8. CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rome

Paying Quinlan a visit yesterday evening didn’t pan out.

Not for a lack of wanting. I wanted to. Very fucking much.

Wanted and couldn’t due to a very inconvenient work emergency.

We had to go to an early morning meeting with the latest company we acquired.

Until he got there, Damien was there to remind them of the consequences of breaking their contract.

I was there to tower over them. Circle them like a shark while they shook in their seats. Issued silent threats that terrified them.

Liam, despite being late, freaked them the fuck out by staring at them.

Of course he didn’t bother telling Damien that he went to see Quinlan. He left home at the same hour as us and got there almost an hour later, smelling faintly of smoke.

He was with her.

Got caught up in traffic and a shrug was all Damien and I got.

I wasn’t jealous. In less than a week, Quinlan would be ours. Didn’t matter what we did between now and then. Didn’t matter one fucking bit.

Except I was jealous. I cared. The urge to have my hand around her slender neck has been banging against my skull for years. Hear her say my name. Say my friends’ names.

There was nothing I could do with it.

We had work stuff to take care of. The infuriating meeting stretched well into noon, then there were other fires to put out in the office.

Stalking Quinlan, touching her, had to wait. She jogs four times a week, takes the same path each time. I knew she’d be there the next day. It annoyed me, but what choice did I have? None.

It put me on edge, nonetheless. All of it. The punching bag at our gym took the brunt of my anger the next morning. No gloves. No hand gauzes. Bare and furious fists that went at the punching bag again and again.

Until the wounds in my knuckles opened. Until they bled.

The tightness in my chest loosened after that. The pain helped. Knowing that this evening, once I leave the office, she’s mine, made things even better.

I’ll do more than bump into her while she jogs. More than mess with her head and her heart. I’ll touch her. Have my hands on her. My mouth on hers.

My biceps pulse beneath my charcoal-gray suit. My teeth grind.

That’s the least I’m owed for having to wait. For being the last in line.

No, that’s not accurate. I’m not owed a damn thing.

But I crave it. The fuck I do.

The anticipation has followed me around everywhere. It’s right here with me as I’m typing an email.

The office light makes it real fucking easy to see the damage I did to my fists. My busted knuckles are bright red against my black keyboard. It doesn’t hurt anymore, which is a shame.

Pain soothes me. The constant companion I’d had throughout my childhood. The thing I’d welcomed into my life once I understood that owning it is better than being its bitch.

The emotional pain was what hurt the most. For Anne’s tears and hunger and agony.

That was when I became truly angry. Furious to the core. I punched every available surface. Walls. Punching bags. People.

The relief it brings is unparalleled.

My phone buzzes on my desk. A message from my sister.

Anne: God, I hate my boss. Loathe him.

I sigh, shaking my head. The story is an old one. She’s been struggling at Caldwell Mullins. The lack of appreciation of her in the small-time marketing company she works at is infuriating.

Their attitude toward her has to have something to do with Langford Marketing, our family company. Since Joseph is the CEO of the biggest company in the States. Anne’s bosses seem to get a kick from showing her that her name means nothing to them.

She stays there to prove to them she can do it anyway. Handles it with grace.

Most times.

When these texts come, I know she’s reached her limit.

My need to snap her boss’s neck is as fiery hot as my obsession for Quinlan is. This girl I’ve never seen in person.

Ridiculous.

Unavoidable.

Me: What’s wrong? Do I need to kill him?

Three dots dance on the screen. If it were really bad, Anne would’ve called. She’s fine, then. No one’s touched her or harassed her.

Nothing major to worry about.

That’s what I tell myself as I grab my bag from under my desk. As I get up to change into my running gear.

They’re just bastards.

My phone buzzes the same moment there’s a knock on the door. The person on the other side doesn’t wait for me to let him in.

Damien never does.

He saunters in, jerking his chin toward the bag in my grip. “Going somewhere?”

My phone buzzes in my hand again, and I read the message before I decide what answer I want to give him.

Anne: Nothing punishable by death. He promoted his wife’s cousin instead of me.

Anne: She doesn’t deserve it. She goes home every day at fucking three, Rome.

“Is that her?” At fucking last, I hear jealousy from my friend. Good to see I’m not alone in this.

“If by her , you mean my sister.” I look up from my phone at him, tilt my head. “Then yes. It’s Anne.”

Damien stares at me for all of two seconds. Straightens the cuffs of his suit jacket. Sarcasm isn’t something he expects of me. Well, tough shit. I never expected my two best friends to lie to me.

“Right, Anne.” He lets out a laugh, and I see it in his eyes. He knows I might be talking to Anne. That’s not where I’m headed. “Everything okay? You scowled back there.”

“The usual.” I shrug, my resentment toward him and Liam for lying to me forgotten. “Her job.”

“They’re still fucking her over for being a Langford?”

The clock inside my body tick-tocks, tick-tocks.

Quinlan. She’ll be out there soon. I can’t stay here.

“What do you think?” I give him a look that shows my disdain, then type Anne a message. “Hold on.”

