33. CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Rome

Jab, jab, cross . Left hook and three quick right ones. Right’s my strong side.

I twist my body to the left again. Jab . Jump in place. One, two, three, hops. Light on my feet before the uppercut. The contact with the punching bag has my teeth gritting.

The contact is a balm to my shot-to-shit nerves.

Throwing one blow after another helps. The scrapes on my knuckles are raw, leaving red stains on the leather I hurl myself at. My shoulders ache the harder I go at it.

Don’t care.

This, this is all mine. The outlet to the never-ending rage simmering in my blood.

Again. Again. Again.

Always on the offensive. Never the other way around. Not even when I practice.

Fuck going on the defensive.

Putting my arms up? Fuck that. No ducking or sidestepping, either.

I couldn’t destroy Joseph Langford when I was a skinny kid. When I lived under his roof. When he owned me.

Couldn’t touch him or Elaine after Anne was born, or they would’ve used her to punish me.

Images of my sister’s prominent collarbone send me into another fit of rage. Another relentless, breathless storm that I unleash on the punching bag.

Not like I needed the extra push. Not like I was anywhere near calm when I came down here, after everyone went to bed. After I heard the true story about that night straight out of Quinlan’s mouth.

No. I was furious on my way down here. Had to smother the need to punch the wall of the elevator. I was this close. Didn’t do it.

My bare fists connect to hard leather over and over and over. Sweat drips down my forehead. On my naked chest. I lost my shirt some time ago. No idea when.

Jab, jab, jab. Two more crosses.

Pain shoots up my arms. Detonates in my shoulders.

This. Isn’t. Enough.

More.

More so I don’t get eaten alive by Quinlan’s words. Her tears. The guilt that’s been forced on her for years.

The little girl left in the pool. The kid who grew up believing her brother’s tragic death was her fault.

A thunder cracks inside me, an electric shock zapping through me.

This feeling won’t go away until I leave every ounce of my anger on the gym floor. So I don’t stop. Don’t even wipe the sweat that drips into my eyes.

Let it run down my eyes. Let it burn.

Better than starting the car, driving downtown and waking Rex up to my fist to his nose. I’d start there, take my sweet time with him. Blow after blow, I’d make him bleed. Make him pay.

And ruin Damien’s revenge. He and Liam would get in the car if I woke them now, no questions asked. They were as furious as I was. But it wouldn’t be fair. Rex wouldn’t suffer as much as he deserved.

I can’t do that to Damien. So I’m here.

Uppercut. Another shot of pain that has my molars gnashing. Fuck that. I have ten more in me. A thousand more.

I’m not done. This monster-sized ache in my chest, my gut—my tainted motherfucking heart—doesn’t go away.

The other version of that tragic night was much different from Quinlan’s. The real one. We read copies of the police reports that described Quinlan’s family at the pool. They were there with the kids every second , according to both her parents.

Thirteen-months-old Blake Palmer crawled along the ledge. Slipped. Fell. His tiny lungs were filled up before either one of the parents could do anything about it.

Lies.

His autopsy matched Carrie and Russel’s—Quinlan’s parents’—version of events.

Russel received a fine and was fired for going into the pool after hours. A slap on the fucking wrist if I ever saw it.

Neither one of the parents were charged for negligence like they should’ve. No involuntary manslaughter sentence. Nothing. No one’s paid the price for Blake’s death.

No one but his sister.

His sister who was left to deal with the pain. With guilt. With grieving parents who forgot they had a living five-year-old child. A child who was hurting as much as they had. Who wasn’t sent to therapy. Who wasn’t told it wasn’t her motherfucking fault.

Quinlan.

Social services visited their home for a couple of years later and we all know how Rex can manipulate them.

Him. Her half-brother. Her much older brother who didn’t care about her situation as long as he didn’t have to face his responsibilities. Not really.

A million punches don’t do a damn thing to calm the roaring beast inside me. The sounds I make are that of an animal. A reflection of my growing frustration. Of the fury I can’t contain anymore.

Goddamn it, nothing hurts enough. Nothing fixes this.

We smelled bullshit, of course we did. Given her dad’s years of experience, he should’ve been able to give Blake CPR and save him. But we had no proof. The cameras around the pool were out of order. Quinlan, the only other witness, told the police officers at the scene that yes, that was exactly what happened.

They guilted her into saying that.

They…

Hook. Jab, jab, hook. The strongest, most painful punches and I’m nowhere near satisfied.

