Ricochet (Locked & Loaded #1) (2 page)

Alone. Always alone.

Right now, after living in hell for two years, Quinn would take alone any day of the week. If being with someone meant being with Travis? Alone sounded really really great.

“You bitch!”

The door to the guest bedroom slammed open, bouncing off the wall with a loud bang. Quinn trembled with fear, her teeth chattering together so loud she knew Travis had to be able to hear them.

His scuffed boots appeared in the doorway. Those goddamn boots. How many times had she been kicked by Travis’ beloved cowboy boots? Too many to count. The pointed toes were especially effective at breaking her ribs, not that she’d ever had them x-rayed to know for sure. Travis would never take her to the hospital, because then he’d be found out for the abusive piece of shit he was. Sometimes, Quinn fantasized about putting on those boots and kicking Travis repeatedly in the nuts.

The boots stopped right next to the bed. God, what she wouldn’t give for a knife right now. To sink it into his leg, hear him howl in pain. She could steal his keys and drive away, leaving his sorry ass behind. As stupid as Quinn thought he was, Travis was too smart to leave anything to chance. He kept every last sharp object locked up so she couldn’t plan anything devious.

Travis had to know she hated him. He could certainly see it in her eyes every time he looked at her. She couldn’t hide her disgust anymore. She didn’t
want
to hide it.

Quinn watched in horror as Travis bent down, his handsome face coming into view from her hiding place. Her pulse drummed wildly, beating so fast she was sure she’d have a heart attack right then and there.

“There you are. Y’all had me worried, darlin’,” he said in a sugary sweet voice.

She knew his game. Kind Travis was a trick, designed to make her lower her guard. Then, when she wasn’t expecting it, he’d turn on her and beat the ever-living shit out of her.

“Fuck you, Trav!”

Quinn knew she was making it worse by yelling at her husband. Maybe she wanted to die. No, that wasn’t true. She wanted to live, just not here with Travis. Death would be preferable to this.

“Don’t be that way, Annie. Come out darlin’. I’ve missed you.”

“Leave me alone!”

Travis stood up. Was he going to leave? Quinn knew better, but that damn emotion—
hope
, got her every time.

Suddenly, she was no longer under the bed. Travis had flipped the mattress and box spring over and onto the floor, leaving her exposed beneath the metal slats of the frame. Quinn ducked, but Travis was faster. He reached out and grabbed her by her hair.

“Get out of there, bitch. You know better than to fucking hide from me!”

Quinn cried from the pain that sliced across her scalp as Travis dragged her out from under the bed.

“Stop Travis! You’re hurting me!”

“Shut up!”

He yanked her out of the bedroom, never letting go of the length of dark hair he had wrapped around his fist. Travis flung her to the floor of the living room, flipping her to her back and putting one of those goddamn boots on her throat before she could move.

Quinn knew he could kill her if he applied enough pressure to crush her windpipe. Her lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen. Black spots appeared in the periphery of her vision. She scrabbled to get a hold of his foot with both hands, using all of her strength to try to push him off. Nothing happened, he didn’t even flinch.

This is it. He’s going to kill me this time.

“You think you can beat me? You’re weak! You’re a useless piece of shit, Annie. The only thing you’re good for is fucking.”

Travis finally lifted his foot and Quinn gasped, sucking in huge gulps of precious air. She rolled to her side, coughing and sputtering as she wheezed through her raw throat. Quinn clawed at the carpet, trying to put some distance between her and her husband. She recoiled when he laughed at her, a cruel, taunting laugh that rattled her to her bones.

Quinn cried out when her palm slipped on a shard of glass, ripping her hand open from pinky to thumb. She saw the remnants of her daddy’s flag case scattered across the floor. The American flag presented to her at his funeral by the Marine detail that carried his casket, lying forgotten on the carpet.

“You bastard!” Quinn screamed.

Her vision clouded with rage, she snatched up a piece of glass and lunged for Travis. Quick as a snake, his huge hand easily caught her wrist, squeezing until Quinn was sure her bones would snap in half. The weapon fell out of her hand, uselessly clattering to the floor.

Travis backhanded her— hard — and her head hit the floor, bouncing off of the strewn remains of her father’s flag case. His fist reared back and landed on her face. Stars exploded behind her eyelids in an overwhelming wave of pain.

