46. CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Quinlan

“Ms. Palmer?” That’s Kannon, our new doorman. Poor Ashton. “Are you home?”

Of course I’m home. He knows this. It’s Liam, Rome and Damien who won’t be here for another hour or so. The sun began to set a few minutes ago. There’s time.

They work hard, spending hours in the office. I admire them for it.

Me, on the other hand, I’ve been letting myself enjoy this work-free life over the last week. Since the men showed me Rex’s true colors, I’ve been doing my damnedest to be happy.

I wanted it. My men ordered me to do it.

So, here I am, being happy. Genuinely happy.

BLF Capital’s website has been perfected and approved. The rest of my clients are pretty chill for the time being.

Now, I can try new things. I’ve found joy in reading, in cooking, and yoga to stretch after the grueling boxing sessions with Rome.

Other than that, I’ve been hunting for other psychiatrists and mental health treatment plans and facilities for my parents. I haven’t decided which ones will do, but I’m getting there.

I throw myself even harder into it when my men’s stories hurt me the most. When my consciousness whispers that I’m being lazy. That I’m holding back from doing the thing I love, which is working. Being creative.

Except seeking and reaching out to new clients will draw attention to myself. We can’t have that. Just a few more days, and I’ll have my routine back.

We’ll have our revenge.

We’re so close. Almost there.

A smile teases my lips as I rise from my place on the sofa. I stretch my arms over my head, watching the horizon. Imagine my men like I always do, if only for a fleeting moment.

Liam’s amber eyes and the special kind of fire he saves especially for me.

Damien’s sharp teeth that marked my breasts again this morning.

Rome and the scrapes on his knuckles. How coarse they felt on my cheek when he woke me up today.

Our connection. The bond we have runs through our blood. Always present, forever strong. They soothe the constant anger that swells within me just by being there. The reminder of them is enough.

I wish my parents would answer, though. That’s the only thing I’m missing. At least they’re doing well. They’re being watched by one of the investigators, and I’ll see them soon. We’ll have our talk once things settle, once they’ll be under constant monitoring.

They aren’t perfect and we’ll have our emotional wound to pry open, metaphorical puss to clean. It’ll take time. It’ll take months or maybe years. Eventually we’ll get through it.

Or we won’t.

Whatever happens, it’ll be alright.

If the people I love and I have survived for this long, I can survive anything.

I head toward the front door to greet Kannon and Shawna, my sneakers padding soundlessly on the wooden floor. “Over here.”

At the sound of my voice, Kannon steps into our home. Shawna makes a beeline for the kitchen, unsupervised.

I’m the one who’s being supervised now.

An overkill, I know. But it’s cute. I actually think it’s sweet, that my men do everything in their power to keep me safe.

I allow it.

“How are you, Kannon?”

“Good, thank you, Ms. Palmer.” Kannon, who has to be six-five, towers over me. They hired him on purpose, so I could never run away. “How are you today?”

“Great.”

“I almost forgot. A courier left this for you.” He holds out a slim, white envelope for me. “Caught me when I was on my way to the elevator.”

Butterflies burst in my stomach. No one other than three delicious men knows where I live. This has to be them.

I flip my palm face up, gesturing for him to hand it over. When he doesn’t, I add an impatient, “Um. Thanks.”

His green eyes narrow. Auburn eyebrows—the color of his short hair—lower on his forehead. He isn’t gawking. Isn’t looking down my oversized T-shirt or studying my curves in my favorite pair of jeans.

Something about the letter bothers him.

“Kannon, I believe this one’s for me?” I tilt my head, my hair falling to the side.

“Listen, I waited until I got here.” His face hardens. “To have your permission to open it. Inspect it for any threats.”

Heat creeps up my cheeks. I’ve lost most of my inhibitions over the time I’ve lived here. Letting a stranger read through a sexy letter from my boyfriends, though? No way. I’d die. I would never be able to look Kannon in the eye after this.

“That won’t be necessary.” I motion to him with my fingers again. “ They sent it to me. Can’t be anyone else.”

“Are you sure, Ms. Palmer?” The creases on his forehead deepen. “I would feel better if I cleared this before handing it over to you.”

“I’m su—”

Glass crashes, the loud noise coming from the kitchen.

“Motherfucker,” Shawna yells. “Sorry, Quinlan.”

Normally, I’d run over to help.

Normally, I wouldn’t have sexy words written on a paper waiting for me. A letter. It’s so old school. So incredibly hot.

“Shawna needs you.” My fingers clasp on the other end of the envelope.

“She can handle herself.” Kannon doesn’t budge. Releasing the letter and leaving me by myself isn’t something he’s willing to do.

“I swear.” I put a hand to my heart. “I won’t leave. This letter is safe.”

Not safe for work, but again, this isn’t information I’m willing to share with Kannon.

“And personal.”

“Shawna, you’re such an idiot,” she grumbles to herself. Low thuds and glass crackles follow. She probably swipes it into the dustpan, whatever it is. “The jam jars? Seriously.”

Oh, no. Poor lady.

“It would take forever to clean up this mess. Ugh. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“Rome will need his order replaced. Before he gets home, which is within the next hour.”

The mention of his name, plus my serious tone, does the trick.

“Please, don’t go anywhere.” He releases the envelope to my hold, closing the door when another string of curses leaves Shawna’s mouth.

When she starts crying, Kannon sprints over there. He trusts the door will close the rest of the way.

He shouldn’t have. On an instinct, I grab the door.

There’s no real reason for me to do that. I’m not planning on leaving the apartment to go to them. They’ll come to me, and on me, soon enough. After work.

