“So,” Stacey says, setting out the glasses. “How’s your day going?”
“Super,” I grunt, momentarily gripped by paranoia.
She’s trying to make conversation, not grilling you for a confession, asshole.
“Sorry,” I say as she pours the tequila. “Today was pretty shitty.”
Stacey frowns. “You didn’t get fired, did you?”
“No.”
“Because if you did I probably can’t let you run a tab.”
“I didn’t get fired,” I say, holding back my temper. “But… a colleague did,” I fib, figuring that’s close enough to the truth. “It was unexpected.”
“He take it hard?” she asks, pouring out the Coke.
I snort. “Yeah, you could say that.”
She grabs and fills another shot glass. “That one’s on me. Cheer up. I’m sure he’d be touched if he knew how much this upset you.”
He wouldn’t give a shit, but that’s sweet of her to say.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Sure thing,” she replies, winking. “Are you worried the same could happen to you?”
Killed by Quinn? She wouldn’t do that, would she? She cares about me. But if I stood between her and a chance of escaping… I honestly don’t know what she’d do. Of course she wants to escape — I couldn’t blame her if that mattered to her more, but I don’t want it to.
“Not exactly, but the next few weeks will be stressful,” I say, knocking back the first shot. Warmth spreads through my chest and I sigh.
Stacey gets a pen from the cash register and writes something on a bar napkin. She passes it to me and shrugs. “If you ever want to talk about it more.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking a peek. It’s her number. Wow. I raise the second Patrón and say, “Have that one with me?”
She smiles and lifts the third glass. We tap them together and drink. She coughs and sticks out her tongue, letting the gum fall off. I laugh, unable to help it.
“Happens every time,” she says.
I grin and slip her number into my pocket, just to be polite. It’s weird to think about it, but it’s been years since I actually asked a woman out. I can’t even imagine a date. The first thing she’d ask is,So, what do you do?How would I even answer? Just lie about everything? I never made a conscious choice, but I kinda gave up on dating. Plus, I never expected I’d find someone who aches to be bound, disciplined and used the way Quinn does, so dating just became an exercise in futility.
Fucking goddammit, Lance. If you’d just invited me to that party, not only would you not be in a fucking coma, but I’d have met Quinn outside of the prison. Sure, I’d have been drawn in by her hot little body, but when I got to know her, that would have been it. I wouldn’t have let her out of my sight again. We could have been a normal couple — at least outside the dungeon.
She really is quite a catch… when she’s not trying to kill anyone.
Fuck, I think, starting in on my Jack and Coke.What am I going to do with her?
To punish Quinn’s attack on Judge Jefferson, I came up with weeks’ worth of sadistic torments — I’d only just started them. If Quinn thought forced orgasms and nipple clamps in the middle of the workshop was cruel and degrading, the rest of what I had planned was only going to get worse. By the end, she’d be looking back fondly on the days when all she had to do was sew quietly and endure the occasional whipping.
In the hours I spent planning it all, I must have rubbed one out five or six times. I admit, I’d been looking forward to seeing how Quinn handled each successive torment. Most importantly, though, is that by the end Byron and Jefferson would have been placated enough to leave her alone for a while.
But now none of that’s going to suffice. Corbin might not have been that important in the grand scheme of things, but he’s dead. Quinn raised the stakes — so now I have to take her punishment to another level. I can’t just serve up pain and humiliation in new ways — Quinn will probably enjoy most of it anyway. Whatever I do, it can’t just bruise physically — it has to scar mentally. It has to be insidiously cruel and sadistic.
Dread and liquor tussle in my gut. Appeasing Byron will mean hurting Quinn in ways neither of us will likely enjoy, but what choice do I have?
With a rueful chuckle, it occurs to me that maybe if people stopped trying to fuck with Quinn, this would stop happening. Yeah, that’s what I should tell Byron. That’ll go over real well. But that’s the pattern, isn’t it? From Lance to Jefferson and Corbin — Quinn’s a fighter, and sometimes she wins. If Byron wants to cut his losses, he could try leaving Quinn alone. Eventually, she’ll be someone else’s problem — hopefully mine.
Drinking the rest of my Jack and Coke, I push the glass forward for Stacey to take. I should pace myself a little if I’m going to stay for another round.