Status: Complete
Skull and Dagger
At last.
Bert frowned. The sight before them was...concerning, to say the least. And Quinn’s way of handling it...
“The ship is mine,” Quinn insisted. “He’ll just have to deal with that. And if he can’t...”
“You honestly think we can take ‘em?” Bert eyed the opposing ship warily. It had appeared on the horizon a few hours before and was quite obviously closing in on their own ship. It was only recently that Angel’s characteristic winged-skull flag had been identified, however.
“Frank successfully stood up to Bob in this ship,” Quinn countered. “This will be no different.”
Bert looked less than convinced.
“Keep me informed of the situation,” Quinn ordered. “I’ll be in my quarters...”
* * *
Annabelle hadn’t quite gotten through the rope when she heard the door open once more. She didn’t have time to move her hands back to their original position.
Fortunately - of perhaps, unfortunately - Quinn was too focused on other matters to notice. “Bob,” he spat.
Annabelle just blinked at the inconsistency of her captor’s rants.
“I saw you with him,” Quinn continued. “You were writhing all over him like a bitch in heat. Right in front of Frank, too.”
“I was not-” Annabelle began, outraged.
“Don’t deny it, tramp!” Quinn cut her off furiously before stalking over to her and roughly fisting his hand in her hair. He yanked her head so that she was looking him right in the eye as he sat down on the bed. “I’ll not put up with that sort of behavior from you,” he hissed coldly. “You’re mine now, and I’ll prove it...to both you and Bob...”
Annabelle was tempted to ask what the sudden Bob obsession was all about until she realized what Quinn meant by that statement. She thrashed violently in her bonds, feeling the rope at her wrist strain further but still hold.
Quinn quickly trapped her hips on the mattress in response before crawling over her, his face leaning in far too close, his hot breath on her face making her cringe with disgust and loathing.
“You’re mine, bitch,” he hissed. “Bob may want you, but he’ll never take you from me...” And, with that, his lips crashed down upon hers.
The taste of his tongue against her lips was repugnant, and she kept her mouth closed against the invasion. Tears formed in her eyes as she struggled helplessly beneath him.
“Stop fighting me!” Quinn’s palm struck her cheek.
His lips were on hers again then. And she reluctantly gave in...but only because she noticed at that moment that his blow had jarred her rope right against the sharp edge of wood, leaving only one thin strand holding her hand in place. She fought to ignore the feel of his tongue in her mouth - thick and slimy - as she wore through the last chord that held her...
“You’re mine, and I’m taking you right now,” Quinn announced, his clumsy hands fumbling with her pants before he just gave up and ripped them.
Cautiously, she inched her free hand over to the edge of the bed, desperate not to attract his attention...
He gave out a triumphant little cry when he finally exposed her, settling between her thighs. “You’re going to enjoy this,” he informed her.
Her hand found the dagger beneath the mattress and pulled it from it scabbard...
“Oh, yeah,” she managed to say, a false smile plastered to her face. “There’s just one thing I need to tell you first...”
Quinn leaned in at her conspiratorial tone, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. “Oh?” he inquired.
She nodded. “It’s something a very wise man once said to me.”
His expression turned somewhat confused; this was not the admission of victory he’d been expecting of her.
“ ‘It’s never wise to take an unwilling woman to bed’,” she quoted Frank’s reasoning the first time they’d met.
Quinn’s eyes widened when he felt the point of the blade at his back the instant before it plunged deep into his flesh. Annabelle angled the knife upward between his ribs the way Frank had taught her. Then, with a vicious turn of her wrist, she twisted the blade with him.
“ ‘Especially one who’s so prone to stabbing’,” she finished the quote icily.
And Quinn gasped in pain before collapsing atop her...
“The ship is mine,” Quinn insisted. “He’ll just have to deal with that. And if he can’t...”
“You honestly think we can take ‘em?” Bert eyed the opposing ship warily. It had appeared on the horizon a few hours before and was quite obviously closing in on their own ship. It was only recently that Angel’s characteristic winged-skull flag had been identified, however.
“Frank successfully stood up to Bob in this ship,” Quinn countered. “This will be no different.”
Bert looked less than convinced.
“Keep me informed of the situation,” Quinn ordered. “I’ll be in my quarters...”
* * *
Annabelle hadn’t quite gotten through the rope when she heard the door open once more. She didn’t have time to move her hands back to their original position.
Fortunately - of perhaps, unfortunately - Quinn was too focused on other matters to notice. “Bob,” he spat.
Annabelle just blinked at the inconsistency of her captor’s rants.
“I saw you with him,” Quinn continued. “You were writhing all over him like a bitch in heat. Right in front of Frank, too.”
“I was not-” Annabelle began, outraged.
“Don’t deny it, tramp!” Quinn cut her off furiously before stalking over to her and roughly fisting his hand in her hair. He yanked her head so that she was looking him right in the eye as he sat down on the bed. “I’ll not put up with that sort of behavior from you,” he hissed coldly. “You’re mine now, and I’ll prove it...to both you and Bob...”
Annabelle was tempted to ask what the sudden Bob obsession was all about until she realized what Quinn meant by that statement. She thrashed violently in her bonds, feeling the rope at her wrist strain further but still hold.
Quinn quickly trapped her hips on the mattress in response before crawling over her, his face leaning in far too close, his hot breath on her face making her cringe with disgust and loathing.
“You’re mine, bitch,” he hissed. “Bob may want you, but he’ll never take you from me...” And, with that, his lips crashed down upon hers.
The taste of his tongue against her lips was repugnant, and she kept her mouth closed against the invasion. Tears formed in her eyes as she struggled helplessly beneath him.
“Stop fighting me!” Quinn’s palm struck her cheek.
His lips were on hers again then. And she reluctantly gave in...but only because she noticed at that moment that his blow had jarred her rope right against the sharp edge of wood, leaving only one thin strand holding her hand in place. She fought to ignore the feel of his tongue in her mouth - thick and slimy - as she wore through the last chord that held her...
“You’re mine, and I’m taking you right now,” Quinn announced, his clumsy hands fumbling with her pants before he just gave up and ripped them.
Cautiously, she inched her free hand over to the edge of the bed, desperate not to attract his attention...
He gave out a triumphant little cry when he finally exposed her, settling between her thighs. “You’re going to enjoy this,” he informed her.
Her hand found the dagger beneath the mattress and pulled it from it scabbard...
“Oh, yeah,” she managed to say, a false smile plastered to her face. “There’s just one thing I need to tell you first...”
Quinn leaned in at her conspiratorial tone, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. “Oh?” he inquired.
She nodded. “It’s something a very wise man once said to me.”
His expression turned somewhat confused; this was not the admission of victory he’d been expecting of her.
“ ‘It’s never wise to take an unwilling woman to bed’,” she quoted Frank’s reasoning the first time they’d met.
Quinn’s eyes widened when he felt the point of the blade at his back the instant before it plunged deep into his flesh. Annabelle angled the knife upward between his ribs the way Frank had taught her. Then, with a vicious turn of her wrist, she twisted the blade with him.
“ ‘Especially one who’s so prone to stabbing’,” she finished the quote icily.
And Quinn gasped in pain before collapsing atop her...
♠ ♠ ♠
Sorry, No Frankie in this chapter.