37. CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Quinlan

Sun rises in the sky. Bright light shines on the empty penthouse in the morning, all the way through noon.

I’m sitting on a stool on the kitchen island, with the meal that Rome left for me this morning in front of me. He prepared it before any of us woke up today. When I came down here at six, he’d already been here. Stirring and stoic.

And I can’t bring myself to eat the beef ragu and pasta he made.

The food is exquisite. The pasta is handmade and the ragu has been left for hours on the stove to simmer. The flavors are rich, the meat the most delicious I’ve ever had.

The food isn’t the problem.

Yesterday, Rome promised me honesty.

He’s given me so much since. All three of them. Morning sex. Three sets of hands soaping me, lathering shampoo into my hair, drying me up with plush, incredibly soft towels.

Liam brushed my hair, careful and attentive as he undid the knots. Rome blow-dried it.

Damien chose my clothes for me. Black lace bra and panties under black long-sleeve T-shirt and dark blue jeans. He laughed when I teased him about letting me have virtual conferences today. His laugh was an easy one. I could imagine a younger Damien at that moment. Before…

Before Rex.

I release a sigh into the empty penthouse. Collect meat, pasta and tomato sauce on my fork and shovel it into my mouth. Flavors explode on my tongue. My heart is so heavy that I don’t enjoy it as much as I should. I can’t.

“You have until five to be done with work.” Damien’s words come back to me as I chew. Swallow. Gulp on water, because the food won’t go down my throat. “We’ll be back by then. Rome will be there to talk to you.”

There’s no way I can finish this meal. This half-empty plate. There’s no way I can do anything for the next seven hours other than stare. I haven’t scheduled anything, of course I haven’t.

I’m too on edge.

The only email I returned was Paulina’s. She’s one of my favorite clients, and I couldn’t leave the message unopened. She asked when I’m back to taking new clients. Her friend opened a new exclusive club, and he deserves the best, Paulina said. After I replied with “It’s still undecided,” I shut down the laptop.

As I stare into my plate, I think, no, I don’t want to stay here and do nothing. I want to run up to my room, push through the door, and talk to the little camera on my laptop. Maybe they’ll be there. Maybe they’ll listen to me when I yell at them that being alone with the pain and concerns about Rome and Damien is too painful. That I can’t help if they don’t talk to me like they promised.

“I’m sorry, Rome,” I say to the food as I dispose of what’s left of it. “I hope there aren’t any cameras here and that you’re not mad.”

“Oh, but I am.”

His booming voice catches me completely off guard. I scream and lose the grip on the plate and fork at the same time, and they fly out of my hands. They clatter on the floor, the white ceramic plate too delicate to absorb the fall. It crashes, breaking into so many pieces.

So many.

“Quinlan,” Rome commands, speaking in a low tone.

“I’m sorry,” I curse under my breath.

Is he disappointed that I didn’t finish my meal, or that I dropped the plate? That I messed up their kitchen? That the food he worked so hard on is scattered all over the floor?

Whatever it is, I can’t leave it like this. I have to clean this up so that at least when he walks over here, the evidence of just how much I didn’t eat will be gone.

Where are the cleaning supplies? I have no idea.

Probably in the cupboards below the sink. I’ll start searching there.

One foot lifts. I’m about to step back when I hear a cracking sound. Ceramic splintering beneath a man’s dress shoes.

I turn toward Rome, my foot still up in the air, my arms spread to the side for balance.

Pleading with him to stay back won’t happen today. What does leave my body is my air and dignity when Rome swoops me into his arms.

“Sweetheart.” Dark blue eyes are as hard as the muscles of his chest, of his abs. He pins me to him, and my legs go automatically around his waist. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I thought I needed to clean this up.” Even though I frown, my arms go around Rome’s neck, right over his charcoal suit jacket. My fingers lace at his nape, though it does nothing to soften his expression. “I dropped the plate.”

