I want to slam my head against a wall to drown it back out. Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets.

“Goodbye, Adriana. I’m going out of town for a while. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Sorry about the lack of ass-fucking. I probably would’ve accommodated you, but you blew it by reminding me just what type of human being you truly are. I’m sure you’ll find someone else to accommodate you in my absence.”

Her face contorts. Before she can open her mouth, I’m headed out the door. I don’t look back.

She knows better than to call my name again.

Back in my car, I pop the key in the ignition but don’t start the engine. My fingers wrap around the steering wheel, eyes closed with my head against the seat rest. For endless moments, I’m lost.

The hate, the vengeance and sex are instruments that oil my existence and keep my compass true. But thinking about her…my mother…always casts me adrift.

She was the purest thing in my life. The truest. A delicate flower in a nest of vipers. Her love was the closest thing that came to making me wish I was a better person. For her, I like to think I would’ve striven to be a less diabolical version of myself. Her every look once held that promise, that hope for me. And somewhere along the umbilical that connected a mother’s love to her son, a seed dared to sprout inside of me. Until it was mercilessly destroyed.

A fragile seed in a nest of vipers. Adele Blackwood had had no hope.

The burning in my chest spreads wide, upward, past my throat, my nasal passages, to settle behind my eyes. I swallow the rancid taste of bile and let the black grief engulf me.

I should’ve done more. I should’ve saved her.

But you didn’t.

My eyes fly open. I release my death grip on the steering wheel and start the engine. I drive aimlessly for an hour until I end up exactly where I shouldn’t be. Hell’s Kitchen. I park across the street and stare at the building.

The lamps she left on emit a soft and welcoming glow, the opposite of what I’m feeling right now. The opposite of what she’ll feel if I let myself in and let hell break free.

Hell’s attraction grows as I sit there, my engine idling. Without taking my eyes off the large square window, behind which my perfect poison lies, I hit the call button on my steering wheel.

“Yes, Boss,” Fionnella, my homely ex-government operative and trusted team leader, responds. She’s been with me from the beginning; is the only one who knows Q’s identity and what the end game is. She also has a horse in this race, which keeps her motivated.

“Would you believe me if I apologized for calling you so late?” I inquire. Up above, I swear I see Lucky’s shadow cross the window, but I accept my mind is in full chaos mode and could be making shit up.

“I believe remorse may have crossed your mind for a second, sir.”

“If that counts, I’d appreciate an update.”

“The only update since we spoke this evening is the results of her blood work. No surprises to report. She’s healthy. Yours came back clean too.”

My cock, pleased with the news, stirs and twitches. I relax my head against the seat and cup my dick. My last memorable fuck was a twenty-four-hour bender with a Latina spitfire three weeks ago. She’d welcomed my darkness, and things may have gotten a little out of hand, not enough for me to lose every shred of sanity, but close enough.

The clean bill of health brings a spike of impatience. “I need pros and cons of moving the schedule forward by a week.”

“The set up at the property will be finished in forty-eight hours. The crew-vetting should also be done by Monday. Her birth control shot will be fully effective from Saturday.”

“All pros.”

“The cons depend on whether you intend to stay put for a while once you get to the property. She doesn’t have a passport and her fake ID is the worst I’ve seen. Even a tenth grader would spot the flaws a mile away. She’s not naïve, so I can only conclude she was desperate enough, for whatever reason, to accept the first one she came across.”

My cock thickens, and I breathe out. The part of me that should be ashamed for getting hard at the thought of her desperation is blissfully bankrupt enough not to get in the way of my hard-on.

“If I need to take her out of the country, can you organize it?”

Fionnella sighs. “Of course, sir. But I’d appreciate as much advance notice as possible. I trust the people I work with, but I’m never comfortable with stuff to do with photos. Too much room for error.”

“You’ll have your notice.”

“Thanks.”

I hang up, pull my gaze from the window and ease my foot from the brake pedal.

Lucky may well fall through my cracks, but I intend the experience to be nothing short of memorable.