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CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Quinlan

“Hey, stalkers.” I wave at my camera on my laptop, my smile wide. “I’m heading downstairs for lunch. No need to have a coronary.”

I wish I was exaggerating.

I love that I’m not exaggerating.

Two days ago, it just about happened. They almost had a heart attack for real. That’s how mad they were about my disappearance.

We’d had the best week up to that point. A full week after we’d killed Rome’s parents.

Seven days of training with Rome in the gym. Damien and I had spent hours teasing each other and cuddling. He’d bite and torture me while I told him about my day. My feelings. Liam, man, he’d been so sweet and affectionate then would wake me up in the middle of the night. His cock would be shoved down my throat, his watchful eyes gouging for my reaction. For my terror.

The rest always joined him. Always.

So who could blame me for thinking I was no longer their captive?

No one.

No one but them.

One trip to the living room and all hell broke loose. Apparently, they didn’t like me out of sight for too long. I wanted to watch the city and imagine what they might look like at that moment, in their office.

They wanted me to have my cellphone on.

When I didn’t go back to my room to answer their texts—in my defense, I was sure they were email notifications—the phone started ringing.

And it wouldn’t stop.

“Picking the lock on the door won’t work, darling.” Damien sounded pissed, relieved, and maybe amused at my breathless hello . “You’ll never be able to run from us.”

“Paranoid much?” Fucking with any of them was unavoidable.

Not because I hated his possessiveness. I didn’t hate anything about him at all.

It was just that fucking with them was too much fun.

“You’re testing our patience,” Rome thundered, though he hadn’t actually thundered at all. I could hear the smile in his voice. The lightness in his mood hadn’t been there before this week.

“Have been for the past ten minutes.” Liam’s heated tone meant I’d get wax on my breasts as a punishment. “We’re installing cameras in the apartment tomorrow.”

“Sheesh, can’t a girl stalk you in peace?”

Silence. A loud one. They had to have been exchanging looks. Searching for the bugs I hadn’t planted at their office.

I continued explaining what I meant by stalking. My ass was spanked raw when they got home anyway.

Two days later, my ass is just as sore. And no cameras have been installed around the house—yet. Those things haven’t changed.

What’s changed is my mood.

“I’m going to the living room,” I repeat, then slam the laptop shut.

The fake smile on my lips dies the second I do. They won’t have to witness my lips pressed into a tight line. How the joy from helping Rome and Anne had dissipated into nothing.

Anger pushes at my ribs and scalds my chest. It’s a constant battle to hide the emotion from them. I promised I wouldn’t do that, and yet I do. Bathing in misery. In hate. By myself.

They have a plan and I can’t rush them.

But damn it all to hell, I’m impatient. Volatile. I need to avenge them and yesterday.

Liam’s monster ex-babysitter is still alive.

Other than the minor inconvenience of looking after my parents, Rex hasn’t paid for his crimes, either. Business as fucking usual. Has been for years.

As if he isn’t guilty of anything. As if he hadn’t hurt Damien and his foster siblings. Children.

“Ugh. I can’t take it.” I tug on a loose strand of my hair. Pull harder until it hurts. I try, my God, do I try not to lose it until both of them get their revenge.

Impossible.

My childhood hadn’t been the worst, despite everything that happened to us. I had parents who loved me in their own way. An older half-brother there to sort of take care of us.

Damien didn’t have that. During the time he lived under Rex’s roof, he’d suffered. The gory details don’t matter. I believe him. He wouldn’t have kidnapped me—well, maybe that—but murder . He wouldn’t have planned that for something dumb like Rex not letting him watch his favorite TV show.

There’s a reason why he never lets me see his chest and abdomen. He always makes sure I have my back to him in the shower, and I respect him. I never turn around to demand information he’s struggling to give to me.

I will never forgive Rex for this. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen, whatever it is.

And it’s eating me from the inside. That I’d loved my half-brother. That I’d enabled his happiness.

My phone vibrates next to me, ripping me from my suffocating thoughts. I snatch it and read through the messages in our group chat.

