29. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Liam

Silence.

No fingers tapping on keyboards. No rustling of papers. No hushed voices or heated conversations.

No soft whoosh of fridge doors being opened and closed. Nothing sizzles on the stove.

No moaning or sobbing or accusations.

Everyone’s asleep. Tucked in their rooms.

Good.

The things I have to tell Damien will have to wait for tomorrow. He’ll be glad to hear Rex is growing madder by the second. Her half-brother read Quinlan’s email to her parents on his way home, and he was pissed. Shouted “Fuck!” in the empty street.

I read it too. I have it memorized.

Hi, Mom,

How are you? How’s Dad?

I’ll be gone for a while, but please don’t worry about me. I’m doing great!

This place I’m in is really nice. The people are nice.

Your doctors have Rex’s number, so they’ll talk to him. Email me if you need anything, please, Mom.

Love you. Please don’t worry about me.

P.S. I would’ve called, but I dropped my phone in the toilet. Oops!

Happiness dripped from her words. Whether she did it to calm her parents or she actually likes it here, it doesn’t matter. We counted on that, and without ever knowing it, Quinlan delivered.

Tomorrow.

I have a captive waiting for me.

The first floor is dark as I cross it. City lights filter through the floor-to-ceiling windows, offering very little light. I undo the buttons of my suit jacket on my way up. I’m quiet, stealthy as I climb the stairs.

I’m desperate for a shower. Wash the day off me. The hate that pollutes my soul. Any reminder of the people who hurt us, and by us, I mean Quinlan too. I want it off.

I want to go to her when her half-brother isn’t on my mind. When I don’t have the urge to slaughter someone.

She’s owed that. She deserves the best version of me. I might not be what other people would call nice or affectionate.

Whatever I am, though, it’s good for her. We’re good for her.

Quinlan…

Naked. Bound. Helpless.

Jesus.

Fuck taking a shower. Fuck clearing my head. My hand curls around the Zippo in my pocket as I eliminate the distance to her bedroom. I’m carried by a dark, innate need to be with her.

There’s no stopping this.

No holding back the rage that rises with every step.

Rex had been manipulating Quinlan for years. He’s the one to blame for her being a captive. For her thinking that this is the only way to help her parents.

Had he been a decent human being, she could’ve counted on him. Could’ve told us to go fuck ourselves.

My hand presses on the handle of her door, and I don’t wait. I slip inside the dark room. Damien and Rome switched the lights off, including the lamp at her bedside.

But light seeps in through the open door.

I pinch my eyes shut, don’t dare look at her when I’m like this. A ball of rage.

Squeezing the Zippo takes down the edge. The pain. The need for retribution. The desire to crush Rex’s windpipe. I breathe through it all.

I’m back in the room. Here with her, and no one else.

Only her.

When I open my eyes, I’m at the door again, closing it. My Zippo isn’t as heavy in my pocket anymore. It’s featherlight, calling to me.

Flick . My thumb strokes the flint and there it is, light.

There she is. Illuminated by my flame, I can see Quinlan lying on her bed.

Arms stretched over her head, legs spread. Bound. Her hair is wild around her face. Her head is turned in my direction, eyes closed. Her tattoo is so beautiful. It’s sad.

And she’s been gagged. The bunched, soaked fabric next to her mouth is a clear sign that one of my friends stuffed it in her mouth after I hung up. They stayed there for a while, secured it in her mouth. Waited for her to fall asleep.

Kinky.

Fucking love that.

I take another step toward her.

Her breaths are shallow, eyelashes resting on her soft cheeks.

Before I climb on the bed, my eyes sweep across the room.

Nothing seems out of place. Other than the bashed television, everything’s exactly where it should be. Her laptop’s on the desk. Her clothes aren’t scattered on the floor. No plates or glasses are smashed on the floor, walls or windows.

There aren’t any clawing marks on the walls.

Of course she hasn’t. She wouldn’t need to. She’s not locked inside her room. She could walk around the house at any moment.

Quinlan hasn’t tried to escape. She liked what we did to her yesterday.

She likes it here.

I. Haven’t. Locked. Her. In. Here.

The reassurance is a balm to my nerves.

Quinlan’s been comfortable here. Sort of. And this is just the beginning.

