“I’ll, text you later, okay?”
I walked on ahead when Josh pressed the fob in his hand, the lights on the car showing it belonged to him. “Whatever, Quinn.”
Quinn
The car journey was silent except for Josh’s voice rambling on about the people signed up for the circle. I wasn’t the only fighter there, there were a few, but I was the one who’d been there the longest and the one who brought the crowds just to see someone take me down.
I wasn’t silent because of that, though. I had to get that kiss out of my head, to get the feel of Kinsley in my arms off of me. It had taken every scrap of energy I had to let her go, to not go back in to taste her mouth more and more. God, she was fucking with my head, standing there, looking up at me with that deer-in-headlights expression, her sexy ass lips all puffed up because of me. My cock had strained behind my zipper, the tightness worsening with every fucking sound that came out of Kinsley’s mouth.
“It’ll be a tough fight, though,” Josh said, breaking my thoughts.
“Of course,” I replied, looking out into the darkness, still waiting for my dick to get the memo that it wasn’t getting any action. “If it were easy, nobody would come to watch.”
Mumbling came from the back seat right behind me.
“What was that?” Josh asked, checking the rearview mirror.
“I said,” Kinsley snapped, sitting up straight and attacking me with her sweet scent. “What’s so interesting about watching two people beat the hell out of each other?”
Josh and I looked at each other. “Because,” he drew out. “People like violence, but don’t want to have it directed at them. They like money, so they bet on a winner, they also like to see guys with their shirts off getting all hot and sweaty.” He pumped his brows at me and motioned to Kinsley, “mainly the women who can’t pass up the opportunity to try their luck at banging the hot fighters. If they’re good with their hands and know how to move, then they must be good… Well, you get the drift.”
“Christ,” she hissed. “People are idiots.”
“Maybe,” Josh said before I could answer. “But you’re forgetting the fighters who enjoy what they do.”
“Then the fighters get what they deserve.”
“And what would that be?” I spun in the seat, getting a view of her tousled hair from the wind and my fingers.
“You want the crowds so that they pay.” A dry grin spread across her face, and I dropped to her mouth, still red and puffy from my kiss. My cock twitched again at the thought. “Then you bitch and moan when they treat you like a commodity.”
“It doesn’t give anybody the right to grab my dick,” I snapped, remembering the woman who’d cupped my junk.
“Quinn,” Josh warned.
“No, this has to be said.” I turned back to Kinsley. “Because I’m a guy I’m supposed to accept it? Like it? Would you like it if a guy shoved his hand between your legs as you walked past? Maybe shoved his face between your tits to motorboat them when you were minding your own business? What about thinking he had a right to put his hands all over your body just because you weren’t wearing a shirt? Nobody is entitled to another person just because they fucking say so.”
“Quinn, Jesus Christ,” Josh complained.
Kinsley gasped, her eyes wide, glassy, and sparkling from the streetlights streaming in from the window. I could see every drop that started to fill in her lids. “You have no fucking idea, Quinn,” she choked.
Josh turned into her street, and before the car had a chance to stop, Kinsley shoved the door open.
“Kinsley!” I yelled.
“Don’t, Quinn.” She spun around, shoving her finger toward me, her thunderous expression ready to blow. “You wanted to know why I left Crosshall?” She looked at Josh, then back to me, her entire slender frame vibrating with rage.
Let it out, Kinny.
“Why don’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice soft, trying not to push her to breaking point, but my sick and depraved need wanted to—taunted me to.
Push her buttons, Quinn.
“I had to. That—everything you said,” she choked out. “I said no, Owen said I was lying and that I wanted it, so he tried to take it.” She cackled, the noise coming from her eerie and twisted. “And you know the best part about it? I was the one that had to leave—the one that was punished.” She patted her chest hard. “But you know that already, right? Eavesdropping on my conversations with my mom?” She waved her hand in the air, her tortured expression only softened by the tears in her eyes. “But what you don’t know is that the would-be rapist got away with attacking me because they didn’t want the bad rep.” She flipped us the bird, but mostly me. “How’s that for entitled?”
She bolted to her front door, still wearing my hoodie that swamped her body.
“Fuck me,” Josh blew out.
Blood boiled in my veins, bubbling as it flowed, my speeding pulse sending it flying around my body, burning every fiber in me.
Somebody put their hands on her without her permission. They’d tried to hurt her.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked, so low my gruff tone was barely audible over the purr of the engine.
Josh rubbed his hands together. “It’s hunting season.”
“Fuckin’ ay.”
***
‘I’m sorry. You’re right. I had no idea.’
I stared down at the message I’d sent to Kinsley a couple of days ago, holding my phone in my busted up hands from the bag. Still no reply, and who could blame her? I’d been a one-hundred percent grade-A fucking prick and deserved everything she threw back at me.
I continued to look at the screen, wondering if she was going to talk to me again.
“You asked for some info?” Layton asked, walking down the stairs into the basement. “I don’t have much, but I got a couple of hits.” He handed me a piece of paper with some Owen’s from Crosshall. “Four of them, but that’s not all I found out about the place.”
“Oh?” I looked up from the paper to see him rocking on his toes nervously. “Are you gonna spill, or are you gonna continue swaying?”
“Yeah, uh,” he pointed at the third Owen in the list. “This guy’s mom is on the board at Crosshall Brow, the fancy college there. He goes there, too. According to his social media, he’s God’s gift to the world. A fucking tool if you ask me, though. Two are in High School at Crosshall Bridge, nothing stands out about them except for some pictures with girls at parties, and the fourth is in elementary, so I guess he’s out.”
I took the paper with the picture of the only Owen I was interested in.
Hello, punchbag.
“Good.”
“What do you want with him anyway?” he asked, his brows knitting together.
My mouth turned down once. “No concern of yours.”
“Quinn, look,” he sighed. “About this whole Phoebe thing.”
“I don’t give a shit, or have you forgotten?” I asked, my anger rising as I thought back to the bonfire and the escalation of fuck all just for the sake of causing shit. It was giving me a fucking headache—the reason I stayed out of all the clichéd angsty bullshit all the kids couldn’t seem to leave behind. And by kids, I meant fucking morons.