“You needed to clean,” he huffs, his tone incredulous. “Barefoot.”

“Well, yes.” My heart beats to reach Rome. To jump into his broad chest and unite with his. He’s so sexy when he’s being protective like this. “I… I didn’t eat much, Rome. I’m so sorry. After yesterday, you said we’d talk. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

He gives me a noncommittal huff, hugging me closer to him.

Rome isn’t mad. I could try making him laugh. “I would’ve plucked out the splinters and bandaged my feet later. I wouldn’t have died, you know.”

“You would’ve damaged my property, that’s what you would’ve done.” The storm clears behind his blue eyes. “Our property.”

“I’m not anyone’s property.”

“It hurts you, doesn’t it?”

“What does?”

“How much you want it. How it turns you on.” Rome places me on the counter, pushes my thighs apart. His hands are on my thighs and his face and mine are an inch apart. Less than that. “We can play this game for days. Weeks. Months. Years . Won’t change the simple truth that you’re our property.”

“No.” My chest rises and falls, the tension in the kitchen palpable. I’m not scared of him, but he’s early and he’s sort of smiling with his eyes and I want to play with him.

“Yes.”

My nostrils flare, much like Rome’s. In less than a second, this game has taken on a dark turn. The air crackles between us, and I feel like I’m standing in the eye of a hurricane. His hands slide up my body, landing at the sides of my neck. Dragging me to him.

“No.”

“Yes.” His lips brush against mine, electricity flowing through him. “Trust me, Damien and Liam would be just as disappointed to hear you’re being careless with what’s ours.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I breathe the air Rome gives me. Breathes into me. Otherwise, I would choke.

He doesn’t get to be this hot when he talks to me as if I’m a chair or a picture they’ve acquired. But he does. Oh, he does.

“The plate is your property too,” I whisper.

“Fuck the plate.” The word fuck on his tongue is the dirtiest I’ve ever heard. “Let’s start over. I’m home early from the office. What’s the right way to greet me?”

Going down on my knees for him. Undoing his belt, pulling down his zipper. Taking him out and sucking his gorgeous cock until he empties himself inside me.

“So dirty.” I’m an open book to him. He sees my filthy desires as if I’d articulated them for him. “Another day. When your feet won’t bleed when I bend you over this island and fuck you raw. Try again.”

“Honey.” My fingers go to the front of his shirt, clutching it. Crumpling the expensive fabric. “How was your day?”

“Close,” he growls.

Our foreheads press against each other. “Tell me.”

“Start with telling me how much you’ve missed me.”

“I’ve missed you.” Easiest thing I’ve done in my life. Telling the truth is always easy. “So much.”

“Good girl.” His fingers squeeze, choke, possess me. “I’ve really missed you too, sweetheart. It’s too fucking good to come back home to you.”

I would levitate, float in the air, go high up in the sky, never to return if not for Rome grounding me. If not for this harsh, scowling man who yanks my mouth to his. He’s crushing me, kissing me. Obliterating me through this impossibly painful and mind-numbing kiss.

It’s much better than any food he’s ever made. I’ll never tell him that, though. This one I’m taking with me to the grave.

“Stay here.” Rome’s gaze darkens, pinning me in place.

He removes his jacket, places it on the kitchen island next to me and rolls the sleeves of his white dress shirt up. I’m drawn to the veins cording his muscular forearms. To the way his shirt moves with him.

When he catches me staring, he winks.

Rome, being playful. I could get used to that.

“So… Not that I’m complaining...” I watch him retrieving a dustpan from under the sink, close to where I guessed it’d be. “How come you’re home early?”

His expression clouds, but he catches it fast, flashing me a soft smile.

“Sure you’re not complaining?” Rome turns to the floor. He grabs the fork, tossing it in the sink. Next, he swipes the broken pieces of the plate into the dustpan. Cleaning the mess I’ve made.

“Over this? You here, and bent over?” I tease him, dangling my feet. “Never.”

