CASSIUS

Thankfully Quinn passed out, because I was starting to lose my mind. I have no idea what she was talking about before she fell asleep. She was upset about...I'm not really sure, to be honest.

Either I wasn't listening or...I was? Whichever one it is, she was pretty worked up about it. And what the hell is a jigglyflap and why is she trying to catch it? I wonder if it's a stray cat that she named or something. She seems like the kind of person to try and trap strays.

My brain is muddled, and I don't have enough energy to try and sort everything out or even begin to comprehend it. Not that I could even when I'm fully alert. I'm always left in the dark during our conversations.

Heavy eyes and Quinn's warm body huddled up close to my side is making it nearly impossible to stay awake. As soon as my eyelids start fluttering shut, I hear something on the TV that has them flying open again. I couldn't have heard that right.

The grandma killed the neighbor?! You've got to be kidding me. Quinn was right the whole time.

I lean forward a little, intently watching the screen as they explain how they found her out. The fucking oxygen tank was the murder weapon. She used it to bash the guy's head in. She can't even be one-hundred pounds, soaking wet. There's no fucking way.

Every now and then, I peek down at Quinn to make sure she's not conscious. I don't want her catching the end of this show. I am never telling her about this. If she asks, I'm just going to tell her I fell asleep and didn't get to see who did it.

When I sink back into the couch, Quinn's head shifts to my chest. After a few minutes, she's drooling all over my shirt. I can feel the warm liquid seeping through the fabric, and I can't help but laugh. Even when she's sleeping, she's still a mess.

***********

I wake up to something rubbing against my nipple through my shirt, instantly forcing me into a state of disorientation. I let one eye open just to see Quinn staring and poking at it. I shrug my shoulder to gently nudge her away.

"Why are you molesting me?" I grumble, still too tired to function at full capacity.

"Are you lactating, Cash?" She asks with curiosity and worry.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

It's too early for this. The Energizer Bunny doesn't have shit on Quinn. They may need to rethink their choice of mascot because I think she's more suited for the job. She pokes my nipple again and I groan out a frustrated breath.

"Stop, Quinn. Go back to sleep."

With my eyes still closed, I blindly reach up and feel around for her face. Once my palm lands on her forehead - I think it's her forehead - I sluggishly drag my hand down her face, pushing her away from my body. She thrashes her head around, trying to escape my defense mechanism.

"It might be a medical emergency though! Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"

I crack an eye again and peer down at the wet spot layered over my nipple.

"I'm not fucking lactating, Quinn. You were drooling all over me."

"Did not!" Her high-pitched squeal has my eyes widening, ears ringing.

"Jesus Christ, why are you so loud?!"

I flop over on my side and try to bury my head between the cushions so her voice won't shatter my eardrums. I feel her weight shift off the couch and, a minute later, I hear the sound of her peeing. Which reminds me that I really need to piss. I'll just go once I get back to the club to pick up my car.

Guess I should get up now and start the day. I don't know what time it is but, judging by the soft light pouring through the little window, I'd guess it's past my usual jogging hour.

I wait until I hear the toilet flush before retreating from inside the safety of the couch cushions, stretching my back out as I stand. That was not a comfortable sleeping position.

"Do you want anything to drink before you head out?" Quinn asks after she exits the bathroom.

"Sure. You got any pop?"

She freezes, staring at me with the squinty-eye thing she always does. I freeze too because I have no idea what I said wrong.

"Soda." She replies with a spark of irritation.

"Huh?" Now I'm squinting.

"Sooo-duuhh."

"Quinn, what - never mind. I'm good. Thanks, though."

It's easier to just move on from whatever is happening right now.

"Say it, Cash."

Guess she's not gonna let that happen.

"Say what?" I ask, jerking my shoulders up in frustration.

"What did you just ask me for?"

"Pop. I asked you for pop." I respond with resignation.

"Soda. Say it right."

"I did say it right!" I argue back.

My stubborn side is coming out and I have no desire to say what she wants me to say. But the way she's watching me right now makes it very clear she's not going to let me leave until I give in to her. And I really have to piss. Ego or bladder relief? Which one is more important right now?

"Quinn, may I please have a sooodaaa to take with me?" I ask in an overly polite tone.

Eh, my ego is used to taking hits. Her face lights up with a huge smile and she skips into the kitchen to grab a can of pop from the fridge, holding it out to me. I take it carefully, feeling like I might be falling into some kind of trap.

She shyly looks down at her feet and then back up to me.

"Sooo...I'll see you at Shadow later?"

