QUINN

Everything is passing me by so quickly that I can't even really distinguish what's happening. Cash was being all moody and bossy and, out of nowhere, my arm was practically being ripped from my socket as I'm dragged through Shadow.

I briefly see a wave from Joey as he heads to the back room, a glance from Billy, and some mean looks from a group of guys that seem vaguely familiar. But I'm dizzy and trying to use all my brain power to not trip over my own two feet.

Once Wyatt has successfully hauled me out into the alley, I dig my heels into the cobblestone with all the leg strength I have. His grip on my wrist slips as he continues to propel forward.

Skidding to a stop, he glances down at his hand with perplexed eyebrows before shifting his sights on me. You'd think I just performed some crazy escape artist trickery by how dumbfounded he appears when he realizes I got away.

"What the – how did you..." His voice trails off before he barrels toward me again.

When he tries to pull me along once more, I plop down on my butt, making his shoulder jerk down right along with me. This is a peaceful protest, damn it! I am not going anywhere!

It's not fair that I'm always the one who has to leave. I want more drinks and I want to dance, and I want to do...whatever else comes to mind after a decent buzz!

"Quinn." He growls, his boyish face transforming into something you might see in a mild children's nightmare. "We need to leave."

He squats down to scoop me up, so I decide to splay out on my back, becoming a professional starfish. My sudden change of position has him tripping over my face, his shoe barely nicking my nose as he tries to hop over me to avoid the collision. At the last second, he catches himself with his palms against the brick wall.

"Does Cass let you get away with this shit?" Wyatt barks, gesturing to my flattened body.

Nope. He certainly does not. But I'm not about to let that little snippet of information go free because it will reduce my chances of Wyatt allowing me to stay. So, instead, I don't say a word.

His eyes flit in every direction, scoping out the alley. His stiff shoulders and tense neck muscles make it seem like he's on edge. I wonder if he's scared of the stray kitties. Most of them are harmless...unless you try to capture them.

"Quinn." He whispers this time, his words unsteady. "Sorry I yelled at you, but we need to get out of here...like now."

"I want to go back inside."

"Sorry to disappoint, but Cass would skin me alive if I took you back in there. Now can we please get going." He almost sounds panicked. Cass isn't that scary.

"You don't need skin, Wyatt. It's a protective layer at best. I mean yeah, it's considered the largest organ, but I don't see a point in keeping it around. It just gets in the way."

I hear a low, frustrated groan but then silence fills the alley.

"Sorry."

Huh? Why is he sorry?

I yelp when my ankles are suddenly crunched together in one of his hands, his other doing the same thing to my wrists. He lifts me up off the ground and starts carrying me away while I bounce against his knees every time my body sways.

"Wyatt! Put me down!" I try to wriggle away but it hurts too much.

"You made me...do this...Quinn." He huffs out between breaths, struggling to keep me hogtied with his hands as he carries me through the darkness.

Two guys stalk by and stop when they see the little altercation we're currently having, turning to direct their scrutinizing gazes on us.

"Move along." Wyatt grunts out. "We're just...playing...a game." He continuously uses his knee to knock me forward with every step he takes.

"A game?" Guy number one asks skeptically, eyeing Wyatt with trepidation as I swing through the air like a human pendulum.

I can only imagine how this looks to an outsider.

After the fight, he quite literally ripped his gloves off, swiped me from Cash, and took off. Which means he still has a mouthguard hanging from his lips, his teeth grinding down to keep it from falling out. He's shirtless, displaying a chest splattered with Ollie's blood. And he's carrying a struggling woman down a dark alley outside of a shady club in the middle of the night.

This has serial killer vibes written all over it.

I start laughing, albeit a bit maniacally, at the whole thing. And then I flop my head back and stick my tongue out of the side of my mouth, playing dead.

When I squint through one eye to see the reaction, guy one is cautiously pulling his phone out of his pocket as guy two keeps a watchful eye on us.

"If you're...callin the cops...it better be...for me." Wyatt puffs out to our audience.

I can see the moment when everything shifts, and I lose all chance at escaping. We near the end of the alley and Wyatt's face is illuminated by the streetlights, enough so that the guys immediately recognize him. Their stares melt into admiration rather than suspicion.

"Dude, Wyatt! Did you win tonight?!" Guy one – the traitor – asks with enthusiasm while guy two pulls his phone out to snap a picture of Wyatt.

"Yep. Little...help?" He pleads with the strangers.

