Page 46 of Princes of Carnage

It’s not terrible, just lying here in the darkness with her. But eventually, the urge to break the silence takes over.

“Why do you have such a fucking big house?” I ask. I did wonder about that when Atlas, Killian, and I showed up here. “Seems like a lot of space when it’s just you, and you probably spend most of your time at your tattoo parlor anyway.”

Quinn is quiet for a second, and I think at first that she’s not going to answer. But then she says, “It was my dad’s house. I got it after he died.”

She doesn’t elaborate more, but I guess she doesn’t really need to. The rest of it is pretty self-explanatory. Her dad died and she kept his house, even if it’s impractical for the life she lives now, because it was his and that’s what matters about it.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “About your father.”

She slants a skeptical look at me, and I turn my head so I can see her more clearly.

“I am. Yeah, Enigma and Carnage were enemies once, but now we’re not.” I pause for a second and then add, “And even if we were, I’d feel sorry for the loss of a parent. Losing a parent you love is fucking rough, and it’s pretty clear you and your dad were close.”

Quinn turns onto her side, frowning at me, and in a flash, I realize I spoke too honestly and gave too much away. This isn’t the same as the loaded banter and veiled threats that we usually exchange. This is something different. Something… deeper. Something a hell of a lot closer to who we truly are as people, without all the posturing and years of rivalry in the way.

It’s uncharted territory.

“What do you know about losing a parent?” Quinn asks, her voice low but clearly curious.

“Who says I know anything about it?” I answer, brushing her off.

Her frown just deepens. “You said it like you know from experience. Like it’s something you’ve been through. It’s different from how other people say it, like they’re sorry for my loss, but they don’t really get it.”

And yeah, I know about that too. The empty sympathy that people always show when they feel like they have to. Because it’s the socially acceptable thing to do, or because they don’t know what else to say. Sometimes they even really mean it, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s not their burden, and they usually don’t know what it feels like.

Quinn’s loss is still mostly fresh too—her dad only died a year ago. So she’s probably seen a lot of that false sympathy shit.

“You’re right. I’ve lost a parent too,” I admit eventually. “My mom died when I was young.”

“Oh.” She’s quiet for a second, then says, “I’m sorry.”

I shrug. “It’s been a long time since then.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it still probably hurt.” She frowns. “People say time heals all wounds, but so far, it doesn’t feel like that to me. What was she like?”

“She was Italian, first generation. Both of my parents were. And my mom was… warm. Open. Sweet. Kind. She loved to feed people and would talk your ear off about anything she was excited about.”

“She sounds great,” Quinn murmurs.

“She was.”

Silence falls again, but this time Quinn breaks it. “What about your dad? What was he like, other than Italian?”

Just mentioning him makes me go tense, but I don’t let anything show on my face. I can feel Quinn watching me, gauging my reaction.

“My father is a different story,” I tell her shortly.

I can see curiosity still glinting in her eyes. It’s interesting, the way she seems to feel so fucking much. Everything from her anger to her determination to her arousal seems to sit just behind those clear gray eyes, like they truly are windows into her soul.

She wants to know more, that’s clear.

But I never meant to tell her even this much. I’m here to learn about her and what she might be hiding, not to give up my own secrets.

Before she can ask anything else, I roll away from her on the bed, getting up.

“I don’t know about you, but that kind of sex always leaves me fucking starving.” I pull my pants back on and grab a shirt from the open box at the foot of the bed. I haven’t unpacked all the shit my men brought over yet. “I need something to eat… if you even have any food in this house.”

“Fuck off,” she snaps, and just like that, we’re back in familiar territory. “I didn’t plan on having to feed you and your two shadows, okay? If it bothers you so much, you’re welcome to go grocery shopping like a good little husband.”

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