Read I, Porn Star (I #1) Online
Authors: Zara Cox
I, Porn Star (I #1) (34 page)
Panic claws up my
spine. “I—what—?”
He kisses me
hard. “Don’t ask questions. I won’t answer them. And nothing you can say will
change anything. The course is set. But I need what’s happening here, right
now. I hope you want it too.” He stops and sucks in a breath. “If you don’t
I’ll…try to understand.”
I have two
options. Say no and destroy the finite time we have together. Say yes, endure
the uncertainty of what’s coming…while loving and making love with Quinn in the
time we have together. The choice is laughably easy. “I want what you want.”
The answer earns
me another earth-shaking smile. The cock still buried inside me begins to
harden. I gasp with the wonder of him filling me up. When I attempt to sit up,
Quinn holds me down. He spreads my thighs with his, and with one hand on my
lower back and one hand around my shoulders, he pistons inside me.
My eyes roll and
I lunge for his mouth. We stay like that, kissing and fucking until another
climax breaks over us.
Eventually, he
lets me up so I can use the bathroom. I’m sticky and sweaty, so I hit the
shower in the small en-suite. The need to return to the bedroom, to Quinn,
makes me rush through washing.
When I’m done, I
don’t bother to dry off. I wrap the towel around me and enter the bedroom.
Quinn’s not
there. His wallet is on the bedside table, but his clothes are gone. I force
down the tiny spurt of alarm and open the bedroom door. He’s not in the hallway
or the landing. I shut the door again and look around for a note or a clue of
where he is.
Nothing.
Okay
…
I hurriedly dry
myself off and tug on my clothes, minus panties, which are too embarrassingly
damp to put back on. I snatch my phone from my purse, the keycard from the
dresser, and leave the room. Besides the parlor, there are two more
rooms—a small dining room and adjoining reading room. They’re both empty.
I finger my phone, and am debating whether to call him, or go out and see if
his car is still outside, when I hear a low, harsh curse.
I look through
the dining room window. He’s outside. His phone is clamped to his ear and he’s
pacing the lawn while frantically rubbing his temple.
“It’s been a
goddamn week! You have everything you need. How fucking hard can it be? Never
mind what I’m doing.
Just do your goddamn job
… Shit, I’m sorry…of
course…I know that wasn’t part of the plan…no, everything is still going
ahead…Wednesday is fine. Start with their email and phone contacts, as agreed.
Send everything. Then as many networks as possible.
Nothing has changed
,
you have my word. Just…I need this
thing handled too.”
He stops and
listens for a minute. My heart is racing like a wild mustang on crack and I
don’t even know why. My whole body freezes when he lets out a blood-curdling
laugh.
“My
soul
?”
he seethes, before his shoulders hunch forward in abject, harrowing dejection.
“Please don’t waste your time worrying about something you can’t change.
Yeah…bye.”
He slides the
phone onto his back pocket and balls his fists. He’s turned away from me so I
can’t see his face, but his body language is chilling.
He must sense my
regard, because he tenses and whirls. His gaze zeros in on where I’m standing
at the window.
We stare at each
other, the earth cracking beneath our feet, doom blasting its imminent arrival.
Quinn slowly uncurls his fist and walks back inside. He finds me at the window,
unmoving. Hands cup my shoulders and he slides his face next to mine.
“No questions.
Please, Elyse.”
“It really is
going to be a temporary thing for us, isn’t it?”
His breath locks,
then he exhales in a rush. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
I nod calmly,
even though my newly loved up heart is screaming. “Yeah. I’m sorry too.”
I let him lead me
back upstairs. Undress me. Put me in bed and slide in next to me. This time our
lovemaking is near silent, our only communication with our eyes. Afterward, he
pulls me into his arms. And we sleep. I don’t dream. I don’t know if he does.
We end up staying
two more days. When Quinn goes out to get toothbrushes and a few supplies, I
text Fionnella. She comes back with a pass to live my life. The worry that Q
may be done with me grows, but not enough to derail my time with Quinn.
