24. CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Quinlan

“Well, that’s just not very nice of you, is it?” I ask my right wrist as I massage the sore area. “You had a full day off yesterday. This pinching isn’t allowed, mister.”

My wrist doesn’t answer. I don’t feel any crazier for it. After an entire day on my own, I think I’ve finally gained some of my sanity back.

Especially since no one’s been an asshole to me. Quite the opposite. This comfortable work chair, this amazing desk that goes up and down whenever my back starts acting up. These men thought and cared that I had the best working conditions.

No one forced me to go to the bathroom in front of them. I woke up to presents and breakfast and a note, for fuck’s sake.

As I look outside at the night sky, I go over the words I’ve memorized over the past day.

Little captive,

Eating is non-negotiable. We aren’t going to force you to eat. Won’t stick a funnel in your mouth and choke you on a protein shake to keep you alive, although Damien would like that very much.

We do, however, have creative ways of making you eat. Willingly.

You’re welcome to try us. We’d love to demonstrate.

After you eat, your new laptop awaits. Everything you need has been installed on it, and it’s already connected to the Wi-Fi network here. The instructions, guidelines and information about BLF Capital has been arranged in a folder for you to look at. We’re available to answer any question you might have.

But only once you’ve finished your breakfast.

You will be punished if you do it the other way around.

I did eat. In fact, I even ventured to the kitchen in the afternoon to grab myself something to eat before the men returned.

My heart hurt at the sight of their kitchen.

So much food was piled on the shelves of the pantry. A floor-to-ceiling worth of dried and canned food, cookies, granola and protein bars, bread, bagels, coffee and tea boxes to last for decades.

The fridge was just as heavily stocked. Vegetables, fruit, three gallons of milk, orange, tomato and some unidentified green juice. Eggs. A million condiments. Containers upon containers of prepped meals.

Last but not least, the freezer. Meat, fish, chicken and vegetables. Ice cream containers of Cookie Dough, Cherry Garcia, Chunky Monkey, plain vanilla, and chocolate.

Food hoarding. That was what I witnessed there, what led me to this simple realization. Insisting that I eat wasn’t a control thing. That was someone’s response to trauma I was looking at.

Damien didn’t say anything about Rex starving him. Maybe he did. Maybe Rome or Liam were deprived of food.

That, too, pained me. I had nothing to do about it, though, not while I was home alone. So I threw myself into work and made sure the outside world didn’t have a meltdown over me being gone.

First thing I did was email my parents and their doctors, then Ray. My clients’ questions and issues were resolved quickly. The rest of the day revolved around building BLF Capital’s website from scratch.

I wasn’t allowed to email Rex, and I didn’t want to. Didn’t have it in me to soothe him, tell him I’m doing okay here. He’d never been the best brother, the best man. I made excuses for him. I’d lived with the way he was.

Torturing kids? Fuck. No. The sinking feeling in my stomach wouldn’t go away. It just wouldn’t. I believed Damien. The barely contained pain in his voice was all the proof I needed.

“Come on, wrist, get better. We have long weeks ahead of us.”

My wrist sticks to its silence. I do the same, saying nothing while I massage the area. I’m being unfair, blaming my poor wrist for the damage I’d done to it.

Well, not really damage. It’s about to get better in three, two, one… There it is. The tightness around the ligaments eases. Perfect.

“Why didn’t we go to dinner, you ask?” Jesus, I’ve resulted into an in-depth conversation with my wrist. “Because—” I start and stop.

Someone might be watching me. They might be monitoring the laptop. I wouldn’t put it past them.

I can’t give them the answer, for the same reason I didn’t join them for dinner and ate the one that was left outside my room by myself.

Privacy. I need it. At least some sense of it. A day or two to be alone with my thoughts. I lost my virginity yesterday to not one but three men. I’ve been turned into a pawn in someone’s revenge plot. My freaking brother abused kids. Kids .

Damn it. Damn it all to hell.

