Page 39 of Dirty Quinn
“Hey!” I call to him, my fists clench tightly at my sides. It takes all my strength not to throw him down and kick his back, the same as he’s doing to her. I can’t wait to get my hands on these guys and show them exactly how it feels—every little thing they’ve done to these women—I want to do, in turn, to them.
He turns back to face me.
“Knock it off,” I tell him, gesturing to the woman. “She’s not even fighting back. Just get her and let’s go.”
“Fuck you.” He spits on the ground as though to punctuate his point. It’s so cliché of him, I almost laugh.
He leans down and grabs her arm, yanking her up first to her knees and then to her feet. Or what should be a standing position. She’s like a rag doll, hanging there. Her dress in tatters, her hair a tangled mess—blood, sweat, and dirt matting it to her face, masking her features entirely—shoes gone, grime smeared all over her skirt. My hands fist at my sides, once again at the ready to beat the shit out of this asshole.
Disgusting abominations of human existence.
When I finish this shit with Viktor,ifI finish this shit with Viktor, nothing is stopping me from coming after these assholes. I don’t care who this woman is, no one deserves to be treated like this.
Dmitri shakes her roughly, and she comes alive all at once. A flurry of fists, feet, and fingernails all cycling in Dmitri’s direction. Dmitri gets a solid hit in, stunning the woman for a second. Giving the other guy time to step forward and clock her on the back of the head with the butt of his gun.
She goes limp once again, but this time she’s not feigning it. Dmitri gives her another hard shake, forcing her head to loll back on her neck. I see the torn bodice of her dress first, exposing her breast and look around for something to cover her—what that would be, I have no idea. Turning back, I see the teeth marks next with the bruising around the tiny indentations, ugly and purple, marring her otherwise beautiful skin.
She moans, her pain clear in the sound.
My gaze travels up, and I take in her face.
Everything around me stops.
It’s Quinn.
MyQuinn.
Here in this filthy, disgusting hovel, about to be paraded around in front of Andrei and his fucked-up henchmen.
What have they done to her?
Fury blazes through me.
I want nothing more than to kill. Destroy.
Overwhelming guilt at once warring with the need to desolate each tiny molecule that makes up their reprehensible beings.
My breath comes in stages as my body gears up for action. The compulsion to rip these monsters apart limb by limb until bloody stumps are all that remain. Insignificant remnants to cast aside, quickly forgotten.
I see red. I never knew what that term meant until now. A haze blankets my vision, and I become so singularly focused the rest of the world fades away. My one viable action becomes clear as I grab my gun from the back waistband of my jeans.
Pop. Pop.
Two rounds in the back of the other guy’s head.
Pop. Pop.
Two rounds in the back of Dmitri’s head before he can even turn around to figure out what’s going on.
Quinn falls to the floor. I rush forward to collect her, cradling her in my arms, trying to check every inch of her at once to see what more has been done to her.
“Quinn? Quinn, baby, it’s me. Quinn, open your eyes, baby. Please.” I smooth her hair back from her face and notice the bruising and black eye. I think her nose might be broken as well.
I feel for a pulse in her neck and notice the hand marks there.
“FUCK!”
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