For a hefty
extra, the manager, Cindy, makes our meals and brings it up to the room. In
between eating and sleeping, Quinn Blackwood fucks me like he’s a raging addict
and I’m his last ever line of coke.
When we
eventually leave the memorable B&B, my heart weeps all through the drive
back to Manhattan. At one point, the pain gets so bad, I dig the hand I placed
on Quinn’s thigh into his skin without conscious thought. That earns me a detour
to a deserted lay-by and a quick, rabid fuck over the hood of the Mercedes with
my jeans wrapped around my knees.
Worry and the
afterglow of sex eventually lulls me into sleep. I wake up from a murky dream
with my heart hammering. We’re a few blocks from the loft.
A few blocks from
possibly not seeing Quinn again.
I glance at him.
His jaw is rigid, the hand over my own on his thigh gripping me tight. When we arrive,
he turns the ignition off. I release my seatbelt and open the door, but he doesn’t
let me go. He stays put, his hand still trapping my own. My searching glance
meets turbulent silver blue eyes.
He opens his
mouth.
Something’s
coming. Something bad. This might be the only chance I get, so I pre-empt him.
“Quinn.”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
His eyes flare
wide. Wider than I’ve ever seen. His face loses all color and he starts to
shake his head. “Elyse…”
The mobile in the
console blares through the car. We both look at it and freeze. Three rings.
Four. He looks at me and shakes his head. But he picks up the phone.
The voice is
female. And it’s agitated. Quinn’s eyes dart to mine and I read his icy
trepidation. He throws his door open, then freezes.
“What are you
talking about?” he fires. His eyes search the rear view mirror frantically before
his head swivels round. The glance he throws at me is filled with dread and
black fury. “No, dammit. Where are the damn bodyguards? I don’t see them. I
don’t see anything. Are you sure?”
As he’s turning
back round, his thumb hits the speaker button.
“Yes! I’m telling
you, Quinn. You need to get Lucky the hell out of there. Now!”
Fionnella’s voice.
Fionnella!
For a few
seconds, my mind freezes in blessed self-preservation. Then shock sucker
punches me, along with the wrecking ball that is my own epic stupidity.
Quinn stares at
me, the regret, dread and alarm finally beginning to make sense. The hand I
have on his thigh turns to ice, along with the rest of my body. I want to move
it, but I can’t. His grip is locked tight on me as we stare at each other.
My mouth drops
open, but words refuse to form.
Of course, fate
decides not to give me time to process it. I’m still locked in the shock vault
when rough hands grab my shoulders and yank me right out of the car. Quinn
lunges for me, but his seatbelt prevents him from gaining any traction. His
filthy curse rips the air as I hit the sidewalk sideways and pain ricochets
through my bruised hipbone.
Quinn surges out
of the car with a furious roar and vaults over the hood of the Mercedes as I’m
dragged backwards and tossed over someone’s shoulder.
“
Elyse!”
The otherworldly sensation of what’s happening forces a scream from my
throat. But it emerges a gargled croak.
Quinn’s heavy
footsteps charge after me and my captor.
“Put her the fuck
down, right fucking now, asshole!”
“Or what?” I hear
a taunt from the voice that has given me nightmares for the better part of
seven years.
I twist my head to
see several men rushing alongside those of my captor. My heart sinks.
“
Elyse!
Jesus. Let go of her. I swear to
God, if you hurt her—”
His words are cut
off abruptly, and he grunts in pain.
My heart lurches
at the sound of pounding feet. A tussle. Someone groans and curses. Then
pounding feet again.
I’m tossed into
the back of a van. My tailbone wails in pain as my head cracks against the
side.
The last thing I
see before the van door slams shut are fists flying. Quinn goes down. The van
door opens and shuts. “Let’s go!”
I stare into the
blackness. I want to scream again.
But I’m locked in
deeper shock.
Quinn is Q.