It angers me that they just ripped me from my life. That they’ve been stalking me. That they didn’t ask, that they assumed I’d need them. They had no right.

And yet…I’m no monster.

And neither are they. They tucked me in last night. They emailed me, each one of them, this evening, saying I’m doing a great job.

The men who are responsible for the soreness between my legs. For the black and blue bruises on my flesh.

A strange emotion tugs at my heart. A longing. A pull.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. It’s all wrong to miss Damien’s wicked, playful expression. Liam’s glares. The pressure of Rome’s hand around my throat.

But I do. I miss them. These men said things to me yesterday. Words that sounded a lot like promises. They were promises.

They don’t hate me. It wouldn’t be that bad, that wrong , to show my face. Talk to them. Right?

My feet work faster before common sense can answer that question.

Another second of hesitation, and I won’t be brave enough to leave this room.

I’ll go crazy if I won’t. That’s a scary realization.

It’s all I have.

Seeking them out is a risky move. They’re volatile. There’s no telling which one of them is up at this hour, what version of them I’ll be getting. Whether they be kind or aggressive or flat-out unhinged.

I’m taking my chances, anyway. Walking toward the door of my bedroom, not bothering to change out of my jeans and gray T-shirt. Bra? Who needs those? Not me. I pull on my hairband, releasing my hair down my back, running my fingers through it.

No dresser barricades my door today. No one violated me in my sleep. No one barged in this morning. They could’ve, and instead they let me be.

The door opens in a soft whoosh .

No one’s waiting for me outside my room, but I can’t assume they’re not here. Stalkers don’t just announce themselves. They tricked me yesterday. They could, and probably would, do it again.

The stairwell is ten steps away when I hear it. Rustling papers. A grunt. Pacing. A thud as a man’s body meets the sofa.

Damien’s and Liam’s bedroom doors are closed—the usernames on Damien’s and Rome’s laptops gave them away yesterday. It isn’t them. I won’t barge in, just in case they’re sleeping.

On top of not being a monster, I’m not rude. I could’ve come out of my room earlier, at a decent hour. I didn’t. So no, I won’t wake them.

Rome, he hasn’t turned in yet. I’m going to…do what exactly? Sit next to him? Ask him about his day? Ask for answers, politely this time?

No idea.

My instincts push me forward, so I follow.

“No.” The frustration in his voice is palpable, stopping me at the top of the stairs. “Absolutely not.”

Who is he talking to? Is he on the phone? He could be talking to himself, like I did. It could be it.

On the first floor, I see him as well as hear him. He’s sitting on the sofa, his large back to me. His head is tipped back, his black T-shirt stretching around his shoulders.

I’m being a peeping Tom, standing here without announcing myself. Then again, these men had me fucking stalked. I’d say I’ve earned it.

“Anne, you don’t have to come.” The phone isn’t pressed to his ear. He’s using earbuds, then. “No. You know what, don’t. It won’t do you any good. Why—I—please, for the love of God, don’t fight me on this. I don’t want you to be there. I have this.”

He doesn’t want her there. There as in here? I never thought it could be a bachelor pad, but his phone call is slowly changing my mind.

My feet plant me in place. My heart races.

I’m jealous.

I resent being kidnapped. Hate being kept in the dark. They’ve wronged me.

And I can’t stop this ridiculous jealousy from creeping up on me.

They were mine yesterday. All over me. We bonded, in a bizarre, unique kind of way.

Rome kissed me in the middle of the street for everyone to see.

But I’m not the only one, apparently.

The woman on the other line can’t be the little girl in the photo. Or maybe she is? Maybe she’s Liam’s sister or something, all grown up. Dating Rome.

She could be his wife. Bile rises in my throat. She could be living in a different city or state. She could have no idea what her husband is doing to me. And Liam approves of this sick behavior.

Anne . That’s what he called her.

I’m sorry, Anne. I apologize to her over and over in my head.

