Chapter 278

Quinn's POV

I felt my body slam against the passenger door as Spencer's car careened around another bend, the tires shrieking in protest. My fingernails dug crescents into the leather seat as I watched the speedometer climb higher. The skyline had long disappeared in the rearview mirror, replaced by the dark, empty stretch of coastal road.

"Spencer, slow down!" I screamed, but my voice was swallowed by the roar of the engine.

His face remained a stone mask, illuminated by the blue glow of the dashboard. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he pressed the accelerator harder.

Through the windshield, I could see where the road abruptly ended-a concrete barrier, and beyond it, the vast, hungry ocean. My heart hammered against my ribs like a wild animal trying to escape.

The thought flashed through my mind: *Would anyone find us? Would they pull our bodies from the wreckage, still strapped in our seats? Would they wonder what drove us to such a desperate end?*

I closed my eyes.

The car lurched forward violently, then stopped with such force that my body snapped forward against the seatbelt. The smell of burning rubber filled my lungs. When I opened my eyes, the concrete barrier was mere feet away, the dark water beyond it glistening under the moonlight like an invitation.

My hands trembled uncontrollably as I fumbled with the seatbelt, desperate to escape. The click of the release was the sweetest sound I'd ever heard.

"I'm getting out," I said, reaching for the door handle. Nothing happened. I pulled again, harder this time.

"It's locked," Spencer said, his voice eerily calm. "Child safety locks."

I turned to face him, my fear transforming into rage. "What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to kill us both?"

"What's wrong with me?" His laugh was hollow, devoid of any joy. "That's rich coming from you, Quinn."

"Spencer, unlock the door. Now." I tried to keep my voice steady, but it cracked at the edges.

"Why didn't you say anything?" he demanded, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. "Those reporters were tearing you apart, and you just stood there!"

I could still see the flashing cameras, hear the barrage of accusations. "Spencer, what did you want me to do?" I asked, exasperation coloring my voice.

"Fight back! Defend yourself!" His eyes were wild, unrecognizable. "You're a lawyer, for God's sake! You're supposed to be good with words!"

I felt something inside me snap. "And what good would that do? You think they'd believe anything I said? You think they're interested in the truth? All they want is a headline, Spencer. Every word I say is just more ammunition."

The car felt too small suddenly, the air too thick.

"I don't need to waste my time on vultures. If they cross a line, I can handle it legally." My voice rose with each word. "Or at least I could have, until you decided to play the hero and punch that reporter! Now I have to clean up your mess too!"

Spencer's face contorted. "So this is my fault?"

"Yes!" I didn't hesitate. "It is your fault. Before you decided to throw punches, I was the one in the right. I could have stood on moral high ground. Now look at us! Your impulsive, childish behavior has put me on the defensive!"

I watched his expression darken, the hurt in his eyes quickly replaced by anger.

"Why can't you grow up, Spencer? Why can't you be like your brother? Why can't you just be an adult for once in your life?"

The words hung between us, sharp and dangerous. I knew I'd crossed a line by mentioning Marcus, but I was too angry to care.

"Let me out," I said coldly. "I'm done with this conversation."

Spencer's movement was so sudden it startled me. His hand shot out, grabbing my shoulder and pulling me toward him with such force that my neck snapped back. His other hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place.

"Spencer-" My protest was cut short as his mouth crashed against mine.

There was nothing tender in the kiss-only anger, desperation, and pain. His teeth caught my bottom lip, biting down hard enough that I tasted the metallic tang of blood. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I refused to make a sound. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd hurt me, physically or otherwise.

I didn't push him away, but I didn't respond either. I remained perfectly still, like stone beneath his assault.

When he finally pulled back, his breath came in ragged bursts, his chest heaving. A drop of my blood stained his lower lip.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice eerily detached.

I said nothing, tasting copper on my tongue.

"Good," he whispered, his eyes fixed on mine. "Now you know how I feel."