Q is Quinn.
This has been one
twisted game for both all along.
Fuck.
My.
Life.
***
QUINN
I pry my eyes
open. Faces are swimming above me. Some hold concern, others rabid curiosity.
Pain radiates from the side of my head, from my wrist and ribs. I know the
metallic taste in my mouth is blood before I swallow. Someone mentions an
ambulance. Someone takes a picture.
I struggle to sit
up. Look around.
Memory returns in
a blinding flash of cold fire.
IT’S A WRAP…OR NOT
Q is Quinn.
Quinn is Q.
My shock is
wearing off.
Bitch-slapped
with reality, the truth becomes glaringly obvious.
Dear God
, I must be the stupidest woman on earth. Even when my brain
force-fed me the information, I ignored it.
I believed myself
in love with two men. Ha!
What I am is
addicted to two sociopaths who are actually one person, thus ensuring I doubt
my sanity for the rest of my life.
If
I have a life left to live, that is.
The black cloth
over my head is stifling. Even more so than the tape across my mouth. I’m not
sure exactly how much time has passed. A day? Two? The gnawing hunger eating my
intestines tells me it’s closer to the latter.
The whole
production meant to scare the living shit out of me has so far bounced off my
armor plate of shock.
The ominous
footsteps. The hands tied behind my back. Feet bound. The bright light in the
face one moment, then the black bag over the head again? Rinse and repeat. It’s
so cliché I want to laugh. Except I suspect I’ll choke, what with the tape and
all. So I plead with my brain to hold on just a little bit longer.
Breathe, Elyse. Just breathe
. The terror
will probably return in good time, I don’t need to help it along.
Clayton won’t
like it when I refuse to divulge Petra’s whereabouts. And an angry Clayton
is—
“Well, young
lady. Quite the merry go round you’ve led me on, isn’t it?”
The bag is
whipped off my head. The action drags my hair in front of my face. I look
around, try to orient myself. Not quite the dungeon under a castle in the
middle of the South China Sea, but it’s dark and dingy all right. We’re in a
basement. Eight feet above, small, filthy rectangular windows reflect streetlights.
Somewhere in the distance, hip hop blares from loud speakers.
The naked bulb
above my head burns into my skin and blinds me, but I’m able to make out Clay,
sitting on a chair six feet from me. Our gazes collide, and I see hate blazing
from eyes the same color as mine.
I shrug.
He lifts an
eyebrow. “That’s all I get? After hunting you for six weeks?
A
shrug
?”
I stare back at
him. He has the nerve to look disappointed.
“I see you
haven’t let all that time go to waste, though? Quite the industrious little bee
you’ve been. Such a shame you didn’t think to work that
enthusiastically
for me back at The Villa.”
I let my gaze
radiate boredom. It’s the only way to get what I want, the tape off my mouth.
Sure enough, he snaps his fingers impatiently. A figure appears from the circle
of light. Earl, his one eye glaring hate and condescension.
“Didn’t I tell
you you’d end up like this, you filthy slut?” he crows, then he rips the tape
off my mouth.
The rippling
trail of pain it leaves forces a gasp out of me. “No, actually, you were wrong.
I’m not screaming and I’m not naked. I’m also sure as hell not dead.”
“We’ll see about
that—”
“Enough, Earl.”
Earl sneers and
moves out of the way.
Clayton smirks. “You
were saying?”
“Go fuck
yourself?”
He grimaces. “Ah,
she lives. I suppose I’ve had that coming for…what? Two months? Ten years?
More?”
“I’m never going
to tell you where she is. Never!”
He nods. “I know.
But I’ll find her. I’m a patient man. I’ll find her and bring her home.” He
leans forward, elbows on knees. “I just want us to be a family, Lucky. Is that
so bad?”
“Are you fucking
kidding me right now? I may be in shock but I’m not insane.”
His head tilts.
“You sure about that? From the circus blowing all over the news, I say you
inherited some of your mother’s mental instability.”