My fists could kill a man. Instead, it’s this miserable punching bag that doesn’t talk back. Doesn’t cry out in pain. I don’t hear his bones break.

It’s my chest muscles that pump. My shoulders take the hit.

Quinlan .

Her name is nothing but a breath. A scream. A call for action.

She’s not here, but we finally have her. Safe. Cherished. Up in her bedroom, sleeping. She’ll never hurt again. No one will ever guilt her into thinking she killed her baby brother.

Surprisingly, that gentle train of thought helps. I’m as furious as ever, but I feel her hand on my skin as if she were here. And I’m…not better. I might be getting there, though.

I need more of that.

When I walked out on them, she was warm. Enveloped by Dame and Liam. Worshipped in her sleep.

Our version of…

Love.

Yes. That. That strange, foreign creature festering inside me. The thing that’s eating up all the available space.

A parasite. A cure.

Ours.

She won’t get any anniversary cards from the three of us. We won’t make a big deal about Valentine’s Day.

We will, however, burn the world down for her. We’ll be there for her happy days. Hold her through her nightmares. Catch her when she falls.

Annihilate each and every one of her demons.

The biggest one of them being Rex.

The so-called man who loves her. He probably had for a while. Until Blake died. Until they became a burden in his eyes. The three of them. And he figured a five-year-old could manage.

He could’ve—fuck that, should’ve —done more than drop food at their place. Should’ve moved in there.

Hell, I could’ve left home at eighteen. God knows I hated every breath I took in that motherfucking place. But I had Anne. My sister. My blood. She was never a responsibility or a burden. I loved her. I had to take care of her. That was that.

Eight years of added torture were nothing compared to leaving her there by herself for even for one night.

That’s what Rex should’ve done for Quinlan. Be there for her. She didn’t just lose her baby brother. He didn’t just drown before her eyes. She lost her entire family that day. Her parents checked out.

Alone. She’d survived. She made it.

And she was all alone.

Right hook . I imagine his face there. A tooth flying out at my punch. His nose caving in. Blood gushing.

I’ve done that over the years. Imagined Rex’s face along with a few selected others.

Never like this, though, with this level of hate. Maybe because it’s fresh in my head. Maybe because I can’t stand to be just another person who’s failed her.

Bam. Bam. Bam.

My punches have no rhyme or reason anymore. I’m going after the punching bag blindly. After Rex. After the throb in my head.

If I’m not careful, the broken bones would be mine.

He didn’t lift a finger for them. Quinlan was the one who sought therapy for her parents. Damien watched her making the calls. She was a teenager when she did that. Didn’t cry. It almost sounded…normal. No tears were shed throughout these calls. She didn’t look distressed.

Damien wouldn’t have let it slide if he’d think she was breaking down.

He never saw her making food for her family. She’d have to have done it in the crack of dawn so she could go to school after.

I feel bad for him. I bet he hates himself for missing these signs, when he shouldn’t. He’d done his best to stalk her. He’s obsessed and grateful and adores the fuck out of her. I’d have to repeat to him what Quinlan said later. None of this was his fault.

The sounds of my fist connecting to the punching bag echo in the otherwise silent gym. The pain in my knuckles intensifies.

Right hook, left. Jab, jab, jab, cross . One of Rex’s eyes swells shut. I’m coming from the side, and his blood coats his mouth and chin. He gurgles, trying to defend himself.

He can’t. He won’t.

Useless piece of shit.

I’m about to land another punch when I feel it.

My arm stills mid-motion. My bare feet plant themselves to the floor. My shoulders tense.

Someone has entered the gym.

Not just anyone.

Her.

The smart move would be to settle my nerves before I turn around. Collect myself. Let the storm settle.

Here, I’m relaxing my shoulders. Dragging in a long breath. I’m fine.

I am not fine.

“Rome?”

Quinlan’s not supposed to be here. She’s not supposed to be able to leave the apartment.

She’s not supposed to be anywhere near me when I’m this worked up. When I’m—

“Rome?” Her palm rests on my sweaty shoulder.

I shake her off, whipping to face her. I overdo it. It’s too fast.

I’m still nothing close to being fine.

Both my hands grip the sides of her neck and then… I pick up on that scent. Food.

Being starved for long periods of time enhanced my sense of smell. For years, I’d been hunting for it. Literal breadcrumbs. Anything my parents might have forgotten to lock away.

A bite for me. The rest for Anne.