The territorial feeling doesn’t go away, as sincere as it is. This possessiveness isn’t a switch I can flip off.

Going back to my bedroom would be the smart move.

Stay up there, do my job, get paid. I’m not here to have fun. I’m not here to fall in love. They sure don’t love me.

They said I belonged to them. Like property. Like a mistress.

One step, then another. I walk backward, returning to safety. To being by myself, like I’m used to.

Except I’m doing it all wrong. I’m too shocked, too hurt to be stealthy. My left foot lands on the step in a stomp, the sound loud in the quiet penthouse.

Rome’s back goes ramrod straight instantly. His head snaps back in my direction, dark blue eyes narrowing.

I was right. He does have his earbuds plugged in.

Fuck, what am I thinking about? Who cares about the earbuds?

I care for him. I… Damn it. I care.

While he’s on the phone with another woman.

It’s possible I’m the worst, most pathetic case of Stockholm syndrome out there. And I’ve been their captive for less than forty-eight hours.

Have I mentioned pathetic? Maybe. It’s worth repeating anyway.

Pathetic.

That’s what I am.

“Anne, I’ll call you back,” Rome says. Oh no . He’s going to hang up. He’s going to come over here, and I’m frozen in place. “Yeah, love you too.”

Love you .

This is it. These are the words that snap me out of it. I spin on my heel and launch myself up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

I’ll be in my bedroom in less than a minute. Barricaded. Protected.

My heart won’t feel as raw and exposed.

Adrenaline floods my veins. The dim lights on the second floor shine brighter from it. My pulse is a drum beating in my ears. I hear it so loudly.

I make it to the landing, one foot up there and—

“No, you don’t.” A large hand—a manacle—closes around my arm. Hauls me into the sturdiest chest I’ve ever collided with. Rome’s lips are in my ear. “You’re not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

“Leave me alone.” My attempt at sounding in control fails. Epically. There’s a lilt to my voice that exposes my pain. “Put me down, fucker.”

“How about no.” The way he folds me into his arms is possessive. His front is pressed to my back, and he picks me up off the stairs easily. I weigh nothing compared to him. All muscle. All fury. “Here’s another no for you, sweetheart. I’m not mad at you.”

“You?” I twist my head, though I don’t get very far. Strands of my hair cover my eyes. “Mad at me? That’s rich.”

“Yes, I’m not mad.” Rome carries me downstairs as I kick and wiggle in his hold. I don’t scream. Last thing I need is the other men coming to help him.

This cheater.

“You’re fucking crazy,” I hiss. “Why would you be mad at me ?”

“You refused to eat last night.” Such a simple explanation. His voice is smooth, confident without a hint of anger. “You made up for it with your pussy. And by eating today. You’re such a good girl when you want to be.”

We’re on the first floor, and he flips me effortlessly. One of his arms goes beneath my thighs, the other supporting my back. His stormy eyes are as calm as his voice is. A rock, despite the hell I put him through.

Me, on the other hand, am still riled up. Can’t forget this man is a cheater.

“Fuck you.” We pass by the living room, where his laptop and papers are scattered. Papers he talked to Anne about. Jealousy and rage work their way through my body. My nails claw at his shoulders. “Let me down, asshole.”

“I thought we were over this. Over you pretending to hate being here.” My butt slams against the dark marble kitchen counter. A hand on my hip hauls me to Rome. His other hand cups my cheek, tilting my head up to him. “Do you need a reminder for how much you like your kidnappers? Need me to lick your needy pussy until you remember?”

The nerve on this guy. A scowl curves my lips downward. I’m dead-set on hiding how hot I am for him. How his words affect me. How his masculine scent sends heat through my body. How his lips are so close that I just have to taste them.

I hide it, because he’s been hiding Anne from me first.

“We’re not over anything.” I glower at him, hiding my pain. “First off, you three have given me, what, thirty-six hours? To be okay with being kidnapped?”

An hour ago, I would’ve never said that. I felt at home, sort of. I wasn’t angry.

