Quinn

A rumble of thunder in the distance has more than a dozen black umbrellas opening, and stoic faces glancing up at the sky. Darker clouds roll towards us as a storm approaches off Lake Erie.

The weather is as volatile as the emotions that twist Zee St. James’ handsome face into a scowl. I watch the tick in his jaw as the Minister continues his unmerited praise of the man’s father. Zee’s lips, which are usually full and soft, a sharp contrast to the hard edges of his other features, thin, as his nostrils flare. All I want to do is wrap my arms around him.

I’ve never seen anyone look so utterly alone.

Green eyes with flecks of gold, a color I know from memory, are currently hidden by a pair of aviator sunglasses. Through the tinted lenses, I know when his gaze lands on me.

As I hold that gaze, my skin burns hot, even when icy pellets of rain begin to fall.

Zee swallows hard, then looks away. I want to beg him to look back again, desperate for even a morsel of attention, a hint of acknowledgement.

God, you’re pathetic, Quinn.

The St. James brothers have been part of my life since I was in diapers. They’re family, which should mean that I shouldn’t have the world’s biggest crush on the older of the two.

But I do.

Because who the hell wouldn’t?

Zee St. James is gorgeous.

In the dark suit that’s fitted perfectly for his six-foot-four frame, he looks every day of twenty-four-years, reminding me of the six years that separate us.

He’s a man.

Beautiful and damaged.

And completely off limits.

Scruff, a darker shade of brown than his hair, coats his jaw. I follow the movement of his hand as he rubs his palm over it.

A small sigh escapes my lips. A sound that must be louder than I thought, because my brother Abbott bumps me with his elbow and gives me a funny look, one that looks a little too much like, It’s a funeral, Quinn. Not the best place to fantasize over a man who you’ll never have.

My cheeks warm, hating that anyone, especially my annoying brother, might know my feelings.

More wind lashes around me, and I shiver, trying to keep my damn skirt from flipping up and my long hair from whipping around like Medusa’s snakes. Beside Abbott, my mom, whose hair and pressed black dress seem crazy glued in place, gives me a pointed look. And I can hear the lecture I know she’s dying to give me. One that would start with, “I told you not to wear that skirt...”

But my wardrobe malfunction is the least of my concerns. Not when Zee is hurting the way he is. I wish I could go back to a time when he’d talk to me, rather than the sullen broodiness I get from him now.

I don’t know what changed, other than me getting boobs. But from the rumors I’ve heard about him, he’s seen his fair share. Enough not to be intimidated by mine.

Zee crouches, broad shoulders slumped forward as he reaches down and grabs a fistful of dirt, hesitating briefly before tossing it on top of the casket.

Emotions storm inside of me as I watch him, feeling the torment that lashes through the man. Damaged in ways I can’t fathom. His edges cut sharper than any blade. Angry at the world and everyone around him.

And yet I love him.

Given a chance, I’d take every shattered part of the man and make it my life mission to repair him. Do anything to finally feel his strong, calloused hands on my body, to taste his lips, and give him every part of my body, heart and soul.

He already owns them. Owns me.

Yeah, pathetic.

When Zee doesn’t move back, his brother, Liam, places a hand on his shoulder, which he shrugs off as he stands. Angry words are spoken between them, words that are muted by the howling wind. My brother Kade gets in the middle, placing a palm on Zee’s chest, and whispering something in his ear.

The Minister continues his boring eulogy in a monotonous tone as if there isn’t about to be a sibling brawl right beside him.

Zee gives a harsh shake of his head, pushing away from Kade, before turning his back and stalking down the hill towards the cars that line the road. Even from a distance, I can see the caged animal inside the man, pacing to get out. He’s always been wild, untamed, and Kade has been the only one who he’s ever seemed to open up to. But lately he’s even pulled away from him.

I breathe out harshly when Zee gets on his motorcycle and speeds out of the cemetery, tires creating a cloud of dirt, stones, and smoke as they squeal away, giving the town — half of which showed up to this circus — something else to criticize him for.

