Page 157 of Brutal Vows

Sweating and trembling, I lower my head to Quinn’s chest.

“You’re okay, love,” he says, sounding shaken as he rocks me in his arms. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

The sheets are in tangles all around us. I must’ve been thrashing. I wonder how long it took him to wake me up.

He kisses my head, then takes my face in his hands. His eyes search mine.

“You were having a nightmare.”

My voice raw, I say, “Enzo.”

He winces. “Ah, fuck.”

He gathers me into his arms and holds me until my raggedbreath has slowed to normal, and I’m no longer quaking with dread.

“What can I do?”

“Just this. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

He exhales heavily, then pulls the blankets up, holding me with one arm. He settles us back against the pillows, tucking my head under his chin and wrapping his arms and legs around me so I’m cocooned in his warmth.

We lie like that in the dark, breathing together, for a long time. It could be minutes or hours, I don’t know.

Eventually, an odd feeling overtakes me. After examining it for a while, I realize it’s peace.

I’ve never felt peace before.

In all my thirty-three years, I’ve never known what it’s like to find shelter from the storms that always followed me. I’ve been lost at sea for so long, I thought that’s what it meant to be living.

It isn’t until now, with a glimpse of a golden-haired man waving at me from shore in the distance, that I realize the storms might be behind me. My sails are full, the seas are smooth, and the wind at my back is soft and easy.

I might finally be coming home.

In a low voice, I say, “Epinephrine.”

“What?”

I pull away from Quinn, rolling over and sitting up to swing my legs over the side of the bed. I put my head in my hands and exhale a breath I’ve been holding my whole life. It shudders out of me, heavier than gravity.

“I said epinephrine. Normally, it’s used in emergency treatment for allergic reactions. But in large enough doses, it will stop the heart. And because it’s a hormone that occurs naturally in the body, it doesn’t automatically get flagged on the coroner’s report.”

Quinn lies perfectly still and silent, listening.

I lick my dry lips. “Enzo was diabetic. He had to inject himself with insulin before every meal.”

After a long moment, Quinn says softly, “You replaced his insulin with epinephrine.”

I look out the windows at Boston sparkling like a jewel in the night and think I could already be pregnant. I could already have this man’s child growing inside me. I didn’t insist he use protection. If I’m honest with myself, I didn’t even give it a second thought.

I wanted him from the start. Long before I could admit it to myself, I wanted everything he could possibly give me.

I say, “No one else on earth knows that. The official cause of death was sudden cardiac arrest. Diabetes is a risk factor for it. He also had a fatty liver and elevated cholesterol levels, so the coroner didn’t open an inquest. He was cremated, but the coroner’s office keeps biomarker tissue samples for five years. If they knew to look for elevated adrenal hormones, I’d be in prison.”

I look at him over my shoulder. “So you’ve got two years left of excellent blackmail material.”

He gazes at me with a look of deep admiration.

Which is more proof of his insanity, considering I just confessed to murdering the prior man in his position.