Liam: You know you can just drop by instead of watching us from the living room window.

Damien: We’ll create new memories in the conference room.

Rome: Painful ones.

Me: You sure you want me to make a mess of your table?

That’s the best positive-upbeat message I can do, considering my mood. I’d hate for them to worry about me.

Damien answers almost immediately with a: Ruin it for all I care. We’ll get a new one and fuck you on it too.

Banter is good. They have no idea I’m losing it. Otherwise, they would’ve been here already, like they did the last time.

They don’t need to be here.

It’s fine. It’s totally fine.

I’m fine.

My phone vibrates again as I stare out my window. The early afternoon’s clouds hide the clear blue of the sky. An omen of sorts.

The day Blake drowned started out with gray skies.

I don’t even notice that I’m stroking my tattoo until my finger is dampened by a sneaky tear.

Not going there , the voice in my head says. I swipe at my cheek angrily and check out my phone.

What I expected was a message from one of my men. It isn’t. It’s my newfound sister, Anne. A grin creeps on my face as I read her response to the text I sent her an hour ago.

Anne: Q, I’m doing great! You? I had an early morning meeting with the bank, then work. So sorry I didn’t answer earlier!

We exchanged numbers the day we met, and have been texting at least once a day since. Other than being funny and sweet, I do it because I care for her.

The four of us are here together as a unit. There’s always someone to talk to. Someone’s always up to make sure the others are okay. I might hide my frustration, but it’s easier to carry the burden when people who really get me are here all the time.

Anne has Nick, who Rome trusts, which is huge. And though I was told he’s a great guy, he wasn’t there with us. So I’m being that person for Anne.

Me: I know, you told me yesterday :) I’m so happy for you! Let’s meet again soon when you can. Miss you!

She doesn’t need the bank. Not really. Rome and her husband are wealthy. They’ve offered her the money, practically forcing her to take it.

Anne turned both of them down. I supported her. I always will. I told Rome that if she was going to do it while keeping her job at Caldwell Mullins until she’s ready to quit, then he should let her.

He did.

Anne: Of course you do, captive ;)

At her last message, I snort-laugh. She’s the one who promised to personally kick the men’s butts if they ever so much as upset me.

Which is no longer impossible.

I love them.

And fuck, that anger is back again. That protectiveness.

The more I sit at my desk, where I’ve been working all morning, the more useless I feel.

I get up, stretch my arms over my head, and wiggle my butt just to get the blood flowing. My muscles are sore from having too much sex and spending an hour a day annihilating the punching bag. I’m stronger for it. Probably happier than I would’ve been without it.

Soon my body will adjust to my new lifestyle. Then, nothing will stop me.

With my phone silenced and slipped into my jeans pocket, I descend the stairs where I’ve been spending my lunch breaks over the last few days.

The floor-to-ceiling windows call my name. Standing in front of them is where I feel closest to my men.

They’ll be having lunch at one of their offices today. Rome and I cooked them the lasagna in the morning, and I wasn’t sad when we made it. I was happy, creating new memories with them.

I hug myself, rubbing my forearms. I’m not cold or anything. The gray sweatshirt I’m wearing keeps me warm. I’d just rather imagine it’s one of them, folding me into his arms from behind.

A light flashes from my jean pocket. My phone. I’ll answer them later, once I get a hold of my emotions. Once I can smile through a conversation.

Soon.

The lock on the door clicks. Someone pushes it in, and my head whips in that direction.

That someone isn’t Damien. He’s not Rome. Not Liam.

“Ms. Palmer?” Ashton’s red hair peeks through the crack in the door. He’s one of the building’s doormen, the only one to have the key to the penthouse. “The food delivery is here. Can I let Shawna in?”

A full minute passes for my heart to stop racing. I met both of them last week. Rome told me they were supposed to come here today, and I bet my phone flashed to remind me they’ll be here. I just forgot.

And once my heart settles, a plan forms in my head.

A strong, consuming sense of mission fills me with newfound energy. My feet push me forward, toward the sneakers I left by the door after yesterday’s boxing session.

Toward the door itself.

