I, Porn Star (I #1) (15 page)

15

EXPOSITION

Q

I rip the voice
distorter and the connecting earpiece from my face and crush the delicate tech
in my fist. One piece of it breaks through my skin, but the pain doesn’t
register. It’s buried far too deep beneath the Everest of deadly rage.

Striding to the
trashcan next to my desk, I open my hand and let the fragments fall. Turning my
hand over, I see three bright spots of blood dotting one finger. I rub at it
with my thumb, smear it across my palm. All too soon the capillaries close up,
my body’s natural defenses rushing to seal the wound. Regret flickers like a
heartbeat on a monitor before it flatlines. My gaze traces up my bare arm to
the almost invisible scar on my inner elbow.

The doctors did a
fine job. But they were instructed on pain of death to leave no evidence. Not
even for me to find.

But at times like
this I don’t need a visual aid to feel the scar. It pulsates with a life force
of its own, an open invitation to lose myself. To surrender to permanent
darkness.

I reject the
invitation, close my fist and lay it on my desk. The other hand falls flat
beside it. The strains of
Vissi D’arte
fill my head. I count the sequences off one by one. Over and over.

Sweat pebbles my
skin, drips down my face and neck and onto my bare torso as I count, my finger
tapping faster and faster. But the dull roar in my head doesn’t abate.

It started the
moment I saw her wrist. That blemish,
there
on her skin, was nearly my undoing.

My true undoing
came the moment I touched her. That flame, searing and illuminating …hurt. It
awakened. And alarmed.

Enough for me to
contemplate giving in to the compulsion to end it all tonight,
now
. It
writhes through me like a coiled snake, striking, ripping poisoned holes
through me I make no attempt to staunch.

The temptation is
overpowering.

But this isn’t
how it ends.

I
can’t let him get away with it
.

I drop, drained,
into my chair and stare into the gloom. In the near darkness my gaze finds her
picture on my desk.

Mama.

Smiling.
Always smiling. Trusting. So trustin
g.

I take a breath
and it moves through me like a rejuvenating tide. Or as close to one as a soul
existing in a vacuum can experience.

Except I didn’t
feel that way this afternoon with Elly. Not when she stared at me with defiance
and surrender. Or when she begged me to draw her deeper into my obsidian web.
The vacuum shifted then, attempted to make room for fuck knows what.

I don’t want her
soul. I have no use for her heart. Or her feelings.

But her body is
mine.

And she dared to
withstand it being, hurt…marred. To brush it off as nothing, the skin I’ve
touched, the skin wrapped around the body that will bring an orchestral ending to
a decade-long plan?

I surge to my
feet, once again fully enveloped in my most comfortable suit of moral
bankruptcy and scalpel-sharp focus.

No, not quite
scalpel-sharp. That edge was dulled today courtesy of bottomless green eyes and
a plump, quivering mouth that just begged to be fucked.

I thought my
focus was back. But the conversation ten minutes ago…

The poison is
acid-sharp, eating at my control.

I need something
specific. Something to take my mind off Lucky. And Elly.

XYNYC
is shut on Wednesday nights. I think about
the Punishment Club, the underground club Axel opened five years ago. It’s most
likely where I’ll find what I need, but I don’t think it’s a good idea tonight.
For one thing, I don’t want to spend time hunting my prey. If I choose wrong,
my state of mind will get worse.

For another, the
Punishment Club is in Hell’s Kitchen, a defiant three blocks from the loft
where I stashed Lucky. Letting myself into her space and bringing everything to
an end isn’t a scenario I’ve mastered at ruling out.

With my immediate
respites out of the question, I reach for my phone.

Adriana Nathanson
answers with a groggy, “Hello?”

“Your office. One
hour.”

“Quinn? It’s…ten
o’clock at night.”

“That early, huh?
Make it half an hour then.” I hang up, stride through the apartment to my
bedroom and pull on a black Tee on top of my black chinos. A battered leather
jacket to keep out the chill and a quick detour to the bathroom to throw water
on my face and clean the blood from my palm before I head out. I activate the
valet app on my phone and my DB9 is waiting for me by the time I exit my
building.

“Have a good
evening, Mr. Blackwood.”

I hand the valet
boy a fifty and slide behind the wheel. Traffic is thankfully light and I reach
Adriana’s office with five minutes to spare.

She must have
alerted her office security because I’m escorted up to her office and let in by
a security guard. I pace until the click of heels sends me to the door of her
office.

She sees me and
stops in the middle of the hallway. Her gaze rakes over my all-black clothing
and she takes a nervous breath without moving.

“Why, Adriana.
Don’t tell me you
afraid
of
me?”

A single shake of
her head. “You’re not violent. Not that way, anyway.”

I’m not sure why
that soothes me, but it does. “Are we going to conduct this session in the
hallway?”

“So you’re
serious? You really want to talk?”

“Either that, or
I want to fuck you up the ass. I haven’t quite decided yet.”

Her eyes widen
and light up with suppressed excitement before her gaze drops. “Maybe we can
do…both?”

I laugh. “You’d
like that, wouldn’t you? For me to send you back home to dear old Stanley with
a sore ass and a heart brimming with fulfillment for all the good work you’ve
done? Tell me, how is the darling husband doing these days?”

She resumes
walking toward me. “Quinn, if you dragged me all the way here to toy with me,
be warned, I’m not in the mood.” The practiced sway of her hips beneath the
wraparound dress she has on contradicts her words. I don’t care enough to point
it out.