My lungs expand. Relief washes over me.

A momentary relief.

Lust is quick to drown out every other emotion. My head pounds. My cock thickens.

I hover at the edge of the bed where Damien and Rome were a little over an hour ago. I’m ensnared by Quinlan’s calm expression. Every feature on her beautiful face.

Her parted lips are an invitation. I imagine stretching them with my cock, but don’t touch her. Not yet.

I observe. Eyes on the curve of her neck. The mounds of her breasts and the valley leading to her navel. Hidden or not, she’s gorgeous.

Her taste on my tongue. I can’t get it out of my head. Memories of her sweetness return to me as if I have my mouth on hers right this fucking minute. As if I’ve never stopped kissing her.

I’m going to. I’m going to kiss her mouth, her collarbone.

Her clit.

Snap and the Zippo goes to her bedside table. The room bathes in darkness.

It has no place here. I don’t need it to ease away the panic. To bury the memories in the back of my head. Quinlan silences my demons.

My eyes adjust to the soft light coming from the moon.

Our woman.

She tugs at my heartstrings, my little flame. The only fire I allow anywhere near me, anywhere close enough to graze my skin.

Jacket, shoes, and socks, they all go to a heap on the floor.

I’ll kiss Quinlan between her legs. Lick her until she admits there’ll be no one else. No other man. Not in her dreams and not in her waking hours. I’ll force her to promise anything and everything with my fingers deep in her pussy, curled to stroke that spot.

Demand she give in to us.

It would make me so pleased , I’ll tell her. So fucking pleased to have you. To own you.

The sleeves of my shirt. They’ll make it hard to move around and touch Quinlan the way I need. I roll them up my forearms, up to my elbows. Run my hand through my hair. Of course it bounces back down my forehead. Of course.

The slightest smile curves my lips up. Quinlan likes it. She likes all of us.

She can fight us day and night. Doesn’t matter. She’s ours.

No more waiting. Done with watching. I’m ready with my fingers hooked to the top of the covers. I’m careful not to brush them on Quinlan’s skin. Not to wake her.

Only when I’m down there, kissing her, licking her, does she get to wake up. When she’s already needy, willing to agree to anything for me.

Our Quinlan would do that. She’d be such a good girl. She’ll come apart for me. Will come on my mouth. Will tell me she’ll stay.

“Help.”

I blink. Once. Twice. My dirty thoughts are gone as I stare down at her face. At her sleeping face.

Help .

Did she really say that? Or was it my imagination?

Tension settles in my bones. It’s uncomfortable, how I’m sent back in time. I wish I could reach out and grab my Zippo. Wish I could shed some light, flick it open a shut. Just until the panic settles.

Quinlan’s presence can’t comfort me when she’s in pain. When she’s like this, brow furrowed, eyes pinched, I’m anything but calm.

My fingers freeze on the covers. My free hand, the one I lean on, remains at my side. I could use it. Could grab the Zippo.

Except I can’t.

Help.

It might as well be on another planet. Panic rises in my chest, and I’m alone. With her and yet so fucking alone.

Minutes pass. They stretch out for an eternity as I wait, listening for anything that might come out of Quinlan’s mouth. A sign that I wasn’t imagining it. That this tightness in my throat isn’t for nothing.

What I get is silence.

I slam my eyes shut. Listen to the flick and snap sounds in my head over and over until air pushes itself into my lungs.

When I open them, Quinlan’s lips are parted. She’s quiet, though. She doesn’t scream for help. There’s no way she feels caged in our penthouse. No way it haunts her in her dreams.

An hour. She couldn’t have been here longer than that. She had to have fallen asleep not too long after I ended the call.

Whoever gagged her—probably Damien—loved her. Teased her. Caressed and kissed her.

It was all part of a game.

Had to be.

“Help.” The pleading is urgent. “Help, please.”

Red, hot flames lick at my chest, curling up my neck. They’re a searing touch on my scar. A gasoline doused my psyche, about to catch fire.

It’ll destroy me.

Quinlan’s breaths quicken, or maybe it’s mine.

Quinlan’s mouth twists in horror. Her lips part wider.

I know what comes next. I fucking know.