This letter is nothing but a sexy foreplay.

Still, my hand remains firm on the door.

My phone buzzes on the table in the living room where I left it. Now I know they were the ones who sent me that letter. They’re probably calling to check if I got it.

Unable to wait a second longer, I open the envelope, my heart racing as I do.

As soon as I see the letter inside, my breath gets knocked out of me. Damien, Liam and Rome take great care with their things. Their home. Their jobs. Their revenge. Me.

They would’ve never sent me a letter written on crumpled paper.

Okay. Don’t panic. It’s just a letter. Even if it’s not them, it won’t bite.

At least that’s what I try to convince myself as I unfold the piece of paper tucked inside the envelope.

My hands shake. Then my hammering takes a nosedive, headfirst to the floor.

Quinlan.

Our dad and your mom aren’t doing well. It’s the worst they’ve ever been.

I called them last night (couldn’t get off work). They threatened to kill themselves. Said they weren’t fucking around. I would’ve emailed you, figured your new BOYFRIEND monitors your messages.

Never mind that. My point being, I can’t do this alone anymore. They won’t survive without you.

You’ve had your fun. You needed the time off.

Fine. I get it. But they’re your parents.

They said they needed you. That your email destroyed them.

If they die, it’ll be on your conscience, as it should. Hell, they might already be dead by the time you get this.

Be a decent human being and try anyway.

Not for me. For them.

Rex.

“Here, Shawna, I’ll do it. Sit, please,” Kannon says from the kitchen.

She sniffs. “Thank you.”

Their conversation is background noise, dulled by the impending sense of doom that’s everywhere. Guilt swoops in, consuming me. Swallowing me whole. Our investigators said Mom and Dad have been taking their medication as prescribed. They haven’t bought any sharp objects. Haven’t contacted the funeral home like they do sometimes.

However, it is possible they haven’t done any of it and still consider… Still want…

A sob rips through me. I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Hard.

I can’t think. Or I can, because I decide against doubling back and calling Damien, Rome or Liam. Any one of them.

They’d take too long to get here. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let the investigators in if they told them to knock. They could break into the house, but it could trigger my parents. They could scare them into getting on with it faster.

What if my dad stumbles off the stool and accidentally hangs himself? Mom could startle with a knife pinned to her throat, and then…

And then…

What have I done?

Oh, God. What have I done ?

While I’ve been out here, fucking and living and being so goddamn happy, my parents have been withering.

Yes, I’m not going to be there every second of every day for them. Yes, I’ll hire professional help to stay with them around the clock.

In the future.

Right now, all by themselves out there, they might as well have no one.

It’s my fault. I’ve spent hours searching for the perfect facility, the perfect professionals. I should’ve just settled on something good enough. But I’ve found so many.

They can’t die. I can’t bury them so soon.

I won’t.

The world is a blur. I’m mildly aware of dropping the letter to the floor. My feet are moving, small steps that feel like I’m running. A button appears out of nowhere. I mash it, and it takes no time for the elevator doors to slide open.

Right, I’m getting out of here. That’s why I hurl myself into the cart. I refuse to cry, blinking back tears on my ride down. I need to be focused. I have to—

“Ms. Palmer.” The other doorman at the front desk sounds polite but firm. I’m sure I look haunted enough that he knows I am she and not some other tenant.

I don’t pretend to be someone else, either. Don’t linger to explain to him that every second I spend here could be the second my parents take their lives.

“Stop, please, Ms. Palmer!”

What I do is break into the fastest run of my life as I cross the lobby.

Tears sting at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away. They dry without my help. I’m outside now, the cold gust of wind whipping at my face.

“Wait, please.” The shout at my back does nothing to slow me.

A taxi pulls up to the curb at the corner of the street. An available taxi, according to the green sign.

Hope.

Money to pay for the ride. I don’t have it. I’ll take care of it.

Once I get there.

I’m almost there. No one on the street eyes the taxi until this one man does. He’s in a suit, striding toward my ride. My. Ride.

His gait is long, confident. He outstretches an arm to stop me from getting there first, I think.

No. Fuck that. I’m not waiting.

Hell, they might already be dead by the time you get this.

Back there in the building, I thought I ran fast. The fastest I’ve ever run.

Wrong.

This is it. My lungs have a hard time catching up with my feet, and you know what? Fuck my lungs. I’ll rest when the car starts driving.

If they die, it’ll be on your conscience, as it should.

Rex wouldn’t lie to me about that. I refuse to believe he’d be that cruel.

“Hey!” the Suit—my competition—yells when I wrench the door open before he gets there. “Stop.”

Without so much as a hello , I fold myself into the backseat, slamming the door behind me.

The second doorman from my building flings his body forward. He’s out in the street, talking on his walkie talkie and waving his free arm, telling me to, “Come back, Ms. Palmer.”

“Drive.” I rattle my parents’ address to the lady driver. A black baseball cap hides her face, her blonde hair draping down her back. “Hurry, please.”

“I just need to set the sign to occupied .” She’s painstakingly slow as she slides her finger on the dashboard. As if this is the first time she’s done that. Everyone’s coming at us.

“Please, just go.”

“Hold on.” Her voice is strained. “One more second and…”

Air rushes in as a door opens. Someone starts sliding into the backseat behind the driver. A dark figure in jeans and a tan shirt bends.

One of his legs is already in the taxi.

Since my driver continues stalling, I’ll have to be the one to tell him to get the fuck off.

Fine with me.

“Sir, you can’t come in here. This is my—”

He’s fully seated now, turning to face me.

“Hey, kid. Going somewhere?”

Oh, shit.

Rex.