Page 3 of Bound

“Quinn.” My name slowly rolls over Declan’s lips with his rich, deep tone as he acknowledges my unexpected presence, his deep-blue eyes not once wavering from our locked stare.

“I hope you don’t mind.” Layla’s words draw Declan’s attention from me. “She needed to talk, and I knew you guys would be awhile taking care of…um…business.”

“Subtle,mo chuisle,” Tristan chuckles as he slips his fingers under Layla’s chin and tips her face toward his before lightly kissing her lips. Standing against the back of the couch, Tristan’s hand lingers over Layla’s shoulder as he continues, “I’ve told you; Quinn knows what we do for business.”

Removing his black zip-up hoodie, Declan drapes it over the back of the barstool at the island. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leans back against the island. “Quinn is like a sister to all of us. There are no secrets between any of us.”

Well, except that one…

…and then the many that stemmed from it.

CHAPTER THREE

DECLAN

“What brought you over here after midnight, anyway?” I inquire, not realizing how abrasive my question sounds until I watch Quinn become visibly more uncomfortable before my eyes. Uncrossing my arms, trying to look less standoffish, I soften. “Is everything okay?”

“No. I mean…not really,” she responds softly as she shakes her head. “I can’t?—”

“Daidi?” Fiona’s sweet voice cracks through her sleepy grumble as she toddles down the hall and toward me, unintentionally interrupting Quinn. Her hot-pink floral pajamas are wrinkled. Her usually unruly, curly red hair is disheveled, and her eyes are clearly tired.

Bending down, I wrap my arms around her and lift her tiny body from the floor, swallowing her in my embrace. I place a soft kiss against her forehead. “Did we wake you up,a stóirín?” I gently ask.

“No,” she mutters as her arms wrap tightly around my neck and nuzzles into me. I should take her back to bed. Instead, I pull outthe barstool and slide into it with Fiona snuggled against me on my lap to give Quinn the opportunity to finish what she wanted to say.

“You can’t what?” I prod Quinn to continue while gently petting Fiona’s untamed hair, attempting to get her back to sleep.

“I can’t keep taking your money,” Quinn blurts as Layla stands from the couch.

“Yes, you can,” Tristan responds matter-of-factly before I have time to say a word.

Layla walks around the couch and toward me before turning back toward Quinn and teasingly snarking, “I told you so.” Quinn rolls her eyes as she lets out a gentle huff of annoyance in response.

“Funny, Layla. But I’m serious,” Quinn exhales. “I can’t keep just taking your money. I know you all mean well. Truly, I do, and I’ve appreciated it these past few months more than I could ever express. But I just can’t.”

“We’re not going to let you wind up homeless and destitute,” I retort, knowing that it’s only going to ignite her stubbornness.

As expected, she digs in her figurative heels and rebuts, “I’m not going to take your money. I will withdraw every dollar and carry it to the club to return it if I have to, but I cannot continue to accept your money.”

Layla tenderly pulls Fiona from my lap and into her arms. “Let me put my sleepy little shortcake back to bed while you three fight over this.” Fiona’s head lolls on Layla’s shoulder as she carries her down the hall and back to her bed. Layla is fantastic with Fiona. It’s a shame that the best nanny I’ve ever had is mybrother’s wife. I can’t exactly expect her to move in and be at my beck and call. But she’s what Fiona deserves—someone who will love her like their own.

Tristan takes Layla’s seat on the couch beside Quinn and lightly grips her hand. “What happened to youisour fault?—”

“No. it’s not. You all need to stop blaming yourselves. You didn’t?—”

“We may not have hurt you, but you know as much as the rest of us it never would’ve happened if it weren’t for who we are,” Tristan refutes her claim.

Quinn might not blame us, but I’ve—we’veall—been riddled with guilt from the first police call on that night atDeartháir. She was safer in Ireland. She should’ve stayed away—far away from us.

From me.

We aren’t good for her. We never have been.

And we never will be.

“I will repeat it to the lot of you until I’m blue in the face.” Quinn pauses before vehemently insisting, “Youare not responsible for what happened to me.Ididn’t lock the door. Isent Isaac home early, leaving me there alone.Ididn’t dial 911 the moment they came inside after being told the bar was closed.Iam responsible for what happened to me.”

She’s always been so fucking strong-willed, and it’s fucking infuriating. After sliding from my barstool, I shift my weight as I fight the urge to storm across the room. With my jaw clenched, I loudly assert, “It wasourbloody bar! Just take the fucking money!”

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