I'm not sure why she's asking me this. She always sees me there. If she shows up, I'm there. I kind of have to be if I don't want to get fired.

"Of course."

I smirk before leaning down to kiss her cheek, not really knowing how I'm supposed to say goodbye. I mean, I feel like a simple wave is too lax for people who kissed and then spent the night together. She grins up at me and then quickly ushers me out the door like she can't get rid of me fast enough.

Once it slams shut behind me, I suddenly remember what waits for me downstairs. An entire shop filled with violent sex toys. I'm sure the daylight will make it easier to navigate the obstacle course. I hope.

I could go back into the apartment, scale the fire escape stationed right under the living room window. It can't be that far of a drop and I'm one-hundred percent certain it would still be the safer option than going downstairs. Broken ankle? I'll take it.

I turn to knock on the door but pause, second-guessing myself. I'm being ridiculous. I can do this. I've been through worse. Taking a deep breath, I start my descent into the underworld.

Penises. Penises everywhere. Pink, purple, blue, black, red. Every shape and size and color, suctioned to the walls like creepy artwork and sitting on the shelves, lined up like an army. And I don't even want to know what that thing in the corner is. It looks complicated and dangerous.

I'm holding my breath the entire time I dodge the toys, as if it will somehow increase my agility and propel me through this hellhole faster. I beeline for the front door, bursting through it. Once fresh air replaces the scent of silicone, I take a minute to relax, shaking out the muscles that stayed tensed up during the entire trek.

***********

I show up to the club an hour before my shift starts so I can interrogate Billy. Quinn's response to my question last night was intentionally vague and complete bullshit. I have no doubt that she has the ability to wear Billy down into submission, but I don't buy it.

She isn't the kind of person I want to pressure, though. No matter how impenetrable the walls of Quinn appear to be from the outside, I've always felt like she's kind of fragile. Like she might break if you push her just the right way. Learning which way that might be isn't an experiment I care to conduct.

Billy is up at the bar, having a drink before the customers start rolling in for the night. I take the seat next to him and nod to Gio, silently asking for him to give us some privacy. He shuffles away to polish the wine glasses sitting at the other end of the bar.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

Billy looks over at me with an arched brow.

"Alright?"

"Why did you let Quinn in the club when she was underage?"

Raising the glass to his lips, he downs the rest of his drink in one gulp.

"Who?"

Guess he's choosing to play dumb. But the slight hitch in his voice and his inability to make direct eye contact gave him away. I've spent years learning how to call people's bluffs, studying every deceptive movement and tonal change.

When I was selling, it wasn't just your run-of-the-mill weed deals. It was the hard shit. The kind of shit where you can't trust the customers buying from you. I'm not proud of providing life-altering substances to people who already had no control over their addictions, but I learned a lot from it.

Sniffing out liars is probably the most useful skill I've come to possess during that time.

"I'm not gonna tell Max you let her in. I don't care about the underage thing right now. I just want to know why." I reassure him.

Finally, he turns his head to look at me. His eyes express the apprehension he's experiencing about feeding me this information.

"I had to."

"What do you mean?"

"She was in a bad place. I went out to smoke, and she was just sitting there on the ground. Clothes all torn up, face a mess. She was talking to the dumpster for fucks sake." He shakes his head, like the memory of that night haunts him.

Quinn talking to a dumpster doesn't necessarily surprise me. I'm sure it makes sense to Billy too, now that he's known her all these years. But the tattered clothes part warrants my full attention.

"What happened?" I speak over the lump forming at the base of my throat.

"I don't know, man. I have my suspicions, but she didn't tell me much. She was a wreck, crying nonstop. Something bad happened and she was running from something, for sure. I just got this weird feeling, like I needed to let her in the club. I told her to stick by you, just in case whatever shit she went through followed her here."

It makes sense. After raising four daughters, Billy's fatherly instincts tend to kick in full force. If he sees a woman who appears to be suffering, he takes them under his wing without thinking twice.

My fists are clenched under the bar top, and my leg starts bouncing. Just the thought of Quinn crying has my stomach twisting into knots. I've never seen that girl shed a tear. My mind races with ideas of what could have happened to her all those years ago.

And I've been throwing her out every time she gets a little too rowdy. How many times did I force her back into whatever situation she was running from? Is she safe now? Is she still dealing with...what? What happened?

My heart pounds a little harder and guilt starts to consume me, clouding my judgement. I need to calm down. Control the anger pumping through my veins. Deep breaths.

I need to talk to her about this.