“Help us!” Her scream is an explosion. It’s fire closing in on me. I’m hot everywhere. Burning up. “Mommy, where are you? Daddy! Help him! Help Blake, I can’t reach him!”

Her baby brother.

This isn’t about you , my subconscious urges. Tears streak her cheeks, and she isn’t crying for me. I’m not the one who’s hurting. Her brother is. In her nightmare, he’s drowning all over again.

I understand.

But then there’s my trauma. The flames are still hot in the closet. My own cries for help blend into hers.

Cries that were left unanswered.

“Please.” She sobs in her sleep, her body breaking in tremors. Wrists and ankles tugging on the restraints. Her head thrashes left and right. “Blake. Help Blake. Please, please, please. I can’t… I don’t… Mommy”— heart wrenching sob —“please, where are you?”

I have to help her. Have to wake her up and yank her back into safety.

She was only five when he died. The police reports said he slipped on the edge of the pool. Crawled on it and fell. He was so small. His lungs filled up fast. Even Quinlan’s dad, who was a lifeguard, couldn’t get to him on time, and he jumped in right after him.

Quinlan’s cries make it sound like it didn’t go down that way.

I would be mad, but nothing really registers, not to its fullest. I’m in hell myself. In the closet. Flames lick my skin. My mother’s dresses burning down at my side. I can’t get out of here. Can’t.

“Blake. No.” The words are howls. The O stretches on forever, tearing me apart. Punching at my lungs that’s stopped working a minute ago. “No, no, no .”

The physical pain intensifies. Quinlan’s voice sounds less and less like hers. Like the twenty-three-year-old version of her, anyway.

She sounds like a kid.

I was a kid once.

Panic. That’s all I feel. A prisoner in my own body.

My head is fucking with me, damn it. It’s fucking with me and I have to help her.

I have to—

I’m not alone in the closet. Quinlan’s locked inside with me, and we’re both burning.

Because of me. Because I couldn’t stand another moment of the darkness. Of being so helpless. So alone.

My parents would cry when they find our burned corpses. They’ll weep and scream and mourn. Mine and Quinlan’s.

Because of me.

It’ll be my fault.

I should’ve never let Aria lock you in here with me, Quinlan. I’m so sorry. So sorry. So. Fucking. Sorry.

Quinlan’s sobbing on the bed, and I’m to blame for it too. My precious little flame.

My fault. My fault. My fault.

A sliver of light reaches from the door. I don’t have to look over there to see a shadow hovering. Maybe two. I don’t know.

I don’t—

“Help us,” she screams. Her arms strain.

Her chest heaves.

I’ve had enough.

Whoever’s outside in the hall trusts me to help her.

A blink, and I’m back in Quinlan’s bedroom. My fingers are hooked around the covers. The walls aren’t closing in on us. My Zippo is on the bedside table. I didn’t use it. Didn’t burn anything down.

“Quinlan.” The moment I say it, I’m vaguely aware of the door shutting. The light’s out.

I can take care of her. I. Will.

The bed dips with my weight, and I inhale Quinlan’s scent. She smells of sex and of her and it alleviates the pressure around my lungs. There’s no smoke in the room. None.

“I couldn’t catch him. He fell.”

I’m there, between her legs. My hands are on her cheeks. Firm, but not too firm. It’ll make things worse, startling her into waking up.

“I’m so sorry.” Her apology sounds a lot like mine. Her face is all pain. She looks like she’s crumpling from the inside out. “I tried. I tried. I was stuck. I’m so sorry.”

“Quinlan.” My forehead presses to hers. I’m here. I’m saving her. That’s what it means to be mine. I’ll save her every fucking time. “Wake up, little flame. Wake up, beautiful.”

“Oh no .”

I do the only thing I have left in my arsenal. I dip my mouth to hers, finding her lips.

This isn’t a kiss. It’s my lips on hers. It’s my soul calling for Quinlan out of the depths. Out of that pool. Out of that horrible night.

“Little flame,” I whisper. No, I demand. I imagine my voice is my hand, and I outstretch it to her. Dig into her dream and pull her the fuck out. “Come back. I’m not asking you again.”

Part-gasp, part-scream, and then—thank fuck, gray eyes flash in the dark.

“Liam.”