Already I hear the mumblings.

“Like father, like son.”

“How disrespectful.”

“He always was a bad-tempered boy.”

I twist around and glare at the older woman who’s made the last comment, and she purses her lips at me. I shouldn’t let it bother me. In a small town like Port Clover, you’re either the one doing the gossiping or you’re being gossiped about.

The Savages and St. James have always been a prime target of the latter. Not that we didn’t give the old hens something to cluck about. Along with my brothers, the St. James caused enough trouble when they were growing up and that the phrase, “If you don’t know who did it, blame the Savages and Saints,” had become an official saying in town.

Zee and my brother Kade had cashed in on the term a couple years ago by opening a bar by the marina, and naming it, Savages and Saints.

It’s there that we go after the funeral. To the weathered old building, where my brother and Zee share an apartment on the second floor.

I sit in one of the back booths with my Diet Coke, watching the window for any sign of Zee. An hour goes by and he still doesn’t show up. I’m not sure if he will. He’d been disappearing for days, sometimes weeks at a time lately.

“You look miserable,” Abbott says, sliding into the booth and pulling out a bottle of Jameson from his suit jacket. After a quick glance over his shoulder, he pours a large amount in my Diet Coke, then takes a deep swallow from the bottle.

I raise an eyebrow. The youngest of my brothers, he’s still a year away from legal drinking age. “Where did you get that?”

He shrugs, takes another swig before recapping it and hiding it back under his jacket. “There’s like five cases of this shit in the back room.”

“Kade will kill you if he finds out,” I say, but it doesn’t stop me from sipping the whiskey-laced Coke.

I wince as it burns a path down my throat.

“You going to tell?” He raises a dark brow.

“No.”

My other three brothers are by the bar, heads tilted together in what seems like a serious conversation. We all get along fine, for the most part. The older three, Jasper, Kade and Damon, can be annoyingly overprotective. It’s Abbott I butt heads with the most, probably because we’re the closest in age, only thirteen months apart. That, and he teases me mercilessly.

Dragging a hand over his dark, cropped hair, Abbott’s brows pull together. “Zee seems pretty upset.”

I follow Abbott’s gaze across the room, where Zee has just walked in, and my heart does the painful little dance it always does when I see him. Stupid heart.

I shrug and try not to let how he affects me show on my face. “His dad just died.”

Abbott grunts. “The guy was a class-A asshole. You remember how many times Liam and Zee came over with busted up lips and bruises—”

“Still.” I let out a small sigh, watching as Zee disappears behind the bar. “He was Zee’s dad. I can’t imagine how hard this has been on him.”

My throat constricts as I watch Zee peel off his suit jacket and loosen his tie. He rolls up the sleeves of his button down, exposing the dark ink on his muscular forearms. He looks everything like the town’s official bad boy, which he is.

And then there’s his voice. Rough and grainy, yet softer than silk when he sings. I’ve snuck into the back of Savages and Saints a few times, when I knew Kade and him were playing on Saturday nights. They’re good. Really good. Unlike Zee, my brother has no ambition other than running the bar.

“Quinn.” There’s warning in the way Abbott says my name, and when I glance back at him he’s studying me with a frown.

“What?”

His lips thin and he gives a harsh shake of his head. He leans forward, forearms on the table, and sighs. “He’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Who?” I feign innocence, like I wasn’t just drooling over the man who’s currently slamming back shots of whiskey as if they’re water.

Abbott rolls his eyes. “Zee. He’s bad news.”

Yeah, I know that. But there’s more to him.

“And you’re not?” I joke, but it only gets me a scowl in return. I let out an exasperated breath. “He’s...family.”

Except he’s not. And what I feel for him is far from sisterly affection.

“I see the way you look at him.”

God, is it that obvious? “I don’t—”

“Just stay away. If he touches you, it won’t just be Kade who he’ll have to worry about.”

