5. CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

Rome

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

Liam’s been at this for the past ten minutes. Playing with the lid of his gold Zippo without lighting it while we sit in our living room at home.

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

It doesn’t bother me. Never has. The background noise and his silence have been a constant in my life for years. That’s a part of who he is, meaning it’s a part of me.

He needs it, meaning I need it.

While another person might’ve asked him to stop, I don’t. I scroll through my emails, waiting for Damien’s reply. As always, I’m completely unaffected by the flick and snapping sounds as I sit here, on the opposite sofa.

I watch him for a couple of seconds, running my hand over my light brown buzz cut. Giving him an opening. Waiting to see if he wants to talk.

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

No, it is. I turn my attention back to my work emails.

He’ll talk when he’s ready. He’s nervous. Understandably so. Damien went AWOL. We’ll start our rounds of visiting Quinlan this week.

Our plan is shaping into a real thing. After over twenty-three years of plotting.

The ideas we scribbled on a worn-out notebook. The late-night meetings. The stalking. The acquisitions we made on behalf of BLF Capital.

This is it.

We’ve been meticulous. Putting one brick on top of the other. Layers of cement gluing them together. Rain and shine and daily struggles.

I’m ready. So goddamn ready to use my fists. My muscles. My money.

We’re going to wreak havoc. Draw blood.

My body hums at the prospect.

The gym in our building has been an outlet for all this pent-up, violent energy within me. Liam runs. He lifts weights. It can’t be as relieving as kicking the shit out of a punching bag. Maybe he’s nervous about killing people, as bad as they are.

My eyes slide up to him.

We both changed from our work suits, both wearing a pair of loose jeans and T-shirts. His is white, mine black. We didn’t coordinate. It’s just how it is after living together for the past five years. We sync.

His eyes, though, they’re distant. Despite the way they glow in the soft light of the floor lamp, Liam’s far away.

It’s Damien he’s worried over, not our plan. I see that the longer I stare. Damien disappearing is the only unknown in this equation.

He’s never done that. Neither of us has. We’re honest with each other. Committed. Transparent. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have signed a contract to bind the three of us together. We wouldn’t have conspired to end our tormentors without a deep level of trust.

“Remember the first day of BLF Capital?” I test the waters, checking if Liam’s in the mood to talk.

Nothing.

I feel somewhat better regardless.

Our company. Ours.

We all share the burden of running our private equity company. That said, we all have different areas of responsibility, depending on our sets of expertise.

I’m in charge of the negotiations. Squeezing people until they’re bled dry. I’m also the bad guy who’ll threaten anyone who doesn’t fall in line. We’re the best at what we do, and that’s turning a failing company into a successful one. Those who think we’ll be silent shareholders and let them keep fucking up, are in for a rude awakening. By me.

Damien is the lawyer. He makes sure we haven’t missed a single detail. We have a legal department, but Damien has an eye like no other. A clandestine brain and a sharp tongue. No one puts one over us, thanks to him. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a sweet talker. He can get anyone to sign anything .

Liam runs the research department. He’s constantly on the hunt for companies that are out on their luck. Hacks into their servers. Builds an offer based on their reports with his team, leveraging the information to our advantage.

My trust fund—the one my late grandparents had set up for me—started this. I poured every cent I had into BLF Capital. We share the profits equally between the three of us.

The three of us deserve it.

Many people have that dream of success. Of becoming rich.

Many of them fail.

Not us.

We’ve stayed driven like no other since day one. Revenge is a powerful fuel.

And it’s within our reach.

Unless Damien died and his murderer is reading his messages.

Highly unlikely. Damien’s alive, I’m sure of it. He’s up to something, and I have an idea what it is.

Except he should’ve talked to us first. Every second of our schedule is accounted for.

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

Liam switches his position so his long legs are sprawled on the sofa. His eyes are focused on the Chicago River outside.

Other billionaires at the ages of thirty-four and thirty-two probably don’t have roommates. They don’t live together with their best friends.

We do. It’s more than a necessity. It’s a choice. I don’t love them in the romantic sense. That isn’t the case for us. But we’re each other’s family.

We’re brothers.

They won’t ever ask why I come home with bloodied knuckles. Won’t judge me when I lose my temper. Won’t complain that the fridge and pantry are overstocked.

They don’t think I’m damaged.

Will Quinlan? I’ve been wondering about that for years.

The woman in the pictures looked sweet. The girl she was while Damien stalked her sounded a little sad, a tad unhinged and compassionate to a fault.