“Got plans for tomorrow night?” Damien asks while I tell my sister she should do what I fucking did years ago. Break her trust fund. Take every filthy cent in it and use it to open her own company.

She’s typing. I don’t need to see her answer. She’ll tell me the same reply she’s been giving me for years. Our family’s money, be it our grandparents’ or Joseph’s, is filthy.

It’s an old conversation. One I always end with the same half-lie—the trust fund is the least he could do to pay back for what he’s done to us.

Truth is, it isn’t. Truth is, the least he and Elaine, our mother , could do is die.

Soon enough, they will. I can already smell their blood on my hands. I’ll smile when I rip their guts out of their stomachs. Laugh, even.

It sounds crazy. Gory. Violent.

Sounds like justice to me.

“Tomorrow? What kind of question is that?” I move past Damien toward the door. “You have my calendar.”

Damien catches up as I walk outside. We pass by Liam’s office. His door is open, his attention on his laptop.

The skyline of Chicago appears behind him. The pink hues of dusk paint the gray, thick carpet of the office in earthy tones. As the sun disappears in the distance, it’s another reminder that I might be late for Quinlan.

“Liam, I’m leaving for the day.”

“Have fun.” He waves without tearing his gaze from the screen. Doesn’t ask where I’m going. He knows. “I have a meeting with the head of research. Might be home late.”

I want to repeat to him what I said to Damien. That his schedule is no big secret. I stay silent. Head to our private bathrooms with Damien hot on my heels.

Once inside, I shrug out of my suit jacket. Fold it and place it on the bench that stretches from the middle of the room and all the way to the wall. Repeat the movement with my shirt. My undershirt.

“Anyway.” Damien smirks. He’s up to something. It was obviously a rhetorical question, and I was too caught up in thinking about Quinlan. “We’re going out tomorrow. The three of us.”

“Why?” I frown, toeing off my shoes and losing my pants. “Where?”

“Quinlan’s neighbor? The friendly one?”

Ray. The one we keep tabs on. Can’t have any loose ends. I nod to Damien.

“She texted her boyfriend earlier. Wants to take Quinlan out on a double date. It’s a sin that a sweet woman like her is single and lonely.” Damien stops while I think a vein is about to pop in my forehead. “Her genius boyfriend told her he has someone in mind.”

I’m in Damien’s face in less than a second. I might be naked down to my briefs, but I’m at no disadvantage. I have my temper and my muscle tone on my side.

My hand curls around his lapel. “And you’ve known about this for how long without coming to me?”

“Thirty minutes.” His smirk widens. “I had to come up with a way to fix it, which I have. And relax. Liam has no idea either. I’ll tell him when the meeting’s over.”

“No one dates her.” Less than a week. That’s how long she has before she turns from a free woman to our captive. No one’s dating her in that week. Scratch that—“Never. No one dates her, ever.”

“Not even you?” he taunts.

“Got a problem with where I’m going tonight?” I release Dame and turn to put on my running gear.

“Nope. It’s only fair.” In my periphery, I see him smoothing his shirt. “She is ours, after all.”

“She is.” I sit on the bench and slip into my running shoes, tilting my head to Damien. “What are we going to do about her…date? How do we know she’ll even say yes?”

I’m still pissed. She could’ve bought Quinlan a puppy, for fuck’s sake. Why would she need anyone other than us?

“I know she will.” He leans on our lockers, planting his hands in his pockets. “Quinlan told me the other day she’s swamped with work. So I ordered Jefferson to email her again and say nothing’s expected of her for the first month at work. It’ll give her some free time. She’ll say yes.”

“The actual fuck, Damien?” My office clothes and shoes are in my bag, and I sling it over my shoulder. “Your plan better not end with me beating the crap out of her date.”

“We’ll be there.” Damien’s twisted logic starts making sense. I see it in his eyes. “The three of us.”

Everyone thinks that just because he looks like a ray of sunshine, that means he’s a good guy. They’re blind to the mask he wears. Have no idea what’s lurking beneath. How he plans to kill and torture the man who wronged him and his foster siblings.

How he installed a camera in Quinlan’s bathroom.

What a conniving son of a bitch he is. The best person I’ve ever met, other than Liam.

“Together.” His eyes twinkle. “It’s another opportunity to mess with her.”

He wants to play a game with her.

I want to see her, period.

“And she already sounded unlike herself in her texts to Rex.”

“I remember. We read her texts in your office,” I remind him. Just us. This is the part our private investigators can’t touch, other than the live feed from her shower. “You don’t have to repeat it.”

“Only reminding you that she needs a push in the right direction. Until then, I’ll listen in on Ray’s phone.” He raises an eyebrow. “Not hers. So I won’t get in the middle of your fun tonight.”

I frown, studying him. Forgetting about the time running out. “Sure you’re not jealous?”

“It’s all a way to get back at Rex. A game.” Before I call him out on his bullshit, he adds, “She’s ours, Rome. Better get used to that.”

I am. And it’s then that I see how I, too, am not jealous.

All I need is a few minutes with her by myself.

A few minutes to show her who I am. No bullshit. No distractions.

She and I.

I’m going to get it.