My nostrils flare. I hunt for the source of it, and I find it. One hand around Quinlan’s wrist, and I lift her hand up between us.

A chocolate bar. The colorful wrapping has been peeled, the untouched chocolate stares at me.

“What’s this?” There are more pressing questions, like how she got out of the apartment. How she knew I’d be here.

This takes precedence. This trap.

Quinlan’s after my secrets.

I admire her for it. I want to hand them over to her, too. To be as brave as her and Liam were up there, in her room, when they opened up the way they did.

Impossible.

When I’m like this, I can’t do the right thing.

There’s only war inside my head.

Whoever let her down here made the wrong motherfucking call.

“Chocolate?” she says with those pretty plump lips. Lips that are swollen from our abuse. “For you? Thought you might be hungry, um, after your workout?”

“Hungry?”

I haven’t been hungry in years. Whichever one of my friends brought Quinlan here ought to have known that. They didn’t tell her my stomach is always full. They let her walk into the lion’s den anyway. Let her see me in this state.

Another side of me. The real me.

This wasn’t the wrong call. I get it. Still hate that she’s here. That she looks up at me, into my eyes, and sees me.

Her attention flickers to the three punching bags behind me, cautious before she returns them to me. I glower at her. Her cheeks redden, and she lets her gaze slip down my body. She can’t move her face because I hold her there by her neck, but her eyes wander.

Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of red when she takes in the straining muscles of my chest, of my abs. My joggers hang low on my waist—fuck gym shorts, hate those—and Quinlan’s attention stays there, her pulse racing.

She likes what she sees. A weakness that my feral, evil side leverages on.

“No, I’m not hungry.” My hand on her neck drags my prey closer. She looks up, eyelashes fluttering. “But you brought food, and we don’t let it go to waste in this house.”

“So you’re—”

“You’re going to eat it.”

“I’m not—”

The moment she opens her mouth, the chocolate bar goes in.

“Rome,” she murmurs around it.

“Bite down, Quinlan.”

The idea of force-feeding always seemed as abominable to me as starvation. And I don’t force-feed her. This isn’t it. This is a game. A power play. A game Quinlan’s on board with.

Satisfaction. Abundance of it. It’s swarming through my veins. Sick and depraved. Her obedience does that to me. Humiliating her, that’s another pleasant outcome. Gets my cock fucking hard.

“I’m so pleased.” I press her chin up, clamping her mouth shut. “Be a good girl for me and swallow.”

Quinlan’s throat bobs, and I tighten my grip on her neck, feeling it.

“Rome…”

“Again.”

I repeat the steps until there’s nothing left but the wrapper. I hurtle it to the side, breathing hard. She has some chocolate left on the seam of her lips, and I use my thumb to swipe at it and shove it into her mouth.

My pulse hammers as loud as hers. We stare at each other.

She’s waiting for me to say something.

“Want to tell me what you’re really doing here?” The question comes out harsh. Too harsh.

I’m aggressive.

This is bad, having her around me now. With Rex’s bastard face in the front of my mind. With her tears burned into my memory. While adrenaline doesn’t flow through my blood, it consumes it.

I’m a murderer. I haven’t killed anyone yet, but I might just as well be called one. I am going to kill the people who raised Anne and me. I’ll take my sweet time with it, too.

This is the person Quinlan’s staring at.

Bravely. Chin high. Shoulders pushed back.

She has no armor on. In one of Liam’s dress shirts, a pair of dark leggings and sneakers, she’s vulnerable. Breakable.

I shake my head internally. I don’t destroy beautiful, delicate creatures. Won’t ever crush her like I plan to do to the real monsters.

And she’s so beautiful. How does that even happen?

How come she doesn’t flinch?

“I’m here for you.” The blush on her cheeks burns brighter under the harsh lights of the gym. “You left us. I was worried.”

“Is that so?” I keep sounding like an asshole. Keep imagining her broken-hearted and crying in that pool, and I don’t settle down for her. I snarl.

“I wanted to know where you were.” She lifts her chin higher, takes a step closer. “I wanted to talk.”

“You should’ve stayed in bed.”

Too late, though. Both my hands are around her neck, fingers sliding up to her jaw. I’ve caught her.

I’m the worst fucking man. A true monster to be this rough on her.

But my heart is a mess. And she brought me food, for crying out loud.

I need to shield her. I need to possess her. I need to get a handle on this.

Can’t.