She turned into a gorgeous woman. One neither of us were allowed to get close to. We’ve been good at keeping our distance.

But something about her photos. I couldn’t stop looking at her. Beautiful Quinlan with her stormy gray eyes and the heart-shaped tattoo on her cheek.

She’s been calling to me through her photos. A call I haven’t responded to. A call I’ve done nothing about.

One week and she’ll be ours.

Not like it matters. She’s just another step of the plan. She couldn’t and shouldn’t matter.

My friends and our revenge do. That’s that.

“Do you think he went to see her?” Liam’s voice has my eyes snapping to him.

“Maybe. Probably.” I swing an arm over the back of the sofa. Turn to look at the outside world where Liam aims his gaze.

The river is almost black at night. It’s murky, alluring, in a sense.

Darkness used to scare me. Darkness was a picture-perfect penthouse with thousand-dollar chandeliers and spotless white and gold marble floors. Darkness was an abusive father that starved his children for fun.

Those days are gone. I own that bitch.

Fists. Blood. Pain. I’m the darkness.

“He wouldn’t have done it without at least mentioning it.” Liam sounds convinced. “Maybe he’s out shopping.”

“Maybe.” I place my phone away and study him. One of his bare feet taps on the hand-knotted blue and white wool rug. “Still pisses me off that he’s not answering.”

“Yeah.” Liam runs his fingers through his black hair. The wavy strands just fall back in place, on his forehead.

His unruly mid-length cut gives him a boyish look. However, confusing him for a boy is a mistake. Silent waters run deep and all that.

“Me too.” He doesn’t look pissed at all.

His fingers ghost the long, large scar across his cheek the way he does when he’s deep in thought. His gaze turns inward. Searching for a reason.

“Maybe he did go to meet her. It’s not like we weren’t going to do it a—”

“Honey, I’m home.” Damien cuts into Liam’s words. His voice is devoid of sarcasm. Of anything, really. He sounds like…nothing.

As hollow as the sound his keys make as they hit the ceramic console.

That grabs our attention. Our friend crosses the foyer toward us. Damien still wears the suit he had on at the office. A quick scan tells me it’s intact. Not a crease on the expensive fabric.

That means jack shit.

He could’ve gone to Quinlan. Could’ve played mind games without touching a hair on her head.

If anyone can do it, it’s Damien.

We sit in silence, the questions hanging in the air as he approaches.

Damien could’ve told Tatum where he was going before he took off. He didn’t. On top of that, he screened our calls and messages.

Questioning him would get us nowhere. Nothing’s stopping us from glowering at him, though.

I cross my arms over my chest. Liam crosses his as well while Damien takes a seat at the end of the sofa next to Liam.

For a couple of minutes, he’s silent. Placing an ankle over his knee, his bright eyes cross from Liam to me. His lips are sealed in a tight line. No smirking. No cracking a joke to break the tension.

He’s less of his version of America’s Sweetheart when it’s just the three of us. But this, this is new.

“I went to see her.” Damien comes out with it before my temper gets the better of me. Before I demand answers.

“This isn’t like when she was younger. When you stayed away. You want her. Have wanted her for years.” Liam goes for the kill. The man’s worse at chit-chat than I am. “You didn’t check in with us, so you had to have talked to her. Had to have touched her. This wasn’t the plan.”

“You’re right. I should’ve said something.” Damien loosens his dark blue tie, relaxing into the sofa as if Liam didn’t just accuse him of going rogue.

Because Liam didn’t really accuse him of anything. Liam was being Liam. Collecting information to file in the millions of cabinets in his head. Pulling it out and drawing conclusions.

Predicting people’s actions used to be a survival method for him in the past. He’s never let go of that habit.

“There’s no excuse for what I did.” Dame’s calm and piercing stare passes from Liam to me. “I had to talk to her, and I did. I had to touch her, and I did. Couldn’t wait anymore.”

I understand damn well how bad he had to go to her. Quinlan didn’t save me from Rex’s abusive claws, and I feel the pull this woman has on me anyway.

Fuck that. Pull is too subtle of a word. I’m obsessed. Have been for years.

For the first eighteen years of her life, Liam and I hadn’t been around anywhere near her. Damien had kept tabs on the baby, then the girl. He’d been worried for her safety first and foremost. Given what he’d gone through with Rex, it made sense.

Things changed when Blake, Quinlan’s younger brother, died. Rex hadn’t visited them as much. That raised a few red flags for Damien. For us. He never hit her, and that helped Damien breathe a little easier.

