21. CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

Quinlan

My stomach grumbles. Has grumbled over the last hour.

I roll on my back, staring at the fabric draped over my beautiful four-poster bed in my beautiful room.

Room. Ha.

My prison. A gilded cage built by three psychos.

The sheets I’m lying on are so soft. Must be expensive. Like everything else in this room and my walk-in closet.

Classy. Stunning.

Not mine.

I’m not here of my own free will. They coerced me. Used my greatest weakness and locked me up.

“Ugh.” I throw an arm over my eyes. Who am I kidding?

I would’ve come running to them, had the three men been honest. Had they asked nicely. I’d have run to any one of their rooms.

Heat spreads between my thighs when I remember this afternoon. My skin stings, body buzzing for him, the marks on my flesh still bright red in the shape of Damien’s teeth.

Stop it, Quinlan.

They haven’t asked nicely. They’re three unhinged assholes. Stalkers. Obsessed and deeply, deeply disturbed.

Damien accused Rex of a crime. It was the first time I heard about him being a foster dad, much less hurting children.

Damien hates him.

Well, I hate his secrecy.

And it’s time I figure out what’s going on. I walk through the events of the day.

The three of them blackmailed me into being their captive. Clearly, they’re on board with what’s happening here.

Whatever they believe Rex did to Damien infuriates the other two men too. Down to their core. A hate they’re willing to commit crimes for.

They’re eager to hurt my half-brother, yet they won’t tell me why.

Rex has a tendency to snap, to be rude. My overprotective older half-brother scares even me sometimes. Plus, all those times he’s ordered me to stay at home to take care of my parents.

But… That was his grief speaking. At least that was what he led me to think.

“Ugh,” another groan. I have no idea what happened; I just know it’s bad.

I remove my arm from my face, looking straight ahead at the shattered television.

Praying for a distraction.

My eyes roam over the room, landing on the bookshelf. This, akin to the closet, has been stocked. A variety of books that seem to be new have been placed there. I looked it over today. There are all kinds of books there. Romance novels, autobiographies, traveling and cookbooks.

Feels random.

It isn’t. I’m sure it isn’t.

Nothing about these men has been random. Everything has been orchestrated, evidently. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they paid Ray to ask me out to that bar.

My heart twists at that. I thought Ray’s invitation was genuine. Her concern for me, that didn’t seem fake, either. No. Ray didn’t trick me. Ray likes me.

I could never hate you. I like torturing you. There’s a difference.

Damien likes me too.

He’s an asshole. A deviant. Riling me up turns him on. And he likes me. No doubt about that.

Do the others like me? I think so.

So, it’s just Rex they hate.

I wish they’d tell me what happened. I’m really starting to get pissed. To hate Rex without really knowing why.

Knives and forks clink on plates downstairs, the noise dulling out yet another one of my frustrated growl.

You little fu—

There it is. My proof that Damien isn’t lying. Rex recognized his name.

The more I repeat Rex’s words—the tone he used when he said them—the angrier I get.

Sure, I could’ve demanded answers earlier. Could’ve opened the door when Liam knocked before dinner. When Rome shouted from the other side that I had to join them.

Damien started opening up when we were together in the bathroom. I didn’t understand him, not fully. I was overwhelmed by the pain, by the orgasm. By his kindness.

He stopped there, though. I could tell Rome and Liam wouldn’t say anything without his permission. They were tight, the three of them. So I stayed here. Shouted back at Rome to fuck off. Shouted it at the three of them.

Water runs in what must be the kitchen sink on the first floor. The sound is faint. Hardly audible.

Dinner is over.

My window of opportunity has closed. My chance to join them, to pretend nothing’s happened and start asking questions is over.

The cozy atmosphere of a family dinner has ended. They won’t pass me the salad or offer me a second helping of ragu Damien talked about.

The three of them will go to their separate rooms. Back to being assholes.

Sigh .

Frustration and curiosity war within me.

Frustration for being weak. I’ve given in to them too many times. I begged for Damien today. I got off on the pain. No more of that. They could be psychos who’ll keep me here indefinitely. They could ignore my tantrums.

They could. I, on the other hand, can’t ignore my curiosity.

Rex isn’t innocent, and Damien wasn’t lying. He recognized him. I can’t stand by and pretend no crime was committed against him. It’s impossible for me to pretend everything’s fine when it isn’t.

I believe the three men, even if they haven’t asked me to. I don’t even hate them, as harsh and unhinged as they are.

He isn’t a good man. A monster. Damien said that.

My skin crawls with each passing second.

Words like child molester come to mind. A pedophile. He could’ve beaten them so badly that they passed out. Rex is a big man. He has a temper.

And he’d warned me about people.

If someone says they’re a friend of your parents or mine, tell them to talk to us. Not you. Never you, you hear?

I heard him. Loud and fucking clear. As a child, I watched his face redden while he drilled those lessons into me. He looked horrified at the thought of someone taking me from him.

Was he that intense because he was that person? Because he knew firsthand the damage he’d caused other children as a foster dad?

Bile rises in my throat. My entire body breaks into shivers.

You little fu—

“This isn’t helping,” I say to myself as I sit up on the bed. Plant my feet on the wool rug beneath me. “I won’t get my answers being cooped up in here.”

Great. Just great. I called my three kidnappers crazy, and here I am, talking to myself. Out loud while I’m doing my best to stop my stomach from churning.

The truth. I need the truth.

It must be documented somewhere here, the evidence of what happened. Something.

Probably in their laptops, or their drawers. They have to have an office, so I’ll search there as well.

When I find out—and I will—I’ll be able to understand the severity of the situation.

I’ll know which side is in the wrong.

More importantly, I’ll be smarter around these strangers.

I have to.

It could be a matter of life or death.