I make a face, trying to keep my emotions hidden. “Don’t be gross. He’s like twenty-four and—”

“And you’re eighteen—”

“Almost nineteen,” I add quickly, regretting it immediately.

Abbott’s jaw clenches. “Just find someone your own age.”

I grin at him and wiggle my brows and tease, “Like one of your friends?” I glance around the room then nod towards two of Abbott’s football buddies, who are doing a really shitty job at hiding the flask they pass between them. “Ace Hawkins is kind of cute, Maybe he and I—”

“Don’t be a brat.” He starts to slide out of the booth. “I’m just trying to protect you.”

“Advice heeded.” I salute him, watching as he makes his way over to Ace and the other guy, no doubt about to give them both a lecture to keep their hands off me. That thought doesn’t bother me, because I don’t want any of Abbott’s friends.

I want Zee.

Who has officially disappeared again.

I finish the rest of my drink, feeling a small buzz when I stand and weave my way through the crowd towards the restroom.

On my way out, I’m almost run down by Kade’s girlfriend, Ana, as she storms out of the office, blonde hair a mess, mascara running down her cheeks, eyes bloodshot, and pupils so large and fixed that I have no doubt she’s on something.

“Watch it,” she mutters, pushing past me before disappearing into the ladies room.

“Nice,” I mumble sarcastically.

I’m about to give my brother the same lecture Abbott just gave me — to stay away from that one — when I see it’s Zee and not Kade sitting at the cluttered desk, face in his hands.

Butterflies dance in my stomach and my heart beats wildly.

Walk away Quinn, my brain warns, knowing how volatile the man is right now.

I don’t want to be in his path when he finally blows, which by the looks of him, is only a matter of time.

“Hey,” I say softly walking in, then doing the one thing I know I shouldn’t — close the door.

He looks up, and I’m not sure he even recognizes me. His eyes are clouded by pain and alcohol — and maybe something else.

When his gaze finally fixes on me, my breath catches in my throat, because there’s something almost feral staring back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was lust that eases the pain for that split second. Or maybe it only intensified it, because the next second he’s looking away and burying his head in his hands again, fingers tugging at his hair.

“Zee, I—”

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says, low and desperate, like he’s ready to break at any moment. His suffering is so heavy, it saturates the air in the small room.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He laughs. It’s a terrible sound, one that’s filled with bitterness. “No, Quinn,” he says, my name sounding harsh. “I’m not fucking okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Feeling like a complete ass, I start to reach for the door handle. I inhale deeply and let it out. “I shouldn’t have...”

He stands abruptly, the chair scraping across the floor as he does. Then takes three long strides, removing the distance between us. He doesn’t touch me, but his palm flattens on the door, stopping me from opening it.

“What the hell do you have to be sorry about?” Green eyes bore into me, searching me with an intensity I’m not used to. There’s a slur to his words, and I smell whiskey on his breath.

“I—I’m sorry…” Pulling my bottom lip between my teeth, my breath comes out shaky. I can’t think, so I say the only thing that comes to mind, “For your loss.”

“Loss.” He gives another harsh, broken laugh. “Right.” Eyes closed, agony is etched into his features. “Fucked up.” He slams his palm on the door and a noise that sounds almost like a growl rumbles from his chest. “Everything’s fucked up. Going to lose...can’t...fuck.”

I’ve seen my brothers drunk several times, but this is different. It’s like he’s pulled into himself, trapped in his own internal hell.

I should probably be afraid of the giant of a man that looms over me, but I know in the pit of my soul he’d never hurt me.

Hurt himself, yes. Me, never.

I place a palm on his cheek, and my hand tingles with the contact, little sparks of heat that go straight to my core. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

His jaw twitches under my hand, and his throat bobs as he swallows. For a brief moment, he leans into my touch. I know if he’d give me the chance I could ease his suffering. I’d do everything in my power to remove his pain.

“You shouldn’t...” His lashes flutter open and heat flares between us. As energy fills the space between us, the world outside these walls stops.

