Page 63 of How to Hack a Hellhound
I could relate to the sentiment.
Quinton, however, whispered to me that they should get a room. I looked more closely, and perhaps my little hellcat was right. If Jude was actively trying to annoy someone, it usually meant he liked them. That was an interesting development.
The police had found the other two victims upstairs, and they had absolved us of any guilt. Once the guard came to, he fingered Emmett as well. His story about being knocked out went along perfectly with mine when I was asked for details, so we were obviously victims, and I was the boyfriend who had come to rescue my man. Most of the cops thought it was all very romantic and sweet.
The sheriff still looked vaguely suspicious, however, and I was sure we hadn’t seen the last of him. That was fine—it would give Jude plenty of opportunity to annoy the shit out of him.
It was fading into darkness by the time we got out of there, and I just hoped the sheriff left us alone until at least the next day. I made a lot of noise about how exhausted we were, and Quinton agreed, even adding in that the adrenaline had worn off and he needed to crash.
My hellcat still looked like he could light the world on fire with his energy, but the cops nodded understandingly and finally sent us on our way.
“Thank god,” Quinton mumbled when we finally got dropped off back at our car by a police officer. (They had nicely turned it off and secured the keys earlier.)
We all climbed in, Jude included, and headed back to the house.
“My grandma could drive faster than this,” Jude complained, leaning forward from the back seat. “And can we have some music?”
I growled out a no and continued to drive nice and slow. We didn’t need a speeding ticket to top things off.
“You don’t even have a grandma, do you?” Quinton asked, turning around in his seat.
“Oh, I was raised by humans, so I did a long time ago,” Jude answered.
“Aww. That’s kind of sad that you lost your human family to old age,” Quinton responded.
Shit. That reminded me that I had marked and claimed Quinton, and I had done so without his consent. I hadn’t really been aware that I was doing it, but that would need to be a conversation. He wouldn’t age now, either, and he’d leave behind any humans he was close to. I hoped he wasn’t too upset. I wasn’t letting him go, even if I could somehow reverse things.
Although if he really wanted to live a mortal lifespan, perhaps I would figure out a way for both of us to do that. No matter what, I would try to give Quinton what he wanted. I didn’t want to take away his choices. I only wanted to love him. I hoped we’d have eternity for that, but I would do whatever my little hellcat wanted.
By the time we pulled up to the house, Quinton was practically vibrating. He flung open the door, calling out, “Time for torture!”
I smiled. So adorable.
When we got down to the basement in Dexter’s place, Emmett was already bruised and a wee bit bloody, and he was hanging by his wrists from a chain, his tiptoes balancing him just barely on the floor. Dexter did enjoy keeping things interesting. He was lounging on a chair watching Emmett, who looked unconscious.
He opened his eyes and stared at us, so apparently, he was awake. He looked tired and worn but not terrified. That wouldn’t do at all. He even managed a snarl when he saw Quinton.
Dexter stood up and punched him in the solar plexus, and he gasped for air. “Show some respect, asshole,” Dexter muttered.
Quinton walked up to him, and Dexter stepped aside. Quinton stared at him for a long moment, and Emmett eventually turned his eyes away.
“You know, I thought about this for the last couple hours. When the police were interviewing me, I thought about torturing you myself. I thought about hearing your screams for mercy. I thought about what you’ve done to so many innocent men. Maybe you didn’t rape them, but you sold them into slavery. You orchestrated it all.
“And for what? For money. For a nice apartment. Probably for power, too. I bet it made you feel powerful to have that sort of control over someone else’s life. I bet you told yourself you werebetter than them. They were just drifters, you told me. I bet you stopped even thinking of them as human beings.
“You got away with it, and then you decided to take a friend, someone who could be tied to you. You decided you wanted me out of the way, or you didn’t like me, or maybe I made fun of you one too many times, because you were an uptight asshole who can’t take a joke. And you set me up.”
Emmett just stared at Quinton as he spoke, and the man’s eyes were filled with hatred. It was poisonous, and his rotting soul stunk. Quinton was right—he didn’t even think of his victims as human.
Quinton continued. “I thought about getting my revenge. But then I realized that wouldn’t make me much better than you. I drank with you. I ate with you. I remember joking around with you the night of Dave’s birthday party, when we were both drunk, and we were laughing hysterically about Dave’s dance moves. God, we were falling all over each other because we were laughing so hard.”
Quinton smiled a little at the thought, and then he looked sad. I had the urge to go over and hug him, but I didn’t want to interrupt him.
“You were an asshole, yeah, and I was an asshole, too, but I still counted you as something of a friend. I still would have gone out of my way for you. I would have looked out for you and helped you. I thought you would have done the same. So I won’t torture you. I won’t do anything to you. I won’t sink to your level.”
Quinton turned around to walk away, and Emmett spoke. “You’re going to let me go?” he rasped out.
Quinton turned back, and he looked sad. “Oh, no. You won’t leave here alive. I’m sorry about that, Em, but that’s the truth. There is no other option. But I can give you this much—tell us everything you know. Tell us where the kidnapped men went,tell us who your buyer is, and I can make sure they give you a quick death. That will be my gift to you.”
