His opponent saw, and it took less than a second for him to react. His wide arm raised, his elbow pulled back, then his wrapped knuckles flew towards Quinn’s face with speed.
I gasped when it connected with his jaw, sending him flying to the side, the sound of the impact bringing vomit to my throat.
“Quinn,” I whispered while I watched in horror as the other guy slammed down again, and again until Quinn hit the ground with a dull thud.
Once again, Quinn was on the floor, the guy throwing punches like it was a party game. Quinn’s arms were up, covering his face, and his knees were bent, his feet off the floor.
The faces in the room were wild, but there was no sound coming out of their mouths. Their savage expressions, contorted features twisted with a thirst for blood—no matter who it belonged to—slowing down. Their movements seemed lazy, arms waving about, fists punching the air, saliva spraying from hollered instructions to do as much damage as possible.
Deathly silence permeated the air except for a faint buzzing as I swayed side to side. The people around me continued to demand more, and when I found familiar eyes in the crowd watching me, I stopped.
Phoebe was motionless, watching me, her mouth closed except for the hint of a curl in the corners of her lips. Miley stood next to her, a feral look in her usual kind eyes, her mouth twisted into a snarl as she yelled with words I’d never heard come out of her mouth.
I turned back to the fight, the scene hadn’t changed, and only a few seconds had gone by, but it felt like minutes.
Quinn.
The other guy was hitting against Quinn’s arms, his fists not connecting where he wanted them to, and even from the distance I was, I could see his increasing frustration.
Then Quinn took a swing, a perfect liver shot, making the guy lean to the side, his own swings faltering. Quinn’s fist connected over and over again into the guy’s side. His movements were so fast that his punches melded together, one prolonged assault, hitting his target each time until the guy hollered.
My palms stung, my nails digging in further with the added pressure every time I saw a hand lift, a fist connect, crimson spraying from open wounds. My lungs constricted as I stared, willing Quinn to get up off the ground, to stop that guy from hitting him.
I sucked in a sharp breath when he made his move.
Quinn twisted to the left, and with his right arm, he hooked it around the back of the guy’s neck, pushing him down, then drove his elbow to the back of his skull. His opponent didn’t even see it coming. He dropped to the side, and Quinn rolled him off.
The spectators’ volume reached new heights as Quinn jumped from the ground and landed on his feet. The other guy moved slowly, the knock seemed to disorientate him, and he tried to get up, but Quinn, like lightning, struck him under the chin, his shoulder muscles bunching, his biceps flexed, and his back tense as he sent a jaw-shattering punch upward.
Before the other man could react, Quinn spun around, his right leg coming up, his knee bent, his heel back, and with such precision, he snapped out, extending the joint, and sent a kick to the side of the guy’s face.
The guy spun around, a full pirouette style, his eyes open but not seeing, and crashed to the ground with a gigantic thud.
My shoulders sagged as I finally released the clogged air choking me, and the hot stream made its way down my face.
Quinn raised his arms, then brought them down, muscles standing proud with every fiber defined. His mouth open wide, revealing a black mouthguard as he roared, the animal inside showing himself at last.
He turned to me, his face stern, streaks of red gliding down his face and dripping off of his chin. His chest was covered, a mixture of the two fighters’ vital fluid, with smears of dust and dirt making it congeal.
I jumped down from the box and fought my way out to the front to the sounds of applause and gleeful triumph, pushing past Jeremy, and out into the cold night air, sucking in huge lungfuls of fresh oxygen.
“Kinny!” Quinn’s voice carried over the short distance between myself and the barn. “Kinny, wait!” he yelled, but I didn’t slow. “Will you just fucking stop?”
I continued on until I neared the cars, giving some space between the people who could overhear and me. I turned around. “Okay, I’m listening,” I said, folding my arms. “I’m ready to hear your excuse.”
Quinn froze, his bloodied hands lifting, the wraps undone, and partially hanging down. “Whoa, you’re not going to mention anything about what you just saw?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and counted to five. “Quinn, I am not in the right mind to even consider what I’ve just witnessed.” I pointed behind him while keeping my eyes closed. “Whatever that was is not something I’m able to put into words right now. I’d like to compartmentalize that and discuss what I came here for, which is hearing your sorry excuse for treating me like a goddamn hook-up.” I opened my eyes to see his hard jaw ticking, the dark patches already swelling in areas as well as the outside of his left eye.
He lifted the shirt in his hand and ran it over his face, then his hard chest, revealing what I thought was a slash was a dried spray of blood.
How nice.
His abs rippled as he swiped at the dirt, and for a few seconds, I forgot why I was there.
“You know I didn’t,” he snapped, his eyes searching my face before falling to my lips. He remained on them for a moment, then moved back up. “I never saw you as just a hook-up.” His nose scrunched as though saying those words left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Then why the hell did you just leave and then fucking ghost me for the past few days, huh?” I pressed my finger to my chest against the black fabric. “I had to come to you. That sure as hell looks like it was a hook-up to me.”
His lids shut for a second, his nostrils flared, and his lips pursed like he was composing himself. “We should talk somewhere else.”
“Here’s just fine.”
“Look behind me,” he said without turning. “Still think that’s a good idea?”
I stood on my tiptoes to peek over his shoulder, finding a wave of people coming out of the barn. Some set their sights in our direction—mostly women. Their excited chatter flowed on the breeze with whispers of Quinn’s name and what they thought of him in extremely graphic detail.
“Oh, look, that fanbase you told me about,” I sneered. “They exist after all.” I didn’t understand it, though. Quinn wasn’t exactly a celebrity, but these people acted like they’d just spotted a megastar.
“We need to go, Kinny.” He turned his head over his shoulder, then back to me, his feet moving immediately. “Let’s go to that RV over there.”
I looked around and spotted a motorhome that reminded me of Breaking Bad, the small vehicle looking like it was in desperate need of a stick of dynamite and a naked flame.
Quinn made a fist and thumped on the door, and it opened out a couple of seconds later, Layton peering out.
“Hey, get your asses inside,” he said when he spotted me. “Kinsley, hey. It’s good to see you again.” He held out his hand, and I just stared at it. “Yeah, sorry about the bonfire. I had no part in that, believe me.”
“Why should I?” I countered. “The first time we met, you asked if I was interested in going somewhere ‘private,’”I held up my fingers to emphasize the word—“then the second time, you and Phoebe looked very cozy while she ran her mouth.”