“Come in.” I’m jogging through the wide living room and into the foyer. “How are you, Ashton?”

“I’m doing well, thank you, Ms. Palmer. How have you been?”

While he holds the door open for Shawna, I shove my bare feet into my sneakers. Good thing I put on socks this morning. Good thing because I realize I don’t have a spare moment to waste as Ashton prepares to follow Shawna and her grocery cart into the kitchen.

Once he’s inside, I’ll lose the opportunity to leave the penthouse. The next time I’ll have a chance to get away is when Shawna leaves. They’ll see me trying to escape and I might fail. I’ll probably fail.

I like my chances better now.

“I’m great.” My long hair has fallen like a curtain around my face when I bent to tie my shoelaces, and I flip it back once I have my sneakers on. My hand flies to the doorjamb, pretending to help him do…something. “Here, I’ve got this.”

“Thank you, Ms. Palmer.” Ashton’s brown eyes are confused. “We’re already inside. You can let go. Thank you.”

The way he’s eyeing me, I bet this six-foot-million of a man was probably given instructions to keep me inside the apartment. Damien’s worried Rex might hurt me if he catches me outside.

Not if I hurt him first. If I scream at him in broad daylight. He wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me. There’ll be others in the café to hold him back.

I wouldn’t take his revenge from him by going out. But I have to speak up. I have to do something for Damien.

And I can’t do that if Ashton keeps looking at me like that.

Offering him a bright smile is my best option at the moment. “Of course. I just wanted to help.”

“Mr. Parks?” Shawna calls out to him from the kitchen. “Could you come over, please? It’s a breach of my contract to even be standing here alone.”

Ashton knows this. So do I.

“She’s right.” My fake smile does little to appease Ashton. His shoulders are squared, his black suit jacket stretching on them. He’s readying himself for an argument. “I won’t say a thing, but what if the security cameras over there…” I slip between him and the door, jerking my chin to the ceiling toward the nonexistent cameras. “If they document Shawna there, unsupervised? She could lose her job.”

The seed has been planted. Ashton’s brow furrows. He takes another step into the penthouse.

I take one toward the hallway.

“Ms. Palmer, please,” he says, though it’s obvious that his attention is split between me and the kitchen.

That’s all I need to pull the door and close it in his face. I break into a sprint and mash the button for the elevator. Again and again and again.

“Come on.” I bounce on the balls of my feet, summoning the elevator to get here faster.

“Ms. Palmer.” Ashton wrenches the door open, yelling behind me.

His footsteps echo in the hall. One, two, and then—

“Thank fuck.” The metal door slides open, and I rush inside. Push the close door button first, then mash the one that’d take me to the lobby.

Close already , I pray to the god of elevator doors. Please, just close and take me downstairs.

“Ms. Palmer.”

I scream when Ashton outstretches his arm.

He barely makes it before the door slides closed in his face. I hear him right before I start descending.

“We have a situation.” His voice reaches past the closed door. “Ms. Palmer is on her way down. She’ll be wearing—”

Just because I don’t hear the rest doesn’t mean I don’t have the information I need. Whoever’s occupying the front desk will look for a woman wearing a gray sweatshirt. That’s the first thing they’ll recognize when I step out to the lobby.

The sweatshirt has to go. I rip it off my body, fold it into a neat square, and hide it behind my back.

“I see someone,” a tall, blond man in a black suit speaks into a black walkie-talkie. He leaves his station, approaching me, his gait long. When he lifts his palm to me, he says, “Ms. Palmer, hold, please.”

“Me? Ms. Palmer?” Lying comes naturally to me today. It’s as natural as the anger and sense of mission inside me.

“I was told…” The man cuts his gaze to my black shirt. This isn’t the gray sweatshirt he’s supposed to be looking for. His eyes narrow when they snap back to mine.

“Maybe it’s the woman who got off on the fifth floor?” The soft sound of the elevator whooshing behind me means it’s going up. To Ashton, who could be back here at any moment. “Hair kind of like mine? Gray sweatshirt?”

The man’s thumb is punching the button on his walkie-talkie before I finish the sentence. “Fifth floor, Ashton.”