Things have changed since.

A lot of things.

Curiosity swirls in Rome’s eyes as he studies me. I try my best to not give him anything. He sees it anyway.

When understanding flashes behind them, I know I’m fucked.

“What do we have here?” Rome’s thumbs stroke my feverish skin. “This isn’t being a captive at all, is it?”

His nose brushes mine, and I bite on the inside of my cheek. I won’t moan for this cheater. I won’t.

“Of course it is.” Jerking my body gets me nowhere. “Let me go.”

“Not before you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Indignance and loathing. And jealousy. My God, am I jealous.

“Tell. Me.” He shakes my head. His jaw tics. “I’m not going anywhere until you do, and neither are you, sweetheart. You better start talking.”

The raging beat of my heart and his fill the air.

“Let me see. You expected me to wait outside your room? You’re mad that I didn’t?” How dare he? He raised my hopes and crushed them even faster, and here he is, suggesting that I’ve missed him. “If you wanted me to climb inside your bed and wake you with my cock in your mouth, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

Humiliation burns as hot as my arousal.

Anger triumphs them both.

Love you.

“Go to hell.”

He pushes my legs to the side. They stay there, since my brain isn’t functioning the way it should. I’m hot and angry and butthurt.

Rome takes advantage of that. With way too much ease, his hand is on my hip again and he yanks me to him. Forces himself between my thighs.

We glare at each other, our bodies touching. Two people caught in the eye of the storm. I smell the mint on his breath. See the darkness in him. The violence.

“Last chance.” His lips almost touch mine as his hand slides low. Down my jaw. Wrapping around my throat. “Or you’re going to pay for this. For withholding answers from me. From us.”

Taken. He’s taken.

“Okay, then.” He bites my bottom lip, and for one long second, I don’t fight back. To my shame, he’s the one to pull away from me. “You’ve earned this, sweetheart, what’s coming to you next. The pain. The tears. You’ll come and it’ll hurt. You’ll orgasm over and over until you beg me to stop. Fair warning, I will not. Is that what you want?”

Yes . “No. I don’t want you to touch me.”

“Liar.” His thumb trails dangerously close to the waistline of my jeans, and I gasp. “This is your last chance. Talk.”

“I thought you knew everything about me,” I spit out.

“If we could get inside your head, trust that we would.” His skilled fingers reach to the button of my jeans. Dragging the zipper down. Baring me to him. “Asking you is all I have to work with.”

“Interrogating me.”

His fingers tease the waistband of my panties. Promising me he’ll take me when and however he likes if I don’t answer him.

“Stop it.”

Rome’s lips graze my jaw, and fuck. My teeth lock. My body breaks in tremors.

“Why won’t you be a good girl?” His eyes rise to meet mine, his fingers pinching my clit through my panties. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

He moves my panties to the side, pinching my clit again. I scream, and he doesn’t slam my mouth shut with his hand. He shoves two fingers down my throat instead. So deep that I gag. So deep that tears sting my eyes. Spit dribbles down my chin. My breaths are ragged.

Nothing’s stopping me from punching him. My hands aren’t tied. He isn’t holding me down.

I’ll do it. Right after I tell him he’s a cheating motherfucker.

“Fine,” I murmur, the word coming out garbled.

Rome drags his fingers out of my mouth. “What was it, pretty girl?”

“Pretty girl? I thought I was sweetheart .” I throw a punch at his chest. Nothing happens to this wall. Nothing. I go a second time. Third. Still nothing. “You got the nicknames mixed up, didn’t you? That’s how little you care about her .”

For a moment, he’s stumped. Eyebrows knitting. Eyes searching my face.

“Oh.” A low, husky laugh. “Fucking adorable, sweetheart.” Understanding turns his features sharp and lethal. “You’re so fucking adorable when you’re jealous. Even if you’re dead wrong about it.”

Rome shoves his fingers into my mouth again.

This time, though, he’s grinning while he does.