Quinn simultaneously wished she’d blackout so this could end and that she would stay awake so she could fight.

“I’m going to teach you, Annie. You’ll learn who’s boss in this house.”

Travis shoved her dress up to her waist and straddled her thighs, pressing his heavy weight down on her.

“No!
No, no, no!
Travis, don’t do this.” Huge sobs wracked her chest, causing her to sputter and cough.

“Shut up!” He punched her in the face again.

Quinn felt her lip split open, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

Travis tore her panties off in one rough tug. Her eyes too swollen to see, Quinn could hear him unbuckling his belt and lowering his zipper. The sound of each tooth of the zipper unfastening brought her closer to living her worst nightmare.

Travis held her down and entered her roughly, grunting on top of her like a rutting animal. Quinn’s body was unprepared for the intrusion. She could feel the delicate flesh tearing inside. The sheriff’s badge on his shirt jabbed her in the breast with each hard thrust, a reminder of how absolute his power over her was. It took every molecule of strength to keep quiet, to keep from vomiting all over Travis. She did that once. He kicked her so hard she couldn’t take a deep breath for over a month.

Silent tears ran freely down her cheeks, burning a path across her skin.

Funny, Quinn thought, she knew she wouldn’t live much longer if she didn’t do something about Travis. But she wasn’t trained to fight. She didn’t know how to survive situations like this. Quinn was completely and totally helpless.

The first time Travis hit her, a month after they were married, she knew what her future looked like. Today, the beatings she suffered through? This was exactly how she thought she’d eventually die.

Chapter 3

RICK COULD smell the acrid smoke, the singed flesh burning his nostrils. His face was pressed to the ground, debris and rock cutting into his cheek. When he opened his eyes, he could see a halo of fire glowing bright against the pitch-black sky. He vaguely registered the flames that ate through his camos and thermals quickly, seeking out his unblemished skin.

“Staff sergeant!” His earpiece was filled with his teammates’ calls to him. Rick couldn’t move or speak. His brain was too rattled to form words.

“Rick! Ricochet! Come in.”

Leave
, he thought to himself.
Get Bixby out of here.
He knew his team wouldn’t go. They would never leave a man behind. They would find him. Alive or dead, they would find him.

Rick startled awake with a gasp, sweating. Fucking dreams. It’s been over a year since he left the Marines, two since that night on the mountain, and it played in his mind as if it were only yesterday. His own private movie, shown on a never-ending loop.

Christ, it never ends.

Rick glanced over at his bed partner, some blonde chick he picked up at a bar last night. He struggled to remember her name, only recalling that he called her peaches because she tasted like peach Schnapps, most likely because she drank way too much of it at the bar. She was fun, but it was time to go. Rick slid out of bed as quietly as possible, not wanting to have the “thanks it was great, no I’m not going to call you again” conversation. He stretched when he got to his feet, the now familiar pull of tight skin flexing over the back of his left thigh.

Shit
. It was late, or early depending how you thought of it. He never fell asleep at a woman’s house. He never wanted to. Rick knew he was tired, he didn’t realize how tired until now. Constant lack of sleep will do that to a person. The shrink gave him pills, but Rick didn’t do tranquilizers. Years spent as a Marine had him trained to be able to spring into action at a moment’s notice, even from a deep sleep. He refused to let his guard down by being knocked out and helpless by drugs.

Rick had to be at the gym tomorrow, okay, this morning by eight or Mack would chew his ass up and spit it out before he could even get his first cup of coffee. He quickly dressed and slipped out the door, the thought of a hot shower at his own house giving him more pleasure than the blonde he left in bed.

“SO, I EXPLAINED everything to you yesterday,” Tucker said to Quinn.

“Yes, I got it,” she responded. Tucker was taking his job of training her very seriously. Too seriously in Quinn’s opinion. The man never stopped talking, and not in a social, friendly way. It was more of a regurgitation of the employee handbook than an actual conversation.

“Great. Then I’ll let you get to it. Remember, no unexpected visitors. Ever. If they argue, call me or Mack, but don’t let them past the lobby.”