I turn sideways
for her to precede me into the office. She stops and stares up at me.

“Something’s
happened,” she muses quietly. “What is it, Quinn?”

“Inside. Now.”

She walks in, and
I shut the door. I decline the drink she offers, cross the room and drop into
the sofa. Both hands spear into my hair and I search for words.

“You’re right.
I’m…affected.”

“It’s
understandable, seeing as your father’s back in the city—”

“It’s not him.
Well, it’s not
all
him. But he’s being a good demon for now and staying
in his allotted box.”

“Then who is it?”

“Names aren’t
important.” I don’t want to mention her name here, even the names that I know
are fake. Not in this place of sickening filth and half-baked healing. For the
first time, I wonder what her real name is. Where she’s from. I catch myself
and return Adriana’s stare. “All that’s important is how to get rid of it.”

“Rid of what?
What are you feeling?”

“The need to
succumb.” I say. My voice is barely a rumble. But with the time of night, and
the quiet of the office, she hears me.

Her gaze moves
over me. To the side. Down my arm. “Are you self-harming again?”

I silently
commend her for not beating about the bush. She’s in full shrink mode, and I
realize I need that.

“No. That’s not
what this is about. Besides, harming implies an ongoing situation. Mine wasn’t.
It was a one time thing.”

“But you said
you’d been thinking about it for a while before you did it, so there was
forethought.”

I shake my head
once. “That’s not what this is, Adriana. Trust me.”

“Okay. Tell me in
what way this person affects you, then.”

Her image rises
up. Defiant. Gorgeous. Fucked up. Utterly fuckable. Dangerous. I shrug.
“They’re poking holes in my black spaces.”

“And this
distresses you?”

“Hell no. I’m
distressed for them.”

“Why. Do they
matter to you?”

I pause a second
before I answer. “There’s a potential they might fall through my cracks. I
don’t need the collateral damage. I thought I didn’t care. I’m still not sure
that I do. But it’s…affecting me.”

“Maybe consider
cementing your cracks first? Put off involving this person in your situation
just yet?”

I think of my
fingers touching her satin-smooth skin, the white-hot flame on my desolate
landscape. “It’s not that easy. I’m already invested.”

“Have you thought
about setting yourself a hard limit?”

“It could be too
late.” I have a feeling it’s already too late. For Quinn, anyway.

Q is another
matter.

“Only you can
decide by which point the investment will begin to lose its value. You’re not
afraid of making tough choices, Quinn. But you also enjoy the buildup of chaos.
That has been one of the things you’ve refused to tackle. Maybe now is the time
to start?”

“Timing’s not
good for me. Come up with another solution.”

She sighs and
sits back. “The only other alternative is to let them see who you are. Give
them the choice to walk away. But I don’t recommend that.”

“Why not?”

“Because people
see what they want to see. And because you’re especially skilled at getting
people to walk down a path they may not necessarily want to go but are unable
to stop themselves from taking.”

“Are we still
talking about just me here, Dr. Nathanson?” I smirk.

Unease flits over
her face. “I’m serious, Quinn.”

I shrug. “So your
solution is to save this person from my sociopathy before they hurt themselves
through their own choices?”

“This isn’t a
game, Quinn. You wouldn’t have woken me up at this time of the night if you
weren’t worried—”

“Seeking clarity
doesn’t equate with worry.”

“Then let me be
clear. Until you take steps to fix what’s wrong with
you
, you’re putting
them
in danger. You probably know this already, but have convinced
yourself you don’t care. But what you need to ask yourself is, do they
deserve
it?”

The stillness
descends on me. It stops everything, including the roar.

I wanted clarity.

I’ve got it.

Will the demons
let me keep it? Will the weight of my destiny let me even contemplate it?

I stand and walk
over to her window. Down below, traffic on Lexington Avenue trips on as usual.

Through the
reflection, I see Adriana stand. She hesitates for a moment before she makes
her way to me. Her hand touches the middle of my back. No higher. She knows
what that will earn her.

“I miss her too,
Quinn. She was the best of all of us. That’s why I want to do everything I can
to help you heal. I know if anything were to happen to you, Adele would
never—”

She gasps as I
twist around, grab the hand on my back and use it to propel her against the
window. My hands close over her arms, and I lift her slight body up until we’re
face to face.

“Do not fucking speak
her name, do you hear me? I don’t want her name to ever pass your lips again.
Not because she was your best friend and
you
miss
her
. Not because she made you my godmother, but you’ve taken
delight in sucking my cock since I came of age. Do. Not. Speak. Her. Name.
Because you
know
what happened.
You were fucking there. And you did
nothing
.”

Her face goes as
white as the walls in her office. “Quinn, please—”

“Shut the fuck
up. I don’t want you to say my name, and I don’t want to hear your excuses.” My
hiss is low, deadly enough for her to understand I mean business.

Her mouth snaps
shut. I take a minute before I release her.

The roar is back.
I want to slam my head against a wall to drown it back out. Instead, I shove my
hands in my pockets.

“Goodbye,
Adriana. I’m going out of town for a while. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.
Sorry about the lack of ass-fucking. I probably would’ve accommodated you, but
you blew it by reminding me just what type of human being you truly are. I’m
sure you’ll find someone else to accommodate you in my absence.”

Her face
contorts. Before she can open her mouth, I’m headed out the door. I don’t look
back.