“Liam—” she gasps when I press my thumbs to her jaw. When I start choking her. I can’t stop and she doesn’t try to pull away. All she does is place her small hands over my large, sweaty ones. “Liam. He let me out of the penthouse. He came down the elevator with me.”

“So you know.”

“That you’re locking me in the penthouse from the inside?” Her taunting has my lips twisting. She’d be so much fun to play with. All by myself. “You went to work. You think I didn’t test the door?”

“I bet you did.” My head cocks to the side. The predator in me assesses this bold, reckless little lamb.

“Makes sense.” What a daring little thing she is, raising an eyebrow at me. “I’m a captive, right?”

The sick need to devour this woman feels a lot like anger. How dare she, stand here, so beautiful and brave that it hurts to breathe around her?

No one has the power to hurt me.

“You are.”

One movement takes both of us to the black rubber floor, me on top of her. Locks of sandy blonde hair spread wildly around her head. Her fingers grasp onto my neck.

“You asked Liam to leave, anyway.”

“Yes.” I had her breath knocked out of her, and here she is. Recovered. “For you.”

Robbing me of my sanity.

“There will be consequences for your little transgression.” My legs straddle hers. My hands are on her face, pinning her to the floor. Caging her in.

Her nose scrunches. Even with her eyes red and puffy from crying, even after she bared her heart to us, Quinlan has the audacity to look indignant. God, I love that.

“Liam said it was okay.”

“Liam isn’t here, isn’t he?” My jaw tics. “Just you and me, sweetheart. So here’s what’s going to happen next.”

This isn’t about sex. It’s about control. And fuck, am I ever in control over her. One hand slides around Quinlan’s throat, the other peeling her hands off me. Her arms go over head, wrists locked in my grip.

“What?”

“You’re going to tell me why you’re really here.”

“Or else?”

My sweaty chest presses to the clean shirt on her body. Her heart thrashes in her chest, the loud hammering beating doing things to me.

“You’ll find out what being captive truly means.”

A wicked smile spreads on Quinlan’s face. “Oh, yeah?”

She’s so dirty. The glint of crazy in her eyes is beyond tempting.

It’s a red cape to a bull. A dare.

And it only took her a couple of hours of sleep to regain her strengths.

“Test me, Quinlan. Please do.”

The challenge in her eyes suggests that she’s about to do just that. My senses pick up on it.

Truly, truly adorable of her.

“What did my friends tell you while I was here?”

Her entire expression changes. The hint of a grin shifts into a scowl. Sadness begins to cloud her gaze.

“Rex hurt Damien,” she whispers.

“I asked about the last two hours.” The threat in my words is audible.

“Liam…” Her chin wobbles.

I’m an animal, not heartless. I let the sentence hang in the air, not making her repeat it. “Yes. Liam.”

“You must have been hurt too.”

Colors flash before me. Red. Black. White so bright I growl at the pain.

“Rome?” Her choked voice carries me back.

I’m leaning too much of my weight on her slender body. My hands squeeze her wrists and throat. Hurting her.

“What about me?” I tug on Quinlan’s wrists, hurting her. Then I lower my voice, because there’s no way I’m letting anyone in the building hear me. “You want a reason to pity me, sweetheart? Or, let me guess, you wonder what I’m going to do for revenge. If I’m here boxing because I plan on killing a man with my bare hands. Or a woman.”

For the first time since she’s come down here, Quinlan is speechless. No words come out. And thank fuck, the pity I taunted her about isn’t there behind those gray, gorgeous eyes.

“What part shocked you the most, sweetheart?” I bring my lips to her cheek, tasting the fear on her skin. Fuck, it’s addictive. I let my lips run along her jaw, her cheek, relishing in her shivers. “That someone abused me? That I have plans to end someone’s life? Or is it that I don’t give a fuck that your wrists hurt? That you’re my captive?”

“No one touched you.” A breath. “Not like they had Damien. And it wasn’t an outsider, like Liam’s sitter.”

“You have no idea what Damien went through. What your half-brother did to him.” I deflect. I’m not ready to open up. “Or did you two talk before Liam brought you down here?”

“He’s the only one who’d gone to bed with his clothes,” she says, as if it explains everything.

It does. It explains all of it.

I’m quiet as I stare at her.

There are a few things I value more than anything in this life.

The people who are closest to me. Having food available to them and me at all times.

Managing my anger issues while making sure no one overpowers me. Ever.

BLF Capital.

And trust. Love doesn’t mean a damn thing without trust.