Impossible. It’s impossible to describe this feeling in my chest, to have her recognize me. She was a million miles away, trapped in her dream, and here she is. Seeing me in the dark.

“I’m here, little flame,” I repeat the name so she can hear it. I’m doing what I haven’t done before with anyone other than Rome or Damien. I crack my soul wide open for her to lean into. “With you. In your room. In your new home.”

“What happened?” Quinlan’s focused on me one moment, the next she’s trying to pull her arms close to her body. The relief in her eyes disappears the longer she tugs on her restraints. “You tied me up. You tied me up. You tied me up. Let me go. Please, let me go.”

Let me go.

The fire returns as if it’s never been extinguished in the first place. Thick smoke curls around me.

Let me go.

She’s right. She’s absolutely right.

We tied her up.

Let me go, Aria.

She never did, didn’t she?

Fuck. Fuck.

Without my Zippo in my palm, there’s no telling how long I’ve got. The panic will win over. I know it will.

Soon.

Calling Rome or Damien isn’t an option. Quinlan said my name. She needs me and I’ll die before I let her down.

I push through, just barely. I’m here again. My throat seizes and my muscles refuse to play along, but I’m done asking them for permission.

Bright gray eyes stare at me from under. Begging.

“Liam.” A breath. Just a soft breath, and I’m propelled into action.

My hands release the ties around her wrists. My fingers massage her skin, my eyes searching for abrasions. From this close, I can see everything.

Over the video call, I got hard for her. That’s all it took, a split second of watching her bound, spread and so incredibly sexy. I liked it. Couldn’t get her out of my head.

Binding her was the right call. She needed the reassurances, to feel rather than hear that she was ours for life. She had to be punished for ever thinking it.

It was hot.

It’s not hot at all now that my face is hovering over her sobbing ones and I have her wrist in my hand.

“Liam. Thank you.”

I’m torn. Sliced right down the middle. The pulse raging beneath my fingertips isn’t just hers anymore. It’s mine.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is rough, thick with the panic that I can hardly contain anymore.

Her eyes are wide as she sniffles. “What for?”

I kiss her, moving to stand at the foot of the bed. One ankle after the other. I have to release her before I crumble into dust.

But it’s getting harder to keep moving. My eyes slam shut, my head bows down.

“Liam?” Quinlan’s voice is as soft as her cheeks.

She brings me back. I stroke one freed ankle. Slide my fingers higher, brushing her calf. This isn’t about me. I’ll break down later. In my room. Where she can’t see me like this.

“What for?” Our eyes meet, and my brow furrows. I don’t mean to say what I’m about to say. It comes out of me anyway. “For getting lost inside my head when you needed me.”

She’s quiet, and I take it as a cue. She won’t forgive me tonight. She shouldn’t. Tomorrow, she might. Tomorrow, I’ll be calmer. Be myself again. I always do.

I’ll touch Quinlan, kiss her, fuck her. That other man she talked about, he would’ve begged for her forgiveness. Demanded it.

Not me.

Nothing binds her to the bed anymore. I want to kiss her ankle. I’m devastated by how much I want to kiss it. How I know it’ll put out the fire in my head.

I can’t. I can’t even talk and tell her that I have to leave.

Now that Quinlan’s not bound anymore, my body collapses in on itself. I’m paralyzed all over again.

“Liam. Liam, come here,” she pleads. Quinlan should’ve told me to get lost, and instead she’s pleading. “Please.”

This please sounds different from before. This isn’t a let me go . This isn’t a look at what they’ve done to me . This isn’t even I’m stuck in the dream where my brother drowns .

This please is meant for me. Every bone in my body demands I listen to her, that I go to her. Same bones are as heavy and as frozen as my muscles.

“Hey, Liam.”

I look up at her. Climb the bed. Knees between her still spread legs.

“Maybe… Maybe you’ll feel better up here?” Quinlan closes her legs around me. She’s being gentle as she talks me off the ledge. “I didn’t mean to scream. I was scared. I want you here. Please, Liam.”

Get in the fucking closet, kid. I don’t have time for your shit today. My boyfriend’s coming over and you know how much he hates it when you’re in the way. Get. In. The. Fucking. Closet.

Never please . Always get in .