“What are you complaining about, Quinlan?” Rome empties the dustpan into the trash, the ceramic clinking as they land at the bottom. “That Liam and Damien aren’t here?”

There’s not a hint of jealousy in his tone. Rome sounds genuinely curious.

“No. I figured they’re busy planning world domination.” He stands up, and I poke his hip with my toe. Rome snatches my foot, biting my ankle. He turns around after I’ve squealed enough. “The four of us will have time together. I miss them, but I love that you’re here. Like I said, I’m not complaining.”

For the longest second, Rome stands there. He’s studying me, assessing me.

Eventually, his expression settles. He’s decided I was telling the truth. “We will. We’ll have all the time.”

He reaches into another cupboard, his shirt stretching over wide shoulders.

Hot.

These three men have the rare ability to be hot even when they’re doing something as mundane as retrieving wipes.

“Changed my mind.” The kitchen floor is sparkling in no time, and Rome turns to me. “I am complaining.”

“About?”

The obvious thing would be to say that he was supposed to talk to me. That he doesn’t look like he’s going to go through with it.

I’m done pushing him, though. He’s here in the middle of the day and it’s fucking perfect.

“That you’re there by the trash can.” I spread my legs wide, ignoring the fact that he has his back turned to me. He’ll turn back soon enough. “And not here.”

Rome looks over his shoulder. The storm behind his eyes isn’t one that’ll end up with me dead. I thought he could kill me when I just got here. I don’t anymore. I know it’s a look of a man who’s barely restraining himself.

A man who’s more than ready to fuck me on every available surface in this penthouse.

Instead of doing exactly that, he shakes his head. His molars gnash.

“Rome?”

He turns around fully, walking up to me. Though he’s hard, his cock standing proudly in his pants, Rome doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t touch me where I’m aching for him.

“As much as it pains me, I’m not here early to fuck you. There’s something else I have to do.” One of his hands grabs me by the hips, pulling me toward him. The bruised knuckles of his free hand stroke the side of my face, and I lean into his touch. “If I remember correctly, I made you a promise.”

This is it. It’s big. Huge. Scary. Dread lines the pit of my stomach, and my hands on the island are clammy.

After this, there’ll be no more secrets between Rome and me. He’ll give me the keys to a part of himself I suspect only Damien and Liam are familiar with. And Anne, his sister, but that’s a given.

I’m looking forward to it. Have him lend me some of his pain. Tell me who we need to fuck up.

That’s what love is all about.

Rome stares at me, a thunderstorm in his eyes. Sheer honesty bleeds from him.

Rome and his pain.

“I’m listening.” I twist my head, kissing his rugged knuckles.

“Stay here,” he repeats the order. Turns around and disappears up the stairs.

Leaves me with my heart pounding and my mind whirring.

I try not to think of the worst. I really do. Invisible knives push into my collarbone, slicing me down the middle anyway.

He’s back in the kitchen after a few minutes, changed out of his office clothes. Rome exudes just as much power wearing snug black T-shirts and joggers. Silent as he places white hand wraps, red boxing gloves and a pair of my black leggings next to me. The socks and sneakers he’s brought for me are left on the clean floor.

I’m as quiet as he is. This isn’t a fun boxing session we’re going to have today. Nothing about what happens next could be qualified as fun.

“Hands,” he commands, already cupping my right one.

Rome’s methodic as he slips the thumb loop in place and starts wrapping the elastic over the back of my hand. His movements hypnotize me. I’m drawn to them, to how careful he’s being as he crosses the hand wrap over my wrist, my knuckles, my palm.

He’s not done, yet he pauses. Smooths his thumbs over my partly wrapped palm. “Wiggle your fingers.”

The movement of my fingers satisfies him. He still asks, “How does it feel?”

“Why don’t you put them on too?” I didn’t need to see him the other day to figure it out. I place my left palm on top of his bruised knuckles, stroking him.

