Saving Quinton (Nova #2)(66)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

I hurry around the front of the car, startling Nova by how quickly I arrive on the other side, right in front of her. I grab her arms roughly and yank her to me, our bodies crashing together. “Please, if you care about me at all, you’ll get in the car and drive away. Right now,” I whisper in her ear.

She clutches my arm and I can hear how fast her heart is beating. “What’s that guy going to do you?”

“Nothing,” I say, lying to her and myself. “He’s just here to get Trace’s money.”

“But do you have it?”

“Part of it,” I say, which is the truth. Tristan and I have managed to collect half of what we owe Trace.

“Is that enough for him to leave you alone?”

“Yeah, for a little while,” I lie, but it’s the right thing to do, because if I don’t lie she’s not going to leave. I hear the sound of Donny’s boots crunching close behind us and I know he’s getting closer. “Just get in the car.” I kiss her cheek, pleading. “And go home.”

She holds her breath for a moment and then nods. I relax as she pulls away and turns for the door, but then I feel the presence of Donny behind me and I immediately tense. Just having someone like him so close to Nova is enough to make me feel like I’m going to lose it.

“You need to go inside,” Donny says from right behind me. “Trace wants to talk to you. He’s up in your apartment with your lovely little friend that got you into this mess.”

Nova’s eyes dart over my shoulder and widen. I quickly turn around and step in front of her, blocking her from his view. “I’m headed up there now.” I glance over my shoulder and tell Nova, “Go.”

“No, you should bring the girl,” Donny says. He purposefully moves the bottom of his shirt up a little and I see something tucked in the front of his pants, sparkling silver. A gun. He’s got a f**king gun and he wants Nova to come with us.

It hits me all at once. Hard. The entire situation—how much bigger this is than I realized. And Nova is here to witness it. Just the idea of something happening to her nearly crushes the air out of my chest. I don’t even want to think about it—can’t think about it. Yet images press their way into my head, like shrapnel. I can picture myself back on the side of the road, lying beside Lexi, covered in her blood, only it’s not Lexi’s eyes staring up at me, but Nova’s bluish-green ones. And again I’m the one who hurt the girl I love…shit, it that what this means? Does this fear of losing Nova mean that I love her? The revelation makes me hate myself more than I already did. Hate myself for being here. For allowing myself to feel this way toward another girl. God dammit, why did I let myself keep breathing, keep living, feeling, loving? Lexi’s dead and I might be falling in love with someone? This is how I repay her for crashing the car that night and killing her? I break my promise to her and forget her enough that I let myself feel love for Nova? I let Nova take her place?

I’m so angry at myself that I almost forget the situation until Trace’s guy rams the tire iron against Nova’s beautiful car, scraping the cherry-red paint.

“Get in the f**king house!” he shouts, his calm demeanor suddenly gone, uncontrollable rage in his eyes.

I shove all my feelings aside and sober right up. I’m very aware of Nova’s presence. Very aware that everything I do for the next few minutes is going to matter, unlike the last few years of my life. But once I fix this—get her out of here—everything can be over and nothing can matter again.

“I’m going in the house,” I tell him calmly, folding my fingers inward and digging my fingernails into my palms as I glance down at the gun. If I have to, I’ll go for him, if it means she’ll have time to get away. “But she’s going to leave.”

He laughs at me. “Like hell she is.” He steps forward and reaches to my side, trying to get to Nova, and I don’t even think. I just smack his hand out of the way. His eyes flicker with fury and his hand starts to lift, not in my direction, but in Nova’s. He’s going to hit Nova and it’s going to be all my f**king fault. I’m going to destroy the girl I love again. I’m such a f**king screw-up again.

I need to do something to get her away from this. I rack my brain, looking for an answer. I remember how he took the drugs out of my pocket and I see the rings of red around his nostrils that are rings of gold at the moment. I could bribe this guy with drugs, but I doubt what I have in my room’s going to make him happy.

I need something bigger.

Something that will make him forget about everything, even if it’s for a minute or two, enough time for Nova to get away.

“I know where Dylan keeps his stash and he has a couple of ounces and if you let her go, I’ll show you where it is,” I blurt out, which is a total lie, but it’s all I can think of at the moment. It’s a viable lie, too. Dylan’s a dealer and he has a large stash—somewhere. But I have no clue where he keeps it, whether it’s even in the house or how much he has. It doesn’t matter, though. All I’m looking for is getting him away from Nova and then letting whatever’s going to happen happen. Let him beat me. Hurt me. Kill me. I don’t care, just as long as I know she’s safe.

The guy pauses, the tire iron still lifted. “How do I know you’re not full of shit?”

I shrug, pretending to be calm, despite the panic inside me. “You’ll just have to come with me and see. If I’m lying, then you’ll still get to kick my ass, like you were planning on anyway.” Just let her go. Please just let her go. “But if I’m not, then you could have the stash for yourself. No one would have to know.” It’s like tempting a dog with a bone. As a drug addict, I understand that the need—want—is more powerful than anything else.

The guy seems wary, but then gives in, lowering the tire iron. “Let’s go then,” he says and starts toward the house, all the anger leaving his body. Part of me thinks he was only going after Nova to f**k with my head. Still, she’s free to go and that’s all that matters.

I start to follow him, but Nova grabs my arm and pulls me back. “Quinton, don’t go,” she says. I don’t even look at her, shaking her hand off me and moving forward. But she relentlessly enfolds my arm again.

I shoot her a cold look from over my shoulder, knowing that the only thing that matters at the moment is getting her into the car. “Get in your car and go.” My voice is low.