“Let me get this straight.” I stand up, picking her up with me. She gasps when I throw her over my shoulder and start walking.

“Rome!”

Quinlan’s so small compared to me that her kicks and punches are just…sweet.

“Rome!”

I sit down on the nearest gym bench. Manhandle her until she’s lying with her stomach pinned to my lap and her ass held high up.

“What are you doing?”

The first time my open palm connects to her butt makes her scream.

Makes my cock hard. My pulse jackhammers. Not like I’m going to do anything about it.

I’ll fuck her another day. When I’m in control of myself.

Right now, I’m way too raw. Way too…

Fuck that. Vulnerable isn’t the word.

“What was that for? Rome, answer—”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

“I thought I told you how I feel about snooping.” Smack. “And yet here you are. Came all the way down here instead of going to bed like a good girl. Trying to dig out my secrets.”

“Rome, listen—”

Smack.

“I’m close, aren’t I?”

“Please, if you could listen—”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

I wish I could see her ass reddening. But if someone other than Liam and Rome walked in here and had a glimpse of what’s mine…

“Tell me why I’m here and I won’t pry.” She’s thrashing in my hold, hating it that I’m stronger. That I have a hand around the back of her neck, holding her in place. “Damn it, Rome.”

Tough shit.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

I go hard on her. I’m mad at the world. I love watching her squirm.

The tortured sounds coming from Quinlan are almost as sweet as my own pain.

“Tell. Me. Please.” She pushes against me, and the pressure on my cock is good. So fucking good. “Rome, please.”

Her resilience is such a beautiful thing. I’m dying to capture it in my palm. Tuck it into my pocket. Jack off to it whenever she’s not around.

She’ll always be around.

“Stop,” she begs and, fuck, that’s beautiful too. Her thick locks hide her face, and still, there’s no denying how beautiful everything about her is. “Please, tell me. Stop, this distance, this wall. I can’t take it.”

My palm hovers over her ass. “Why?”

She sighs, tilting her head. I push it back down. “I want to help.”

“You hate the thought she’ll find out about the pain. About how deep it went.” Damien’s words come back to haunt me. Taunt me.

I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her everything. Soon. She’s just started to get used to us. To me.

Time is running out. I’m aware. I’m also not ready to face her rejection. To go through more days of her locked up in her room.

She’s already heard of my plans to murder someone. I basically admitted to it when I was all up in her face. She hasn’t run from me yet. Hasn’t called me a monster.

What happens when she learns it’s them you’re after?

Well…

Quinlan’s sweet. So sweet. Not that sweet, though, because she believes in revenge as much as we do. She offered to kill Aria. Demanded it.

Would it be that horrible to tell her the people who were supposed to love me the most did everything to ruin us? That I fantasized about the day I get to kill them?

Worse still, would learning it’s these people do it to her? Would the pity start then?

I don’t know. And between having her lock herself up in her room or feel sorry for me, I’m stuck. Nothing good will come out of this.

Better wait. Better hold back until I have to come out with it.

Here and now isn’t it.

“It’s late, Quinlan.” One quick swoop and her stomach is pinned to my shoulder again.

I’m on a mission to get us back home. Not to captivity. Not to her prison . Home.

I don’t bother with finding my T-shirt. They can donate it or throw it away for all I care.

“Please, Rome.” Her hands aren’t busy punching me this time. They’re splayed on my back, rubbing me. Comforting me. “I want to belong. I want to help. I’m here.”

“You’ll still be here tomorrow.” At the elevators, I nod at Cody, the building’s security on this floor. He nods back, like me carrying a woman over my shoulder is the most normal thing in the world. “And the day after, and the day after that.”

I smash the button for the elevators. Wait.

“You’re horrible.”

“You’re adorable.” I skim my palm over her ass as I step into the elevators, away from Cody’s eyes. She’s ours. “Sweet too, for coming to look for me. I appreciate it. And we will talk.” I’m finally breathing. Finally, I’ve been around her long enough that I’m less of an animal, more of a man. The man who wants her so bad it hurts. “For tonight, be quiet and let me tuck you back in. Where you’ll stay. I’ll join you after I shower.”

“I’m not a child,” she groans on our way up to the penthouse.

She isn’t. It’s the starved kid in me that’s fighting her. The kid wasn’t sure he’d survive some days. Who couldn’t protect Anne.

But I can protect Quinlan.

Of her past, of heartache, of any fucking thing.

I will.

Like I’ll get over myself and tell her everything.

I. Will.