“I like the pain. It takes off the edge.” His intense gaze almost knocks me over. “That, and my fists are all I’ll use when I kill my parents.”

The weight of what he’s telling me doesn’t sink in slowly. It’s a blow to the chest. To the gut. I wish—fuck, how I wish—I could’ve gone back in time. Throttle these assholes myself.

My mouth remains clamped shut. Rome, much like Damien, Liam and me, hates pity. I don’t pity him. I’m murderous.

And I’m quiet.

Rome nods once before he continues to wrap my hand, finishing it off with the Velcro. Other hand.

“Hold on to my shoulders.” My obedience is immediate, and with his palms on my hips, Rome lowers me to the floor.

“Damien’s going to be pissed that you’re changing me out of my clothes.” I smile at Rome as he pulls my jeans down my legs.

At that, Rome’s eyes warm by a fraction. “I’m sure he’d agree you’d be more comfortable boxing in leggings.”

“He’s kind of volatile.” I step out of my jeans, running my fingers over Rome’s neck. Coaxing a low hum out of him. “I can never tell with him.”

Despite the humor in my tone, it’s clear that we aren’t discussing my outfit anymore.

Rome’s expression sobers. Even when he’s on his knees, helping me into the leggings, he’s strong. Incredibly so.

“He loves you.” Rome slides my leggings up, one leg at a time. “Don’t ever doubt that. You don’t have to fear he’ll ever stop. He won’t.”

My mouth goes dry. It was easy to accept Liam’s love. As closed off as he might be, he bared his soul to me. He was the first to do it.

Rome’s vulnerabilities have been out there for me to see since day one. He’s short-tempered. He was probably starved as a kid, the way he’s obsessed with feeding me. He’s also protective to a fault.

Damien is an enigma. He’s obsessed as the other two men are, but he’s holding out on me. I’ve seen so much of him, and still, something’s missing. Not for long. He wants to show me. I just know it.

I lick my lips. “I love him too.”

“He makes it impossible not to. But only his people love both sides of him.”

As mysterious as Damien is, there’s nothing about him that I don’t love. I get what Rome’s saying.

He rises, places a hand at the small of my back and grabs the boxing gloves off the kitchen island. “Come on, let’s go.”

Rome releases me at the door. Only he, Damien, Liam, Anne and the building management have keys to it. That’s how the grocery shipments come in while the men are at the office, as Liam told me the other day.

We arrive at the gym, and the first thing I notice is how empty it is. It’s early in the day, but still—no one?

“Where’s everyone?”

“Where they should be. The fuck out of here.”

“How?”

“I talked to the building’s supervisor this morning. Told him to kick everyone out and close the gym for us.” My eyes and gaped mouth must betray my shock, because Rome pins me with a meaningful look and adds, “Money solves just about anything, pretty girl.”

The rest of the sentence, the part he leaves out, hangs in the air between us. Money makes a special kind of problem disappear. Money is how some murders go unsolved.

“Okay.” In one word, I tell him I understand. That I support him.

I offer him my hands, my skin tingling as he slips the boxing gloves onto them. He kisses my forehead when they’re firmly in place and guides me past the treadmills, elliptical trainers, weights.

And stop at the three punching bags hanging from the ceiling. Three leather benches line the walls. Strong, unforgiving fluorescent lights illuminate the space.

The third punching bag with the PRIVATE sign bolted to the chain belongs to him. I remember it from the last time I was here.

It belongs to Rome.

I belong to Rome too.

His large, calloused hands run over the leather, his dark eyes examining every inch carefully. Probably checking for blood stains.

Definitely checking for blood stains.

“Good,” he says to himself, walks up to me and holds my gloved hands. “This is your first out of many boxing lessons. I’m committed to coaching you, then practicing with you, and I won’t stop. You’re strong up here.” He taps my forehead. “And here.” The spot over my heart. “But I need you to be physically strong. Unbeatable. Not because we’re leaving you—don’t even go there, sweetheart. Whoever will try to hurt you will have to go through us first. Just in case we’re not there, for whatever fucking reason, you’ll have yourself.”

