Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(38)

“Fuck, baby,” I groan, entering her harder.

And I find my release with her, lungs burning, choking, and grunting with each stroke, now surrounded by a blanket of smoke.

Seeing nothing but a hazy fog.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Scooping her into my arms, and holding her tight, I bolt through the doorway exiting the house. I carry her outside, where we can finally breathe, my dick still hanging out of my pants.

All that matters is her.

Her safety.

Micah and Jensen race toward us, as I drop to my knees and lay her on the grass, the house bursting into flames behind us. Windows explode, and glass shatters. Police and fire engine sirens roar in the distance. Yanking the mask over her head, and pulling up my pants, my heart hammers against my ribcage at the thought of losing her.

“Quinn,” I urge, lightly smacking her face.

“Ouch,” she murmurs, and a smile plays at the corner of her lips. “What was that for?”

Sharply exhaling, I shake my head at her in disbelief.

“I’m okay, Ghost,” she whispers, gently cupping my face with her hand. The vulnerability that washes over me from her touch catches me completely off guard. “I’m safe with you.”

Yeah, you are, little Quinn.

More than you know.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





QUINN





The night air sends a cold shiver through me. All I can make out is the sound of my teeth clattering together, and I can see my own breath. The four of us enter the woods, and the flames from the haunted house are so bright, they somehow manage to light our way out. The sirens grow louder, coming from behind us, and people are shouting in distress.

Rubbing my arms, trying to warm myself, I realize it’s no use. Ghost removes the robe from his costume and pulls it over my head. Shrugging into the sleeves, I snuggle into the warmth, breathing in the heady, intoxicating scent of his cologne.

Mixed with musk, and copper.

Shivering from the icy breeze, I gaze apologetically into his eyes. “Aren’t you cold now?”

“I’m fine,” he counters.

“How?” I gasp, looking over his defined forearms.

And I finally notice the blood.

Yet, he says nothing, as he pulls up the hood, covering my head, protecting my numb ears from the harsh wind.

Scurrying to the secluded area where they parked their motorcycles, Ghost faces me, placing the helmet on my head. He fastens the buckle beneath my jaw before straddling his bike, kicking back the stand.

Gripping his shoulder, ready to climb on behind him, he stops me.

“You’re riding with Michael, baby,” he announces.

And I frown, confusion washing over me. “Oh?”

“Better to be cautious, little Quinn,” Ghost explains, pulling on his blood-spattered mask.

“Hop on,” Michael instructs, offering his hand.

Placing my hand in his, I climb on behind him, locking my arms around his waist. He’s huge compared to me. His body is as hard as stone, and suddenly I wonder what it looks like beneath the jumpsuit of his costume.

A dull ache settles between my legs at the thought of having three of them.

Ghost nods, and within seconds, the engines roar to life, echoing through the woods. When, unexpectedly, flashlights shine in our direction, and the leaves begin to rustle on the dirt ground. It’s now clear we are no longer alone.

“Hey!” a man loudly shouts. “This is the police. Hands where I can see them!”

“Now,” Ghost snaps, as all three of us take off, pulling off to the right with a screech of tires as we speed down the road.

“Stop right there!”

We faintly hear another police officer command, until the sound of his voice is drowned out by the loud revving of the motorcycles. My heart races, adrenaline coursing through me. All my senses become heightened as I grip Michael tighter, burying my face into his back.

Sirens wail, drawing in on us, flashing lights from police cars pull out in front of us down the road. And they’re headed straight toward us.

Ghost immediately slows down, and holds his arm out to the side, gesturing for us to bang a hard left turn down an abandoned side street.

“Get her out of here,” he shouts.

Michael makes the sharp turn, and my heart sinks.

“Wait,” I squeal, realizing that Ghost and Jason are not planning on accompanying us. “Wait!” I scream again, glancing back, only to notice they’re already gone.

And they’re headed straight for the police.

“What the fuck are they doing?” I plead to Michael, hugging him tighter.

“Don’t worry about them,” he murmurs. “They’ll be fine.”

“But how do you know that—”

Tightly gripping my knee, he caresses my skin. “It’s a distraction,” he clarifies, racing down the long, narrow road. “They know what they’re doing.”

“They do?”

He nods in response.

“Okay,” I weakly say, doubting him.

“Is this your first time running from the cops?” he asks, nonchalantly.

“Yes,” I admit. “Why?”

And then it hits me.

It’s not their first time. And from his eerie silence, he makes it clear that it won’t be the last.