Mates for Quinn

Taken

Quinn

We are moving. I can feel the motion even though I have something black on my head which prevents me from seeing. My legs and hands are tied so damn tight, I have the feeling my blood circulation is hanging by a thread. There’s this weird, stiff sensation in my fingers which I really, really don’t like.

I am dizzy, disoriented. Unfamiliar scents are invading my senses and it’s like I am drawn to them like a cat to valerian or something like that. Sandal wood and citrus, rain and dark spices. It’s like a sensory overload and I am sure that’s the reason for my spinning head.

At least he is not listening to that song anymore. God, how much I hate it. Big is completely gone out of my head and so is Naughty, and it kind of feels weird not having them in the background of my mind. Well, I guess even my own hallucinations want nothing to do with the big f*uck up that my life is.

One last shot. That’s all that it was supposed to be. Get in get, get the goods, get out, get paid. An easy, simple task. And that lock, damn, it was a piece of art. It wouldn’t give in for everyone, but just like a capricious lover who needs just the right touch to give in. When it finally opened up for me, it was like coming home. I’d achieved something. I’d done something that not many people would be able to pull off, and it was pride that made me move further. At that moment I didn’t care about the money, about the other men I’d come with, but then… we’d been made.

The moment I realized it, I froze. I was like a deer in headlights, waiting to be hit at any minute. So, I did the only logical thing I could think of - I ran. Or tried to.

I have no damn idea how the hell I ended up tied like a pig on the backseat of a fancy car with leather seats. To my doom I guess. So much for those hallucinations being actual visions about the future. If they were, we’d be getting unharmed, and loaded, out of that place. Genie’d loose it when I tell her we were all wrong about this. She’d lose it even more when she never hears from me again. F*uck.

I know I have to stay quiet, get a better perception of what’s going on, who are the people who got me now and so on, but my limbs are really starting to ache. Plus, I’ve never been known as the brightest tool in the shed or something just as basic.

“Hey, I think our passenger princess is awake,” someone from the front seat grumbles, the mockery in his voice clear.

Why… why does his voice sound somewhat familiar? Shuffling from the front, followed by an angry growl draw my attention and feel my cheeks heating because my captors are probably ogling me right now, and I feel like I’ve been put on display for all to see and laugh. Like in one of those stupid dreams where people walk around naked the rest of the world mocks them or something. I mean, I am not a shy person, definitely not ashamed of my body, but I also hate being scrutinised like this. Got something to do with my early days in juvie, or maybe my first day in prison…

I wish my mouth wasn’t gagged, so I could give those guys a run for their money. A voice in my head says it’s better to keep it to myself, to not draw attention, but I’ve never been one to cower from challenges. And even though I can’t see the face of Mr. Passenger Princess, I know there is somewhat of a challenge in the way he’s ogling me.

A flash of a memory runs through my head right this moment. Back at the warehouse, when they found me, for a moment I locked eyes with one of them. Right now it is all hazy, a blur of a kind, and I can’t, for the life of me, recall what he looked like exactly. I mean, I remember he was hot, but there was something about him, the way he was staring at me as if I was nothing more than his prey, that made me want to withdraw and run for my life.

“So, you awake, princess?” The guy asks now, his rich timbre making gooseflesh run over my skin.

“He’s gagged,” the other guy says with grumble, and I imagine him snarling at his buddy. He does sound mean in a way it reminds me of my Big. Way to go, Quinsy, project your hallucinations on the men who kidnapped you. Surely that’s healthy.

Shuffling of clothes and the muffled sound of a thunder somewhere out in the distance, and a moment later the dark cloth is removed from my face. I am met face to face with the deepest, richest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life. And then I remember - he was there, at the warehouse. The mafia dude who stared at me like he wanted to devour me seconds before I decided to run off and fell down that basement stairwell like a clumsy id*iot.

Focus, I remind myself. Whatever happened, happened. Now I need to find a way, any way, to get the hell out of here, and whole. I know people in the mafia too. I’d hate to pull off a favour from Genie’s family, but if it’s how I survive, I will do it. Even if it means I’ll have to sit through an hour long lecture from my best friend about broken promises and so on.

Staring back at my kidnapper, I know he has to be mafia. I’ve seen his type - Genie’s soon to be husband. Her big-shot boss of a brother. This one here has the same aura about him. Plus, guarding locked up guns in the basement of an old warehouse? What else could he be? No other reason a rich boy like him was there tonight. And man, does he look rich. The expensive suit he’s wearing, the way he’s moving. It all screams old money, not to mention that unceremonious bluntness only rich boys have around them is all over him. Rich and pretentious.

The next thing I know, he reaches out to remove the gag and I don’t miss the way his golden watch glints in the darkness, drawing all my attention to it like I am some kind of a dragon drawn to the treasure in my direct line of sight.

“That was a really stupid stunt you pulled back at the warehouse, human,” he drags with that sexy arrogant tone of his and there it is again, the feeling of familiarity settling deep at the pit of my stomach.

I blink in confusion as realization finally kicks in. My eyes widen at him and by instinct I retreat back into the leather seat, groaning at the strain in my tied up arms. There is no where to escape, I realise. The leather seat is only that wide. I close my eyes, squinting my eye-lids, willing the hallucination away. It’s not possible, he’s not real. God, not now. Tonight can’t be the night I finally flip.

“I think he’s going into shock. Do you think the curse’s going to kill him faster because he’s just a human?” Blue Eyes asks his buddy, and my heart starts hammering like crazy agains my chest.

The car pulls to a stop and an exasperated sigh leaves the driver’s lips. He’s bigger than the other one. Larger. From my vantage point I can’t see too much of him except that his damp dark hair is pulled into a messy bun, but some strands have already escaped, or how broad his shoulders actually are. His wet clothes mould to that body to perfection, and I catch myself dragging my eyes over his torso, or at least what I can see. He’s still not turning to face me.

“Would you please stop calling him a human?” Big guy asks, and his rumbling voice, that reminds me of the roll of rocks down a mountain hill, low and hot, and threatening, making the hair at the back of my neck stand with anticipation. “It’s weird.”

“Well…” Blue Eyes shrugs, giving me a wink that makes my insides churn and I look away because I can’t take it. Because it’s not possible.

Maybe I am in shock, or going into one, whichever. What else could it be? Why else would I stand here, pliant as a lamb at slaughter, while I am projecting on my two kidnappers all my f*ucked up fantasies.

“I mean look at him. It seems like he’s about to pass out again,” Blue Eyes frowns, still studying me, like I am some oddity, something he’s never come across before, not the other way around.

“He has a name,” I croak, suddenly feeling annoyed to no avail. I hate that my throat is too parched for the words to sound normal and they come out as the weak mumbling of a half-wit or something.

“Oh, it speaks,” Blue Eyes gives me another wink, even though I know for a fact it’s all directed at his buddy. All that poking and prodding, all that sass… which I shouldn’t know about. These people are strangers. They are supposed to be.

God, I am going to be institutionalised, aren’t I? I mean, the moment someone with enough brain cells gets on my case, they will deem me unfit to be part of society. Because, it’s one thing to fantasise about made up people. But having actual conversations with them? That’s a whole new level of crazy.

“Stop it, Mark!” Big guy grunts again, annoyance and exhaustion seeping into his voice. “Did she call back?”

Mark. My heart skips a beat. In all these years since the visions started, I’ve never been able to catch either of the guy’s names. Now I know. Naughty’s name is Mark.