My eyes light up. A smile curls my lips up, despite the horrors that stand on the tip of Rome’s tongue. He’s giving me the biggest gift he can. Power. Confidence. Independence while still belonging.

“Thank you, Rome.” Gratitude spills out of me in waves. “Rex has never offered me anything remotely close to that. I was always the weak one. The guilty one. He even talked me out of the self-defense classes in college.” Heat prickles at my cheeks, at the half-lie I told Damien. Rome must have heard about it from him. “Said it was a waste of money that would be better spent on my parents.”

“Rex is fucking done. And Quinlan, you haven’t been weak a day in your life. Look at you.” Rome slides up behind me, positions one of my feet forward, the other back. His hands run over my shoulders, arms and hands, lining them so my hands protect my face. “You aren’t even a real captive. We haven’t kidnapped you.”

His breath is hot on my cheek. He’s hard, sturdy and protective, pressed to my back. His body moves behind me, and I move with him.

“No. I chose to be here.” My arms bend at the elbows, punching the air slowly. He’s guiding me through the motions. “I could’ve said no.”

“That’s true.” My back twists, right elbow and knee bending. He’s doing all of that. “That’s a hook.”

“I did it to help my parents.”

I take a step forward, and Rome doesn’t stop me. We’re a unit, reaching the punching bag together. I throw a punch. A soft shock races through my arm and up my shoulder. The pain doesn’t register. The power surging through me is far stronger.

“You did.” His hand taps on my jaw lightly. “Teeth gritted. Chin tucked. That’s it, good girl.”

He reaches for my arms and hands, adjusting, correcting. Teaching me.

“Came here of my own free will.” Another right hook. The punching bag swings, barely.

“You did.” I feel Rome’s chest expanding at my back as he twists me to the other side. “I made sacrifices of my own free will, too. For my sister. Would’ve done it all over again if I had to. Would’ve done it for the rest of my goddamn life.”

He isn’t capable of saying it to my face. Not for the first time, at least. Being vulnerable is a struggle for him, as much as it was a struggle for me to open up about how lonely I’d been for years. How hurt I’d been. How I needed someone to care.

The jealousy from a few days ago is a distant memory. Rome isn’t just mine. He belongs to Liam and Damien and his sister, Anne.

I adore that about him, this fierce, unrelenting love. How he spreads it equally between his people.

Rome’s body is talking to me, and I listen. His heart beats against my back ribs. His silent instructions provide constant guidance. Together we land one, two, three blows to the punching bag.

“Saying Joseph, my father”— growl —“is a bastard, would be underplaying what a monster he truly is.” We switch legs a second time, right forward, left back. Rome nudges my feet inward, just the smallest angle, then squeezes my right bicep. “What I’m showing you now is called a jab. You’re right-handed, so that’s where you’ll start.”

There’s no rushing Rome. I follow his lead, readying my body and my heart.

“A jab.” When I nod, the stubble hair on Rome’s cheek scrapes my cheek. He twists his head, pressing a soft kiss to my tattoo, and that’s it.

That’s all I could ever need.

“Yes. Right hand up to protect your chin. Always protect your face. That’s a good girl, sweetheart. Lean into the power in your hips and shoulders. Land that punch.” Once my gloved hand connects to the punching bag, Rome continues, “He’s sadistic. Abusive. He just is, for no reason whatsoever.”

“Some people are born monsters.” The anger doesn’t rise slowly. It’s erupting from deep within me. I’m so mad, I go at the punching bag myself.

Twice. I feel the small shocks and welcome the pain. Anything is better than the burning ache in my chest.

That’s what Rome meant when he said the pain on the outside helps. It’s a distraction.

