Page 127 of Quinlan

“Quinlan.” I shove the ropes into Damien’s hand.

She doesn’t notice it. All she sees is me moving on top of her. My hand flattens on her chest, slowly pushing her until she’s flat on the bed. My mouth is a mere inch from hers.

“This fight of yours. It’s sweet.” I trace my thumb along her swollen lips, distracting her while Damien grabs one of her wrists and moves her on the bed.

Where he takes her, that’s where I go. My lips tug at the corner when he binds her wrist to one pole of the bed.

“I can’t wait to break you.” Quinlan starts to thrash, and I pin her down harder. “It would be my fucking pleasure to put you back together.”

“No,” she mouths.

I kiss the defiance out of her, stroking her thighs and pussy with the wet cloth. Cleaning her.

“Truly break.” Damien moves to the other side. Quinlan’s eyes are wide open, tracking his movements while I rub my tongue against hers.

The gravity of her situation is sinking in. She finally notices the ropes.

Our little captive tugs on her restraints. Attempting to free herself.

She doesn’t want to be released. We’re giving Quinlan what she craves. We stared into her eyes, saw the darkness within.

The days of being what Rex is expecting her to be are over. We’re here for her. Here to help her tap into the abyss. To transform her into the woman she was always meant to be.

We’ll take care of the rest for her. Her parents, the medical bills, anything at all.

The fact that having her here is destroying Rex in the process is a bonus.

No. It’s equally as important. The three of us are after both.

Her heart.

His death.

“Break, as in, you’ll forget all about the suburbs.” Damien sounds angrier. “About a white picket fence.”

He’s almost done, then holds back. Doesn’t move. I rise, twisting her face to him.

“You can also forget about fucking missionaries. Least of all”—Damien lowers his mouth, kissing the top of her foot, realizing she didn’t deserve his fury—“you can forget about Rex. You don’t answer to him. Never again.”

One ankle is bound to the pole.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” she whispers. She knows he does. She’s seen it in his eyes. “I don’t answer to anyone.”

Oh, but Damien has a very good idea what he’s talking about.

“You had to stay home. Had to take care of your parents. By yourself.” Her second ankle is bound, and Damien kisses the top of that foot too. I stand at the edge of the bed, and he’s right there next to me. “You never had a social life. He’s a lazy bastard. And you’re such a good girl.”

“You don’t understand.” Quinlan blinks hard, her face flustered. “It’s my—it’s—never mind.”

“We understand.” Bright red surrounds the heart tattoo beneath her eye, and I stroke the soft area with my lacerated knuckles. She shivers, and it sends a bolt of excitement throughme. I’m hard again, but no. I won’t have her. “Just like we understand that deep down, you like this.” I gesture to the ties. “Being ours.”

“No.” She glowers at us, spitting fire.

Reminding me so much of our third friend.

“Liam needs to see this,” I tell Damien, before turning around and stalking out of the room.

I’m a lot of things. Harsh. Ruthless. Hotheaded.

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