Quinn had to hold back the urge to roll her eyes. Instead, she smiled at the man and settled in the chair behind her desk.
Her desk.
She had her first job. Quinn was equal parts excited and terrified. What if she couldn’t do it? She shook her head. Mack wouldn’t have given her the job if he didn’t think she could handle it. Besides, it was nothing more than a glorified receptionist and quasi-housekeeper position for a mixed martial arts training facility. It wasn’t as if she was being asked to do quantum physics.

By the time she was done with her freak out, Quinn noticed that Tucker had left her to her own devices.
Thank god
. He was a nice guy, but after two days of his “training”, she was ready to be without her very talkative, very repetitive shadow.

The phone rang as Quinn booted up and logged onto her computer.

Taking a deep breath, she answered her very first phone call, saying exactly what Tucker drilled into her—three times. “Sanctum MMA, this is Quinn, can I help you?”

“Quinn? Who the hell are you?” a gruff voice asked brusquely.

“I’m the new receptionist. Can I help you?” How rude! Great, she was already making enemies.

“Put me to Tucker,” he barked.

“Please hold.”

Quinn stared at the phone as if it might tell her what this guy’s problem was. Irritated, she picked the handset back up and transferred the call to Tucker’s line, stabbing the button harder than necessary.

“Jerk,” she muttered.

“That’s not a very nice way to greet guests.”

Quinn jumped in her seat, clutching her chest in surprise. She spun the chair around to face the lobby, ready to chastise whoever snuck up on her. Instead of snapping at the offender, her mouth fell open when she got a look at the beautiful man leaning over the counter in front of her desk. He was smiling, looking more like a magazine ad for designer jeans or expensive cologne than someone who would be hanging out in a sweaty gym in Atlanta.

“I-I wasn’t talking to you.” The gorgeous man lifted an eyebrow.
Whoops!
“I mean, when I said jerk. Oh my gosh, sorry. I didn’t mean to say it again. Crud.” Quinn sank into her chair, her face burning with embarrassment.

“It’s alright.” He grinned, showing off two perfect rows of straight, white teeth. “I’m Rick. You must be Quinn. Mack mentioned something about a new employee. Have to tell you though, with a name like Quinn, I was expecting you to be a man.”

Quinn bristled at Rick’s assumption, straightening up so she would look more professional. “Well, obviously, I’m not a man.”

Rick’s eyes gleamed, his mouth quirking up in a smirk. “Obviously not, doll,” he drawled as his piercing blue eyes raked over her body lasciviously.

Quinn didn’t know if she should be flattered or angry at the way Rick devoured her with his gaze or at his patronizing nickname. He was striking— tall, dark, and handsome — with a hint of danger surrounding him.
And his eyes!
They were the brightest, most unbelievable shade of aquamarine that Quinn had ever seen. They matched the Caribbean blue of the faded T-shirt that stretched over his well-defined chest. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone with eyes like that before. Primitive lust coiled inside her, making her heat up from the inside out.

Still, even with his stunning perfection and the hormonal reaction she had to him, Rick was kind of irritating, all flirty and good-looking, slinging lines and eyeing Quinn as if she were naked and spread out on a buffet. Definitely a stereotypical bad boy, one Quinn would make sure to stay far away from.

Yeah, I’ve had enough of the bad boy image to last a lifetime.

She decided to nip this attraction in the bud before it started. Quinn made her face blandly neutral as she spoke.

“Well, if you know Mack, I’m assuming you know your way around so you don’t need me. If you don’t mind.” She forced herself to tear her attention away from the stunning man, turning back to her computer as if he wasn’t the walking, talking image of Adonis.

“Nice to meet you…
Quinn
. Be good, doll,” Rick said, a smile evident in his rich voice even though she couldn’t see it.

A quiet beep let her know that Rick swiped a card through a keypad mounted on the wall, unlocking the sealed door that led further into the facility. She heard the soft click of the door relocking when it closed behind him.

“Jesus,” Quinn whispered, wanting to fan herself dramatically.
Were there really men walking around looking like that?
She blinked hard a few times to clear her mind of Rick and his gorgeous eyes, and chest, and biceps, and ass… crud. Inhaling deep to slow down her racing hormones and stop the tingling feelings they inspired, Quinn focused on the figures Mack asked her to enter into the financial spreadsheets.