39. CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Rome

Ten minutes after we were done bathing Quinlan and dressing her in a black shirt and a black pair of jeans, my phone lit up with a message from Anne.

Anne: Morning, big brother. I was on my way until my boss called. Like you said. Everyone’s talking.

I smiled at the message while I was in the kitchen fixing breakfast with my finger bandaged. Aromas of pancakes, eggs and bacon filled the space while I worked.

Everything was going according to plan. For the time being, I suppressed my urge to tell Anne that this is her moment. The right time to kiss her asshole boss goodbye and start her own marketing company, at fucking last.

Later.

Because the news is on and I’m strangely casual about it. Quinlan sneaks glances at me while I shovel food into my mouth while the brEAKING NEWS ticker runs on the bottom of the screen. While Joseph’s disgrace is out there for the world to see.

“Are you okay?” She finishes the food on the plate, and I know it’s for me. I love her all the more for it.

“I’m ready,” is my honest answer.

The reporter wraps up the story I handed over to him weeks ago with a, “Back to you, Ned.”

Everyone’s done eating. And I…

I’m empty. I’m sitting here, waiting for Anne. For the shit to hit the fan and for Joseph and Elaine to feel what it’s like to have everything ripped from them.

I hate waiting.

My hands are balled into fists. The need to murder the two people who brought me into this world is as insistent as the beating of my heart.

“Hey.” Quinlan straddles me while I am lost inside my head. My friends aren’t here. The table has been cleared.

And she’s on top of me. Her jeans stretch on her thighs. Her lips graze my cheek, her arms are looped around my neck.

She’s found me. This beautiful angel, backlit by the morning sun filtering into our living room. Feather wings will spread from her shoulder blades any second now.

She might fly away.

Never.

“Hey, you.” My fingers no longer dig into my palms. I have a hand on Quinlan’s hip, the other brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.

The news has been muted too. Quinlan leans in to kiss my lips, straightening before I can do more. Before I can get lost in the cleavage of her black tank top. “What time do we leave?”

“You’re right. I haven’t discussed that part of the plan with you.”

A phone rings, the sound coming from the kitchen. Whoever they are, they can fuck right off. I slither a hand around Quinlan’s throat, cutting off some of her air supply. Just a little. Just what I need to make her shift in my grip. To squirm.

“No.” Her bottom lip juts out. She’s comfortable around me. My brutality doesn’t scare her anymore. “Rude.”

“Let me amend that, then.” My thumb strokes a soothing path along her throat, and I tell her. Don’t leave anything out.

“That’s hot.” Quinlan’s fingers dig into my neck. She grinds her hips on my hardening cock, once, twice, three times.

She’ll be the end of me.

“Don’t,” I warn.

Her grin turns wicked. Her thighs squeeze around mine.

“Rome.” I twist my head at the sound of Liam’s voice.

He’s close to us, his phone in his hand. My first thought is that I missed one of Anne’s texts and she called him.

“My parents.” He lowers to the sofa next to Quinlan and me, puts the phone on speaker, and holds it up between us.

They used to live here, his parents. Now they live in the home Liam bought them in Miami. Far away from this mess so that they’d never be connected to this.

This is the first they called in two weeks. Liam asked them to wait until Quinlan has settled in, and she has.

“Oh, Rome.” Nancy’s, his mother’s, voice quivers. “This is it, honey. It’s finally happening.”

Quinlan’s whole expression changes. Her gaze shifts to Liam, wondering how much his parents know.

All of it. They’re okay with it too . His sharp nod tells her.

Liam’s parents are good people. The best out there. Damien, Anne and I had always been welcomed guests in their home. We were family. Day or night, their door was open for us.

But even people like them, especially like Liam’s dad, draw the line somewhere.

His father had to be talked down—not once, but dozens of times from murdering Aria. We did it. Three kids who’d promised him she’d pay for what she’d done to his son. Sooner or later, we’d get to her.

The assurances didn’t soothe him. It did, however, help him stay out of prison. By his wife’s and son’s side, where he belonged.

Damien saunters in, sitting by my other side.

“Yes, it is, Mr. and Mrs. F.” I’m as choked as Liam’s mom sounded. Damn it with these emotions. “Thank you. For calling. For waiting. We’re starting to set the record straight.”