The girl was safe. Our plan wasn’t affected.

But at eighteen, her pictures started pouring in. She stopped being only Damien’s.

She was ours.

I didn’t have a single nice thought when our private investigators delivered her photos to us. Pictures of Quinlan jogging. Pictures of her sitting in front of a desk at home working. Of her hunched over her laptop in the café her dipshit brother manages.

The videos of her showering that Damien let us watch.

I’ve been obsessed with her as much as Damien is. I’ve admitted it to myself long ago. Have been celibate for years, because let’s fucking face it, no one compares to Quinlan. To what she’s done to my heart. No. One.

It’s not like I’ve been with a lot of women before her. Never needed anyone for months—years at a time.

Those days are over. I need Quinlan.

The three of us do. We haven’t admitted it to each other. No need. It’s glaringly obvious.

Damien stayed away from her because he wants her that much. Liam’s eyes talk a language I’m fluent at. He’s been eyeing Quinlan’s pictures for longer than necessary. I’m sure I have my tells.

So yeah, Damien’s obsession isn’t a surprise. We all share it.

“What do you mean you had to?” I demand anyway. He owes us answers. He has to realize he can’t disappear and do whatever the fuck. Has to realize she isn’t only his anymore. “You’re going to throw away years of plotting? Take her and disappear on us?”

Fuck. This isn’t me, being the jealous type. I don’t bitch about and moan.

I have my fists for that.

My nails dig into the inside of my palm. Liam senses this, his probing stare zooming in on my fists. I release them. Shrug.

No problem here.

“Fuck, no.” Damien’s fingers flex on his thighs. His eyes blaze. “Is that what you think I am? That something— anything —will be a good enough reason for me to pull the plug on this? I’ve cared for Quinlan since the moment she was born. This isn’t news to you. I’ll care about her well after we’re done.” He leans forward, pressing his finger to the coffee table between us. “But our revenge? I’ll never risk it. We will finish this. I had to talk to her. Had to touch her. The first we talked about, the second happened. The plan still stands.”

I glare.

“What else do you want me to say?” Damien’s brow furrows. “That I’m obsessed with her? Fine. I am.”

This isn’t a joke to him. None of this is. His adamance is enough reassurance for the time being. I’m still jealous.

Fuck. Me.

“Are you going to do that again?” I resist the urge to ball my hands into fists. There’s no comfort in being angry at my best friends. “Do we need to speed this up? Move the meeting with her sooner than a week?”

For fuck’s sake, please say yes.

“No.” Damien’s somber. Resolute. “We stick to the timeline. First, fuck with her head, fuck with it harder in the meeting. Take her. I won’t go anywhere near her without checking in with you two again. Won’t go anywhere near her again this week, period. You two are up next.”

It’s cute how he pretends he’s stopped loving her. How his feelings for her are purely sexual, how this is nothing more than a fixation. How she’s another pawn we move around the board of our revenge plan.

I let him have that anyway.

He’s being honest about what matters. And I forgive him.

There will be consequences for his stunt, however. He’s opened the dam by sneaking around, and I intend on monopolizing on that.

“What did you talk about?” Liam flips his Zippo between his fingers, sounding curious. “Our future roommate.”

“Our future captive.” The corner of Damien’s lips hikes to the side. This isn’t his signature smirk. He’s genuinely amused. “She tried to punch me.”

Punching? Violence? From her? “Why?”

“For stalking her.”

Ha. This won’t be the last punch she throws, then. When she finds out we’ve been stalking her for years. When Liam and I make our moves on her this coming week.

“Did he see you?” I ask.

Rex is smart. He would’ve recognized Damien’s face if he saw him around her. He’d send her into hiding. Get her on a Greyhound to fuck knows where. Our personal investigators would take forever to find her.

“No.”

“So you rattled her. Good start, Dame.” Liam snaps the Zippo open. Looks down at it. Slams it shut and gazes at Damien. “What else?”

“Pretty sure we’ll need to lock her up when we get her here. She’ll use a knife on us. I could sense that.” Damien raises an eyebrow. “Fuck, she’s so fucking pretty when she’s mad.”

Even prettier when he’s up close and touches her, I’m sure.

“I guess we’re going to find out soon enough.” I narrow my eyes at him.

Tomorrow evening is the perfect time. I won’t be getting back at Damien. I’ll have her.

Tomorrow evening, I’ll be the one to get punched by Quinlan.