I know he feels it too. I see it in his eyes.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that, Quinn.” His voice is pained, but his body slowly inches closer until his forehead rests against mine. He reaches out and grabs a strand of my dark hair, twisting it between his thumb and index finger. His next words come out in an uneven breath. “I’m not the man you think I am...”

There’s a crack in his armor. Vulnerability and regret pour from his words, choking him.

“You are.” I know it in my soul. He’s everything and more.

His eyes close again and he shakes his head. “Wish I could be.”

My heart beats wildly. Maybe it’s the alcohol that burns through my veins, but I feel emboldened, so I lift on tiptoes and place my lips against his.

“Quinn,” he moans against my mouth, and I feel every cell in my body awakening.

His mouth is soft, breath warm, but he doesn’t move.

Kiss me back, I want to beg.

“I want...” I whisper against his mouth, my fingers fisting in his shirt. “You.”

His fingers dive into my hair, and my back is against the door, his large, hard thigh wedging between my own as his tongue sweeps across my bottom lip.

I let out a soft whimper, and it’s matched by a deep guttural sound from Zee’s throat. His kiss turns hungry and possessive.

I pull at his shirt, wanting to touch his skin. Wanting all of it. Everything he can give me.

“Please, Zee.”

A sound vibrates in the back of his throat. He rests his forehead against mine as he mutters, “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Don’t stop...” I lean back into him, gripping his shirt, the ache in my core so intense it’s almost painful. “I want this.”

He jerks back, and I’m not prepared for the anger that flashes in his eyes. “Fuck, Quinn.” His breathing is rough, ragged. Green eyes search mine for God knows what, and I can’t tell if he wants to kiss me again or shake me senseless. Maybe both. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I...thought...”

“You thought what?” The words are harsh. He moves to the far corner of the room and starts pacing.

When he glances over at me, disgust curls his lips. It’s like a punch to the gut, one that leaves me sucking in air.

“Zee, please.” Big, fat tears burn my eyes, threatening to spill.

“Please, what?” He glares at me. “What did you think would happen? You think I’m going to fuck you? Is that what you want Q?” He roughs his fingers over his dark hair and winces. “You’re a goddamn baby. And I’m...”

He starts to pace the room again.

“An asshole,” I say sharply, humiliation mixing with hurt. Rejection swells inside me and I swear my heart is going to burst from my chest. I struggle with the door, unable to get the damn thing open. I shake the brass handle, then slam my palm against the frame. “What’s wrong with this stupid door?”

He moves towards me, presses a button and turns the knob, opening it slightly, but not wide enough for me to escape.

“Let me go.”

He leans down, capturing my chin in his big hand and forcing me to look at him. “You’re right. I am an asshole.”

I clench my teeth and try to jerk away, but he doesn’t let me. Not that I really want him to release me, because even now, I’m desperate for his touch. And I hate him for it.

“Promise me something, Quinn.”

“No,” I spit out. It’s a juvenile response, but that’s how he’s made me feel. Like a kid. Not worthy of someone like him.

He lets out a low sigh, then traces my bottom lip with his thumb. The gesture is intimate and confusing, and I want to cry. But I blink back the damn tears and glare up at him.

“Promise me you'll stay away from guys like me.” It’s his final rejection. A clear acknowledgment that he’ll never be mine.

All my dreams shatter around me, but I find the strength to say with as much conviction as I can muster, “I promise I’ll stay away from you.”

With a small nod, the muscles in his jaw clenching, he releases me and opens the door.

I pour out of the office, once again running straight into Ana, who grabs me by the shoulders, fingernails biting into my flesh, when I stumble into her. Her lips twist in a sneer when she looks between Zee and me, but whatever conclusions she comes to, I don’t care. All I want is to get as far away from him as possible.

I’m not sure I would have run so fast if I’d known he would disappear from my life, from Port Clover, hell, from the face of the earth. But that’s exactly what he did.

Zee St. James left that night, taking my broken, pathetic heart with him.