“Of course, Rome. And for the love of God, Mr. and Mrs. F? You haven’t called us that since you were, what, eleven?” She chuckles. “Damien wasn’t half as formal when we talked to him just now. Am I missing something?”

I can see her as if she were right here in front of me. Amber eyes lighting up, black, curly hair rolling in waves down her shoulders. Liam got her looks. He’s still very much his dad’s son. He might not be slim or have his dad’s red hair and green eyes.

On the inside, though, they’re almost the same person. Somber. Serious. Never one to complain. Aria took advantage of that. When Liam had withdrawn into himself during the months she’d tortured him, his parents thought nothing of it. They figured he was just being himself.

Granted, his parents have never shared that part with us. They haven’t made excuses or tried to victim-blame their son. I overheard them one night when I slept over at Liam’s. Heard them weeping, both of them. Cursing themselves.

“I’ll never be formal with you, pretty Nancy.” Damien wags his eyebrows.

This isn’t a video call , my glower tells him. He wags them still. He wouldn’t let them see him in pain, not ever.

“Well,” I start, when I feel the weight on my chest isn’t going to crush me.

It helps that Quinlan curls her body into me. That Liam’s hand is on one shoulder and Damien slaps me over the back of the head. The bastard knows what to do to snap me out of it.

“Oooh, I see.” Nancy giggles, sounding the youngest she has in years.

“Nance.” Her husband’s reproach isn’t mad at all. He’s never so much as upset with her. He worships the ground she walks on.

“Hush, Gerald.” The silence means he’s suppressing a smile. “What I was saying is, Rome is pretending to be polite because Quinlan’s with them, right? Sweetie, are you there? How have they been treating you?”

Quinlan’s cheeks are redder than the fresh cuts on her stomach. More than the bloody wedding bands on ours. Her eyes widen again, asking again whether Liam’s parents knew about this.

The answer for that is again, a yes . They were the ones asking us to be nice, which we have been. Eventually.

Liam’s palm slides to her cheek, turning her to him. “She’s here.”

“You have no idea how long we’ve been waiting to meet you.” Another one of Nancy’s friendly chuckles filters through the speakers. “And talk to you.”

“Hi. Yes. I’m here. Everyone’s been great.” Quinlan stares at the phone, the corners of her lips tugging up. Her eyes grow misty. “I’m so happy to meet you too, Liam’s parents.”

“Nancy and Jerry, please.” That’s his dad, firm and warm at once. “From what the boys—”

“Men, Gerald,” she chides, her love for him pouring through her voice.

My fingers dig deeper into Quinlan’s hips. I hope—fucking wish —to have this kind of bond with her. All of us crave that. Forever. The kind of love that lasts.

“Men, right.” He huffs a laugh. “We’d love to talk some more, but we have to leave for our shifts. Is Anne there? She’s so busy with her job, we hardly get to talk to her anymore and I’d like to say hi to her too.”

“She’ll be here later, Dad.” Liam pauses. “You don’t have to go to work, you know.”

Neither of them does. Liam’s offered to pay for whatever they might need. He does that without their permission, sometimes.

Except this isn’t about the money for them. “We’ve been through this. We have to help , son.”

Liam shrugs. “When you feel like you’ve had enough—”

“You’ll be the first to know,” his mother chirps.

The front door to our penthouse opens.

“Bye, boys. Quinlan.”

The line goes dead before either of us gets the chance to tell them Anne’s here.

“I’m here. Wait, don’t hang up,” Anne calls out, running into the living room.

My sister ignores the loud silence. She’s too amped up to stop her jog to the sofa on her high heels. Her flowy, black tunic shirt flails around her. Her long, light brown hair bounces behind her back.

Her blue eyes zoom in on the phone in Liam’s hand, her full attention aimed at her target. When she’s laser-focused on something, she blocks out the rest of the world. It was a game I taught her when we were young. A lame trick to get her to think of anything else, just not food.

It came in handy later in life. That’s how she graduated early, landed a great position in a leading marketing company before she hit twenty-two.

She married a man who treats her like the queen she is for a whole other reason. Because she deserved the best, and Nick is it for her. The love of her life.