“On it.”

“I hope you find her.” I sidestep the bulky man, tucking the folded sweatshirt to my front. “Have a nice day.”

“You too, ma’am,” he says absently.

In a few long strides, I’m out in the street. A strange feeling creeps up my back. I sense a set of eyes on me, and my gut turns. My men aren’t here. When they stalk me, butterflies explode in my belly. I’m not nauseous like I am now.

Whoever this is, they’ll have to wait, if they’re even here at all. It could be the adrenaline making me imagine things.

I have to get to Rex.

My feet are the only mode of transportation available at the moment. Using the subway or hailing a cab isn’t an option when I don’t have a cent on me. I had my wallet app on my old phone. I don’t have anything on this one other than outgoing calls and texts to a few selected numbers.

I walk faster than I have in my entire life, blending into the crowd as best I can.

Rex will listen to me today, damn him. I’ll get all up in his face and confront him about being a monster.

As I’m eating up the distance toward Maeve’s, the world finally makes sense. The clouds have separated somehow. The skies are blue. Clear.

So is my head.

Rex hasn’t been grieving Blake’s death, I think. I don’t know that he ever has. The pain doesn’t follow him around like it does with me. It’s not an excuse for his behavior.

What caused Rex to be this controlling asshole is because I’ve been useful for him.

All those years.

All those fucking years.

He’s been pretending to be a saint when, in fact, he’s always been a monster. For over a year, he’d tortured three little kids. I’m not sure why he didn’t lay a finger on me, but I’m not grateful for it.

I’m so furious I can hardly see straight.

The people in suits and casual outfits and whatever the hell else blur in front of me. My eyes don’t see the street signs or awnings as I pass by the storefronts. My heart remembers the way to Maeve’s, and that’s all that matters.

My biceps strain, reminding me of the work Rome and I had done together in the gym. Nothing scares me anymore. Not a damn thing.

I might take things too far if we’re alone. In that case, I’ll knock him out, tie him, and call Damien to finish the job. He won’t get away with it.

Good idea, brain .

If Rex isn’t at Maeve’s, if he’s on his day off, I’ll just go to his apartment.

Minutes pass as I power walk through the city. I’m a ball of fire. A tornado hurtling forward at rapid speed.

A car screeches to a stop behind me. My breath hitches at the abrupt sound. I don’t stop, though, not for a second.

In a couple of minutes, I’ll make it to Maeve’s.

A strong arm covered in a dark blue jacket hooks around my middle, knocking the air out of me.

“What the fuck?” I gasp.

Stronger fingers dig into my waist. I’m being hauled into a firm chest. A man that pins me to him. A man whose lean and long body fits mine in a very familiar way.

But I can’t be sure. He could be a random kidnapper. A rapist.

The people on the sidewalk. Yes. They’ll help me if I scream, at least one of them.

Except my throat is too choked to scream. The man drags me back toward the curb. Must be to his car.

It’s now or never.

When I finally find it in me to scream, my sweatshirt is being yanked out of my grip and pressed to my gaping mouth before any sound comes out of it.

“Darling. You’ve been a bad girl. Such a bad girl.” Damien. It’s Damien who’s hard behind me. Whose heart rages against my back. His lips are in my ear. “Can you guess what happens to bad girls?”

I’m scratching his forearm. My feet try and fail to lift off the sidewalk to stomp on him.

I have things to do. An uncontainable, justified rage to unleash. It’s too big to contain. Too much for me to just stay here.

“Let me go,” I scream into my sweatshirt.

No one hears me. Not even Damien.

“Shh.” He shoves my cheek to the cool metal of his SUV. When my sweatshirt falls to the ground, his palm comes up to my mouth instead.

I look at him. My eyes talk for me, begging for him to listen. Telling him I have so much to make up for. That it’s wrong that I got to live an ignorant life while he…

While he…

A sob wrenches itself from the deepest, darkest places of me.

Damien doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a damn. That’s what the twisted amusement in his sapphire eyes tells me.

“Bad girls, darling, they get punished.”