Quentin Lenig Picture Novels & Stories

For the first time all day, silence felt peaceful. Then she noticed something. A photograph tucked inside a history book. Yellowed with age. Carefully preserved. She pulled it free. Her heart skipped. Four men stood together. Young. Confident. Smiling. She recognized three immediately. Nathaniel Hart. Richard Crouch. Victor Sketer. The fourth man stood slightly behind them. His face partially obscured by shadow. Not scratched away. Not damaged. Just difficult to see. Lena flipped the photograph over. A handwritten note covered the back.

"I'd rather you kill me right now." A dark smile crossed her face. Without taking her eyes off me, she snapped her fingers. One of the warriors immediately stepped forward carrying a syringe. My brows furrowed as I watched Lena take it from him. "You don't have a choice," she said calmly. She held the syringe between her fingers while studying my reaction. "I can anonymously send him pictures of you in Crescent Moon." My stomach tightened. "Pictures of you fighting in my tournaments. Pictures of you training and thriving in my pack." She crouched beside me again. "And do you know what he will do after seeing them?"

The pics changes from time to time. To be continued.

Lowering my phone to my lap I quickly text Me: Did you see the pictures of us on the internet? Ian Quinn: Yes, I approved them. He what?! Couldn’t he have approved another picture, like one where we stood side by side or walked arm in arm past the gaggle of photographers! Any other but theses would have been appropriate. Me: Have them take it down. Ian Quinn: Don’t like it?” I can almost hear the sound of his annoying laughter. Me: Y.E.S. I made sure to capitalize in case he didn't get it. Ian Quinn: What’s wrong with it?

Silence. Then "Pictures of Lena.”

I acquainted my face with a smile for appearances, forging a look that didn't scream how troubled I went a few seconds ago. "Quentin, this is Layla Dean. I'm sure that name rings a bell in that colossal head of yours." I chuckle at her. Quentin nods and strolls over to me, lifting a hand and then pressing his lips over the top. "Magazines should work on that picture quality. It doesn't do justice. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Dean." I nod my head. "If it isn't the black sheep." "I'm the only sheep." I step aside at the rise of his voice. Aiden measured to my vacant spot and crossed arms with Quentin. They laughed while pulling apart.

Regina fall back in her chair and start working through the documents on her table. Why me? I peek at the paper as I sit down at my desk. There is a lot of photo’s of Lenkov and his whereabouts. What? How? My trail went cold after the charity, how did she get this? The elderly man who shouted at Lenkov is with him in a few of this photo’s, the funny thing is they look like old friends. Why did he yell at Lenkov and called him a traitor? “Who are you?” "Who?" Rayon whispers behind me, peeking over my shoulder.

Celeste reached into her evening purse. Lucien instantly moved in front of Elara. Celeste stopped. "I assure you..." "If I wanted either of you dead..." "We wouldn't be having this conversation." She slowly withdrew a faded photograph. She handed it to Elara. It showed four young people standing on a beach. Damien Quinn. Isabella Quinn. The Keeper. And... A much younger Celeste Ashcroft. All four were laughing. No formal clothes. No wealth. Just friends. Elara stared at the picture.

Lena's POV. “Hello, ma'am,” the doctor waved his left hand, and felt my pulse with his right hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?” “Can I get a name? Can you speak?” He continued, not even giving me a chance to think or respond. He suddenly stopped and pointed a little fluorescent light in my eyes. I squinted and groaned inaudibly from lying stiff for far too long. “Four, My name is Lena, and I think I can… talk,” I replied in a second, gulping as the man behind him moved closer and fixed his gaze on me.

There is not a picture of Lucien. This is because Lucien is crazy about photographing but she is not. Nina thinks so. Nina bites her lips, stretches out her thin fingers, and silently clicks on the picture. A prompt box pops up on her phone saying "Confirm to delete the photo?" Her fingers trembles a little, and she is hesitating on the "Yes".