I taught her that too.

Quinlan pushes against my shoulders, trying to get off me while Anne’s attention is elsewhere. The only reason I’m allowing her to slip into Damien’s lap and then to the space he’s put between us is that Anne is my fucking sister.

She shouldn’t see Quinlan riding me. Clothes on or not.

But it hurts letting her go.

“Hey, Anne.” Liam smiles at her. “They hung up. They’ll be back from their shift tomorrow morning.”

She’s too close already. Too focused to hear what he’s saying.

“Are they there?” Breathless, she snatches the device. Brings it to her ear and groans at the silence. “Almost. My fucking boss, I swear.”

“Anne.” My hand covers hers that’s resting on the back of the sofa.

“One sec.” She holds up a finger. “I’ll call them now, just to say hi.”

“Anne,” Damien says, his voice soft.

I squeeze her hand. Liam stares up at her.

And then there’s Quinlan. I glance over my shoulder, finding her head tipped up, eyes on Anne. Curious and affectionate.

“Password protected, ugh, of course.” Anne throws Liam’s phone on the end of the sofa. She pulls her phone out of her black leather bag.

“Anne, could that wait?” My voice is as soft as Damien’s.

“Has anyone told you you’re fucking impatient? I said I need one sec, and that means—”

“We have a guest.”

“A guest?” Her gaze cuts to me, then to the woman jammed between Damien and me.

“Hey.” Our little captive is sweet, not caring that she’s been ignored up until a moment ago.

It’s taken her a heartbeat to get what Anne’s like. To think it’s cute. There’s excitement in her voice.

Excitement for meeting my sister.

She’s up, rounding the sofa at record speed to stand next to Anne. “I’m Quinlan.”

“Fuck me sideways.” Anne slaps her forehead. “I’m so sorry, Q. Of course you are. Rome’s told me all about you. Couldn’t shut up about you, that guy. Are you done being a captive? Is this consensual already? I’m not taking their word for it.”

“Anne,” I chide, although, much like Liam’s mom when she talks to his dad, I’m not really mad. I love Anne. Love every part about her.

“She’s good.” Quinlan couldn’t care less, either. Her smile is huge, arms open to Anne, who hugs her back. “Yes, I’m a consenting captive, so I’m good too.”

“Sorry again. I was so excited when I heard Liam’s parents over the speaker.” Anne rubs Quinlan’s back as though they’re old friends.

The sight tugs at my heart. Liam and Damien are quiet too, absorbing the moment. For a few seconds, my muscles don’t strain. My brain isn’t set on murder and blood and pumping fists into noses.

For a few seconds, this is all I need. My people. My family.

Then Anne laughs, and I remember. The days she didn’t. The hours she cried quietly in her room. How she begged me to read her a million stories at night because she was starving and couldn’t fall asleep.

The suffering I’d gone through before she was born was nothing compared to when Anne came into the world. Her pain hurt me a million times more than mine ever did.

Focus. Look at her.

She looks healthy now. She looks happy .

“I’d come here personally. Tear you limb from limb if I find out your fridge is even half-empty, or that Anne hasn’t been eating. She’s yours, but she’ll always be my sister. Always be my blood. There isn’t a day I won’t look after her. You hear?”

Those were my words to Nick, her husband, on the morning of their wedding.

He heard. Nick’s a good guy. You can never be too careful, though.

“Again, I apologize.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I’m exactly the same.” Quinlan lets Anne hold her for as long as she’d like. “Try to distract me when I’m working. Never going to happen.”

Anne finally breaks the hug, and Quinlan jumps over the sofa, sinking in between Damien and me.

Anne sinks into the sofa across from ours. “What happened to your fingers? Some kind of freak accident in the kitchen?”

She’s talking about the bandages. About the marks Quinlan left on us.

“Something like that,” I quip.

“Okay, um, feels like something, um…private. Not my business. What is, is Elaine. Bitch called on the drive over here.” She eyes Quinlan as Damien hauls her by the hips to sit on his lap, her expression approving. “After eight years of conveniently forgetting I ever existed. Which, by the way, has been very fucking convenient for me as well.”

“And?” On any other day, I would’ve leaned forward. Would’ve demanded the information and demanded it yesterday . I’d be impatient. Hungry for the slightest whiff of these people’s despair.