Sandy blonde hair instead of a light blonde one. Gray eyes instead of black.

I inhale Quinlan’s scent. That and the way she looks at me push me forward. I crawl up her body, whipping the covers off her. Watch her.

“Lie next to me,” she pleads, reaching her hand out to my arm. “We can be together here. The bed is big enough for the both of us, and I want you here. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave.”

This please . This comfort.

There’s no denying her. I lie down. She’s pliant and soft, letting me pull her to her side so she’s facing me. Our hands reach, searching. Legs cross one on top of the other.

“Liam.”

Her fingers massage my scalp, running through my hair. It’s more than a sweet caress. It’s her, helping me to get out of the burning closet, dragging me away from danger. Her palm presses to my scar next, and that’s it.

Water. I feel them splashing on my burning face like the water in my parents’ shower.

Here, I don’t need to fumble for the valve. Here, Quinlan does it for me.

“Yes?” One word. That’s all I have for her.

“You were supposed to ask if I still wanted to leave before you untied me.”

Sweet Quinlan. Attempting to diffuse the situation with a smile and banter.

Her affection does something to me. Nudges in the right direction, distancing me from the fire.

“You…” Fuck, I hate that I’m choked up. She’s supposed to trust me. To be able to count on me. Clearing my throat comes out as a groan, and Quinlan flinches. Good. If I scare her, I can’t be this traumatized person. “You had a nightmare. You were terrified even when you woke up. We’re not monsters. We’re not—”

Them.

“We’re not.”

“No. I see it. I get it. And I know someone put you through hell. Not just Damien.” Her nose nuzzles mine when she shakes her head. “I’m here for you. You can talk to me, if that helps.”

Does she want me to talk about why we took her? Why I’m here, frozen and cold while my insides crumple? Burn into ashes?

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me what happened to you.” Quinlan talks faster than it would take me to slip open my Zippo’s lid.

Her palm on my cheek is so fucking distracting. So arousing. I’m hard when I shouldn’t be. I’m inhaling fresh air. Quinlan’s scent.

“Hey.” It’s when she says this word that I hear her. Really hear her. The lilt in her voice. The remnants of the nightmare are there. “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine?”

Our scars, she means. The ones on the inside.

“Why would you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Share anything with me.” My fingers are at her chin, squeezing, tipping it up. I want to believe what she says. Except too much shit has happened to me that I can’t do that. Besides—“You said you were leaving. Is this your way of telling me you won’t?”

She huffs, scowling. “Glad to see you’re all better. Feel free to leave now.”

But her hand is still on my cheek. And I’m a broken man.

“That came out wrong. I don’t…” I need this more than I realized. I still sound mad as hell. I hope to fuck my words make up for it. “Say you’ll stay.”

Her gray eyes study me. Whatever she finds there, it looks like it pleases her.

“Give me one good reason.” A smile teases her lips. A cautious one. She’ll give me hell if I keep acting like a prick, that much is obvious. “And I might.”

“If you think we’re sparing Rex…” My panic has gone up in smoke. I’m safe here. I’m never letting go. Even after we’ll kill Rex, even when she resents us for it, we’re keeping her. “Better think again, little flame. He’s a dead man, and you’re ours.”

There are eyes on us. The door’s closed, but I know better. I know of another door that leads in here. I know about the peephole in the bookshelf.

“No, I don’t think you’ll spare him. He… He doesn’t deserve it.” Resignation. That’s what I hear. And…sadness? Whatever Damien’s said to her, she believes him.

This isn’t just about what he did to Damien and his foster siblings. She realizes he’s not a bad man. Nothing about him is good, including the way he treated her.

“Show me I’m more than a fuck doll to you. That’s what I meant.” Her voice falters at the crude words. Our brave little one says them anyway. “Show me, and I won’t bite your dick off in your sleep.”

“Oh, you’d try that?” Stifling a laugh is fucking hard. It’s a miracle that I manage.

“You can count on it.”

I’m such a sucker for her lips that I kiss them. “Not like it’ll make a difference, but say you’ll stay. That no matter what you hear, you’ll stay. Because you want to.”

She can’t nod with my hand firm on her chin, so she blinks. “I’ll stay because I want to. I already do.”