“She got that way
because of what you did to her!”
“What? Treat her
like a queen? Give her the best that money can buy only to find out she’s
screwing that dimwit behind my back?”
Earl grumbles.
Clayton ignores him.
“You really are
delusional, aren’t you?”
He regards me
steadily for a minute. “Ridge didn’t deserve what you did to him.”
Now the fear
invades. So does the rage. “He tried to
rape
me, with
your
blessing.”
“Now, let’s not
sling unfair accusations around. You went down there of your own free will.
Like your mother, you thought you could pull the wool over my eyes when I was
two steps ahead of you the whole time.”
“If you were you
would’ve foreseen what happened to your lapdog.”
Fury shrouds his
face. “Watch your tone. That man was a veteran, a defender of his country. He
didn’t deserve to be barbecued by a second rate whore.”
My eyes widen.
“My God, you loved him, didn’t you? What, he was the son you never had, while
the daughter under your nose deserved to be passed around like a Sunday
afternoon buffet?”
“I kept you fed
and clothed—”
“While keeping me
under guard twenty-four hours and whoring me off seven days a week. Yeah, I
felt
really
loved.”
“This isn’t a
father-daughter bonding session, Lucky.” He reaches into his suede jacket and
pulls out a folded document. “This is a warrant for your arrest, signed by my
good friend, Judge Tolley, you remember him? You gave him a birthday treat to
remember last year. All I need is to act on this, and you’ll be back in Getty
Falls standing trial for murder.”
Despite the
quaking inside, I lift my chin. “Are you sure? I’m pretty certain the
authorities will have something to say about a Sheriff three thousand miles
from his sand pit randomly slapping handcuffs on a citizen.”
“You assume
anyone knows I’m here. I have a private jet on standby. I could have you back
home and in jail by nightfall. And while you’re awaiting your trial, I’ll
continue my search for Petra.”
Her name on his
lips liquefies my insides. “There are billions of girls in the world, Clay.
Thousands who will buy the Kool Aid you’re selling, unfortunately. Why her? Why
can’t you just leave her be?”
He staggers to
his feet, his face livid. “
Because she is mine!
”
He’s not going to
stop looking for her. Never. “I have money. I’ll give it all to you if you
promise to give up searching for her. That’s what you want her for, isn’t it?
To be your next star attraction? Tell me what she’s worth, I’ll pay it.”
“How? You think
that rich asshole you were cavorting with will bail you out? I say he has
enough problems of his own right now.”
The vice around
my heart tightens. “What are you talking about?”
He snaps his
fingers. “Right. You’ve been in the dark, literally for the last two days,
haven’t you? Earl, bring the laptop. Show Lucky here all the excitement she’s
missed. If you ask me, you’re the star attraction everyone’s interested in
now.” He waves the document at me. “Maybe I should revisit my decision. You’re
an Internet sensation now. Your premium has gone up—”
“
What the hell
are you talking about
?”
I demand
louder.
Earl steps back
into the light, a laptop clutched in his hand. He snags a chair and sets it
down with the laptop a few feet from me. With a nasty smirk, he hits the
button, stands back and folds his arms.
At first I’m not sure
what I’m seeing. The camera is shaking badly, the person holding it hiding
behind a curtain or drape. The shot gets better when a woman walks into view,
accompanied by a man. The footage is years old, but I recognize a younger
Maxwell Blackwood immediately.
He walks the
woman into a bedroom suite. On the bed, two half-dressed men wait. The
expressions on their faces are ones I’m unwillingly familiar with. Maxwell
murmurs in her ear, then turns to leave. She tries to grab him, her sobs
escalating. He pushes her back toward the bed. When she protests, he reaches
into his pocket and pulls at a set of handcuffs and secures her to the bedpost.
“You can’t go
back on your promises, Adele. I’m disappointed in you.” He leaves her there,
walks out. The men rise from the bed, and move towards her.