Except Quinlan’s close, her body heat bleeding into mine. Her fury is just as hot. It’s a balm to my soul. I stay there, leaning back on the sofa.

“She’s such a baby, I swear.” Anne’s blue eyes roll to the back of her head. “ No one’s picking up the phone, Annie .” She mimics her high-pitched, hysterical voice. Anything that gets between her and her social status does that to Elaine. “ You—you need to call them. Call someone. You need to help this family. Set the record straight. You know they’re lying. Your father never stole a dime in his life .”

“You said no.” I suddenly realize my hand squeezes Quinlan’s. I won’t break her fingers, and she won’t wriggle out of my hold, so we’re good. I’m not letting go.

“Honestly? I got bored.” Anne’s manicured fingers tap restlessly on her legs. “I hung up on her.”

Choked laughter comes from all of us. If I’m not careful, I’m going to start getting used to this.

“What?” Anne shrugs when I stare at her, shaking my head. I’m so proud of how strong and resilient she is. How she didn’t let the call affect her. “We’re seeing them soon anyway. I wasn’t letting her ruin my mood. Not like it stopped him from trying.”

The room grows silent in an instant.

“Yup. He…” Four sets of eyes wait for Anne to finish the sentence. “Joseph texted me.”

“Fuck this guy.” Liam throws his arm over the back of the sofa, twirling a lock of Quinlan’s hair around his finger.

Her hair. Not the Zippo.

We have to get out of here, or I’ll start hugging everyone and, Jesus, this isn’t the day for it. No day is the day for that .

“The asshole begged for help?” Damien’s loathing for our parents is audible. Tangible.

Since I don’t give a damn about what was on Joseph’s message, I stay silent. Observing Anne for any sign of distress.

Nothing.

“What did he want?” Quinlan sits up, sliding to the place between Damien and me again. She’s bristling. “If he sounded pathetic, I’d love to hear it. Please.”

Anne’s dark blue eyes that are so much like mine examine Quinlan. She cuts her gaze to me. “You should’ve kidnapped her sooner.”

Something in my body screams. It’s louder than the conversation in the room. It pushes me to my feet. Balls my hands into fists.

“That’s what I keep saying.” Damien’s up right after me, offering Quinlan his hand.

“Why is it never we should’ve asked her on a date sooner ?” Quinlan places her palm in his and stands up.

“Because”—I grab her arm, bringing her to me for a quick, much-needed embrace—“this was a part of the plan.”

“Everything happens as it should,” Liam adds, unfolding himself from the sofa.

A laugh bursts out of Anne, and she’s shaking her head. She’s been around us her entire life. Has been there for some of our best and worst moments. Nothing could shock her anymore.

“Well?” I let my sister walk ahead of us.

“He said he knew it was you, Rome.”

Quinlan stays at my side. She senses the tension in the air. How volatile I’ve become at his accusation. At the fact that he mentioned my name.

The closer we get to the front door, the pressure in my head intensifies. The harder my fingers dig into my palm.

Quinlan senses it, and she’s there, prying my fingers open, holding my hand. I grip hers, the skin of my hand stretching over my knuckles. I’m a storm, and Quinlan thrusts herself onto me, consequences be damned.

“What did you tell him?” The corner of Quinlan’s lips curls into sneer.

She’s dying to hear how my sister humiliated Joseph. How she stuck the knife deeper between his miserable ribs.

“I told him to go fuck himself.” Anne steps outside into the hall, swiveling to us. “ Delete this number . That was my second text.”

Liam locks the door behind us. The soft click announces that this is it. I’m finally fucking doing it.

We’re actually going through with it.

After so many years, the feeling is surreal. Except I have my friends around me. I have my sister. We have the girl. A fierce woman who’s volunteered to help me kill my parents.

Her hand is on her belly while the others stand ahead of us, brushing her thumb over the bandaged scars we left there. Or maybe she’s stroking something else.

Maybe…

Enough .

This isn’t the time to wonder whether one of us put a baby inside her.

This is when I remember that skinny, helpless boy I used to be. The malnourished kid who couldn’t protect himself, much less his baby sister.

I can now.

I can, and I will.