“They are. My… mother , Elaine. She’d been enabling him for years.” Rome twists my upper body again, tugs my left arm close, pushing the right arm forward. “She let him lock food away. Never snuck not a single fucking breadcrumb when Anne and I had been starving. When Anne and I scratched at her walls and ate that because our bodies were so starved for calcium. Sometimes he made us throw up our food.”

A light sheen of sweat forms on my forehead. My heart beats at a manic, furious pace.

This isn’t the exercise doing that to me. It’s what he’s saying and all the things he doesn’t. It’s the images my mind conjures. The rage that fires through my muscles.

“Liam and Damien always brought extra food at school for me and Anne. Food I snuck in past my parents’ staff. I couldn’t bring her much, or they would’ve seen it hiding under the clothes I’d stuff at the bottom of my backpack. Liam’s parents had us over whenever my dad wouldn’t lock us in the house. When they were home.”

My forearms are slick. Rome isn’t bothered by it, doesn’t lose his grip on me as he guides my fists into the leather.

“School breaks were the worst. Joseph would either allow us out of the penthouse or not. He’d lock Anne and me in our separate bedrooms for hours, or not. A toss of a coin, that’s what it’d been like.”

Sweat pours down my cheeks, my face wet. It’s just sweat. I’m not crying. I’m not sobbing. I have no right to be this miserable. This hollow.

“I never asked him for food. Not a day in my fucking life.” The punching bag swings, and I realize it’s me doing it. Rome’s at my back, but I’m doing all the work. “I asked Elaine. I begged her to help Anne. She was useless. Wouldn’t go to the police with me, either. He has her wrapped around his little finger. She loves him. Still, I figured—”

Rome drags a long breath in. His fingers sink into my abdomen, his arms thrusting me into his chest. I stop moving. Stop breathing, I think. I’m here for Rome. I’m screaming inwardly, demanding he takes every piece of comfort I have to offer him.

Let him have all of me.

I hope he hears. I think he does, because his grip on me tightens. His lips go to the crook of my neck.

This beautiful, strong man groans. The sound is tortured. Agonized. It reaches into my stomach and twists.

Good , I think. Let me take it. Put it all on me.

“I figured she loved her kids too. At least one of them. I didn’t want her love. Gave up on it long before Anne was born. But Anne.” Rome’s palm burns me through my tank top. “Two days with nothing but water is a lifetime for a kid. She was so small. She’s eight years younger than me, and just as fierce. I mean, look at her now.”

Rome shakes his head, his laugh void of humor. Acrid.

“Look at her, what?” I whisper.

“She’d complain about her boss. About her work. Not once did she complain about being hungry.” His thumb brushes my navel, soft. Every other muscle of his body is strained. “By the time she was old enough to realize I’m just as skinny as she was, she wouldn’t accept food from me. She wouldn’t take a bite until I took one in front of her.”

“I hate them.” My lungs are full. I’m suffocating on pain. I shouldn’t be able to speak. Except it’s my rage that’s responsible for the words coming out of me. “I hate them, Rome.”

“That makes five of us.” He spins me toward him, ripping the gloves off my hands.

Taking my eyes off him is impossible. Rome stares down at my gloves while he tears at the Velcro, and I can’t stop looking at the face I’ve missed over the last few minutes.

The gloves are off and he snaps his head up, almost knocking me over with his intensity.

I stay right where I am. My muscles burn. Knees weak. Tremors coursing through me.

I do not move.

For him.

His hand rises to my sweaty, tear-streaked cheek, his thumb presses to my tattoo.

Dark, stormy eyes search mine. “No pity.”

“No pity.” I steel myself. Doesn’t take much to show him every ounce of hate I have in me.

“Good girl.” He leans in to kiss me, to bite me.

His hands are manacles around my neck. My arms link around his.

I’m furious. I’m murderous.

But until it’s time to act, there’s not much to do other than…

Kiss Rome back.

So I do.