My heart shreds
as the name registers. Adele. Quinn’s mother.
The camera cuts to another, similar
footage of Adele with other men. On and on. Six in total. Then to a different
scene. Maxwell is sitting on a sofa with Adele. He’s wearing a suit, she’s in
her nightgown. Again there are hints of a drape in the corner of the screen. He
talks in a low, insistent voice. She’s weeping softly and nodding. After a
minute, he nods to someone off camera. A woman walks onto the screen and hands
Maxwell a vial of pills.
As she turns
away, I see her face and my breath catches.
It’s Quinn’s
stepmother, Delilah Blackwood.
Maxwell carries
on talking to Adele, one hand soothing her back. The footage is fast-forwarded
to where he sets the pills down in front of her and kisses her temple. She
rises, goes to a drawer, and returns with a black clothed lump. When she sits
down, he pats her hand.
“You’re doing the
right thing, Adele. It’s for the greater good,” he says.
He leaves the
room. Adele reaches for the pills, shakes them out into her palm and swallows
them with a glass of water. Her movements are slow when she parts the black
cloth and picks up a gun.
No!
The camera
wobbles. “Mama?” The cracked voice of a boy not quite yet a man.
Adele’s head
turns slowly towards the voice, the gun rising in her hand.
The camera swings
downward, then falls to the carpet. Feet rush in and out of shot.
“No, Mama!
No!
”
The still rolling
camera records the sound of the shot.
Then the endless screaming
starts.
I absently note
the sobs ripping from my throat, the wetness on my face. Somewhere beyond the
buzzing in my head, I hear Earl chuckle.
The footage moves
on. Quinn in his early twenties, sitting on a sofa. He’s being asked questions
by a woman with her back to the camera. They’re about the state of his mental
health.
His shrink.
His answers are
monosyllabic. Every now and then, he smirks at the camera over her shoulder.
The video rolls forward, until, unbelievably she gets up and begins to undress.
Quinn issues instructions, which she follows, all the way through giving him
oral sex. And through it all, his eyes stare soullessly into the camera.
Fast-forward
again through the shrink’s footage. At one point it stops at a plaque in her
office. Adriana Nathanson.
Then comes the
one that sends a spike straight through my gut.
Quinn and
Delilah. Nausea punches through my diaphragm. My whole body heaves and I
prepare to hurl. At the last instant it subsides, but I can’t take my eyes off
the depravity happening onscreen.
Delilah and
Quinn.
Sometimes on
their own. Other times with multiple partners.
Fast-forward to
two days ago. Breaking news. Maxwell and Delilah’s ashen faces when the footage
is projected onto a large screen at a gala they’re attending. Friends being
interviewed. The mayor giving his opinion on the scandal. The footage shown
again.
The police
leading Maxwell away in handcuffs. Then Delilah in handcuffs.
Different footage
of Quinn. He’s also with the police, but there are no handcuffs. Cameras are
shoved in his face. The look in his eyes…soulless.
Then Q, masked.
Q, unmasked. Q with other women.
Q
with me
.
I have my
blindfold on for all of the footage, unlike the other women.
I now understand
the need for the blindfold, but that brings zero relief.
A sound bubbles
up from my throat. My vision blurs with raw tears and burning humiliation. The
footage rolls forward and ends with the caption:
The Life & Times Of The
Notorious, Murdering Blackwoods
.
Earl smirks as he
retrieves the laptop.
I feel dead
inside.
“Your man is
quite the internet sensation, just like you.” Clayton shakes his head. “What a
family. All that money. Not a single sane brain cell between them.”
“He did it for
his mother.” That much is glaringly obvious.
But why
the fuck am I defending him?
“He’s a sick
freak. The only reason he isn’t locked away yet is because of all those
Blackwood billions. But I see he got his claws into you.” His eyes gleam with
malice, then turn contemplative. “What did you make out of this shindig? And
don’t say nothing. I taught you better than that. I also heard when you said
you had money.”