Page 47 of Savage Promises (Quinlan Empire #2)

Shane

I watch Lennox leave the private dining room and something in her posture is off. She’s too rigid, too tense. Part of it could be that I was too rough taking her from behind her first time, but she encouraged me.

She loves being the boss at Luxe. My wife eats problems for lunch and picks people’s souls out of her teeth with a smile, like a true lioness.

But there’s no doubt in my mind that she just lied to me. How could she after how great things have been going between us?

I lean forward at the table, simmering with anger. And I might start taking it out on this tool of a contractor. I signal for the check and finish my meeting with my usual threats of expecting lower costs and an expedited timeline.

Tom Farrell leaves, dragging his sorry drunk ass from my sight. I sent a limo to bring him here, but he can figure out his own way home.

Alone in the private dining room, I check the GPS tracker I installed on my wife’s phone. It’s a move I justify as protection, but deep down, I know it’s about control. I bristle, seeing her phone is no longer tracking.

She turned it off.

Grumbling, I check the last ping and it’s not at Luxe. She’s at Harbor Hospital. In Astoria!

My blood goes cold.

“Fuck,” I mutter, shoving the phone into my suit jacket.

I leave the restaurant, not even looking to see if Farrell is still here. I push people out of the way, my head held high, my expensive suit giving me permission to be rude and uncaring.

Creed opens the car door for me and inside, I grab the laptop I keep in the Sentinel. I hack into the hospital’s network and shake my head at how laughably easy it is. It takes me less than a minute to pull up the recent admissions log. I scan it until I see the name that stills my breath.

Neve Donnelly. Compound fracture of the right arm. Surgical consult ordered.

The rest is a jumble of medical terms and hospital speak that I’d have to ask Dr. Cormac O’Rourke to help translate. But I don’t care about Neve. Or what happened to her.

Only that my wife lied to me about rushing to her sister’s side.

I lean back, staring at the screen, my fingers rapping on the stainless-steel keyboard. Anger churns inside me. Then something heavier.

Guilt.

I know why Lennox didn’t tell me. I’ve made it clear where her family stands with me.

Neve is still just a kid, I understand that.

I should show some grace, be the grown-up, and dismiss her betrayal.

But I can’t. Now Lennox is dealing with an emergency on her own because I made it clear I wouldn’t help.

As I ponder how to fix this, my phone vibrates in my pocket.

Seeing it’s my credit card company, white-hot anger courses through me at the idea that I have to justify the obscene dinner check I just paid for.

Maybe Farrell is still at the bar drinking on my tab with more four-hundred-dollar scotches.

“Alo?” I answer.

“Mr. Quinlan?” a male customer service rep says smoothly.

“Aye? ”

“This is United Bank. We’ve flagged a $50,000 charge at Harbor Hospital. Can you confirm this transaction?”

My heart stops for a moment. “That’s my wife. Is she over her limit? Why are you calling me?”

The operator clears his throat. “There are no other purchases on this card, sir. That’s why we deem this one suspicious. The card is classified as dormant.”

I gave her that card months ago and she’s not made a single charge? Her pride and strong-willed independence are fucking turn-ons for me. But it’s also a turn-on to take care of my wife. To shower her with whatever she needs.

“Sir?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, exhaling sharply. “Approve it.”

The money isn’t the issue. Nor is the fact that Lennox used my card for a hefty charge without telling me. It’s her card. She doesn’t need permission to spend my money. She’s my wife.

It’s that she lied about where she was going and used my card as a part of that deceit. Did she not realize they’d call me?

I slam the laptop shut and order Creed to bring me home. By the time I walk in the door, I’ve worked myself into a fine mix of frustration and regret. The part of me that’s hurt by Lennox’s lies and distance fights against the part that knows I’m at least partially to blame for it.

I do what I do best. I emotionally shut down and bury myself in work.

Checking the latest contractor reports by hacking into each subs’ financials to make sure they’re not padding the bills makes the hours pass quickly.

Hawk sneaks in, circles my ankles, and leaps up onto the desk, stretched out, wanting company.

I hear you, buddy.

Besides the purr engine challenging my allergy patch, the house is so eerily quiet, I’m unnerved. I can’t stop thinking about Lennox sitting all alone in a hospital waiting room, handling something her father and brother should be dealing with.

But they’re not. Of course, they’re not. My wife, the woman they both shit on, is. I’m blindsided with a rush that makes me see red. Why am I sitting here? I should be there for her. Her . Not Neve. Leaving her to deal with this alone makes me as big of a piece of shit as Garrett and Richard.

I stand up, but the front door to the brownstone opens. The snap of the glass vestibule door echoes right into the back of the house. I close my laptop and leave the office.

Shirtless with sleep pants hanging low on my hips, I lean against the archway that leads into the kitchen where Lennox drinks a glass of water. She startles when she sees me, her eyes roaming my body. Just one look heats my skin and thickens my cock.

The dark circles under her eyes kick up my fury. I hate to see her so worn out. But she lied to me.

“How’d it go at the club?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

She stares at me, her dry lips parting slightly before she recovers. “It’s handled.”

Shifting her gaze from my chest, she slips out of her coat and hangs it neatly in the closet.

“I’m going to bed,” she mutters and lifts Hawk who purrs against her legs now.

I follow them, stopping at the bottom step. “Lennox?”

She pauses but doesn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“I was hoping you’d come to my bed tonight.”

Her shoulders tense. “I just started my cycle,” she says quietly.

I don’t track her period, so I don’t know if she’s lying about that, too. Or maybe my rough scene in the bathroom triggered it .

I jog up the stairs and get right behind her on the same step. Pushing my semi against her ass, I whisper, “I told you, blood doesn’t bother me. It’s natural and wild. I’d love for you to stain my sheets from some good fucking, baby.”

She hesitates and every second kills me.

“I’m...tired. It’s draining.” She pushes her hair off her shoulders, squirming away from me. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Fine,” I say, my voice colder than I intended.

I brush past her, knowing that I’m acting like a spoiled brat.

At the top of the stairs, I turn to watch her come up, slow and measured. She turns on the landing, my gaze burning into her back. I silently beg her to be honest with me. But she disappears behind her bedroom door and the way it clicks shut destroys me.

Why the fuck did I insist on separate bedrooms? I saw the hurt in her eyes when I told her I needed my own space. Like I was keeping her at a distance. Like this marriage isn’t real. But it’s very real for me.

I stand outside my bedroom alone. I have everything. Money. Power. A beautiful, strong wife.

Yet, I’ve never felt emptier.

In my bedroom, I fall onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. Lennox was getting to a place where she was starting to tell me everything. Now she won’t even look me in the eye.

It can’t get much worse than this.

But deep down, I know it will.