Next thing you know, I have two random guys holding my feet as Wyatt carries me by my wrists, all the way across the street. They're all a bunch of idiots! He could have literally been trying to kill me, and now they're helping him!

We make it to the front of my apartment building and one of the guys is about to release my leg, but Wyatt gives him a hard warning glare.

"Don't you dare. She's still dangerous." His tone, although serious, has a tinge of humor to it.

This is so not the way I imagined a foursome going.

I thought it would involve sexier men, rainbows, a cheeseburger, and eighties music. Not whatever this weirdness is right now.

If anyone other than Wyatt was involved in this little game, I'd be seriously panicking right now. But I trust with my whole heart that he would never let anything happen to me or put me in a situation where I'm in serious danger. I think he'd throw himself off a cliff before allowing a female to get hurt.

And the little fact that Cash is right across the street adds to the carelessness I'm feeling. If he's in the vicinity, there's nothing to really worry about.

This is just a more interesting way to be escorted home, that's all. I've experienced plenty of bizarre things in this life, but this is a new one. Gives a whole new meaning to public transportation. How did you get home, Quinn? Oh, I just rode the Wyatt and Friends Express, first class!

"Truce." I finally call out when I realize we're at a standstill and knowing Wyatt won't release me until I'm subdued. No point in fighting it anymore since I'm already home.

Wyatt nods and the two accomplices slowly put my feet back on the pavement, watching me like I'll attack the second I'm able. My wrists are set free, and I turn to glare at the savages with my best angry face, only to realize they've moved on to fangirling over Wyatt.

The muscles in my jaw relax as I watch how awkward he feels about being worshipped by people he doesn't know. Guess he didn't realize how many fans he actually has. He scratches at his head as the boys pepper him with a million questions about his training methods, stats, and his humble demeanor.

He really deserves this, despite how uncomfortable it appears to make him. I wish people saw me, the way they're seeing him right now. I've never minded the gawking and judgement but, sometimes, I just want someone to look at me like they care.

The way...well, I guess the way Cash looks at me.

Before I can delve too deep into that thought pattern, a phone is being shoved in my hand by one of the followers. I snap a few pictures of the guys posing with a sweaty, bloody Wyatt before they skip away like the happiest people ever.

Distant, fuzzy shouting echoes through the street and we both whip around to see a few people fleeing from the club like it's on fire. My heart accelerates until it's running a full-on marathon in my chest. What's going on at Shadow?

I take a step forward, but Wyatt shoves me back. Not so gently, this time.

"Go inside." His voice sounds foreign, the coldness in his tone like nothing I've ever heard from him before.

"What's...what's happening, Wyatt?" I'm surprised I even manage to bring life to the question through the sudden fear that appears to be feasting on me.

"Go. Inside." He grits out.

I don't take this side of him lightly because I've never friggin seen it manifest until now. But I'm torn. Cash is still in the club. Billy. Gio. Rita. Silas...well, I'm not worried about Silas because I'm pretty sure he's not even human. Just a robot trying to blend in with the rest of us.

But all the people I care about aside from mama and Wyatt are in there. Where people are screaming. In the place that all those people are trying to scurry out of.

What if something happens to...no no, I can't. I can't think negatively, not this time.

I step back, my butt colliding with the door to the shop. My hand snakes behind me, feeling around for the handle. I focus on the spot at the door across the street, where Billy usually perches. He's not there. Did he run? Or did he go inside to help? I think my organs are shifting around in my stomach.

I've been frequenting Shadow for years. I know the fights are serious to a lot of the customers. But there's a whole different side to that world that I can't even begin to comprehend. Dark ties, debts, crooked deals.

Being told things can get out of hand is very different from actually hearing the screams. I've blinded myself to it for as long as I can remember, but now Cash is someone I... well, someone I'm quite fond of. And it's his job to be involved in that world. It is his world. Which makes reality slam into me with the force of a thousand bricks.

I hunch over in pain. It feels like I just ran twenty miles, unable to catch my breath as my chest constricts.

"It's fine." Wyatt whispers, not sounding as sure of himself as usual. "We got it handled."

A metaphorical rock is lodged in my throat, making it impossible to swallow or speak. I will not break down in front of Wyatt again. So, I swing around and tear through the door, fly up the stairs, and slam my door shut before locking it.

I don't even turn my lights on as I change into sweatpants and a t-shirt before sinking into the couch that seems too big without the Bearaffe. Clutching a pillow to my head, I try to drown out the screams. But it doesn't work. Because they're coming from inside my head this time.