Page 191 of Quinlan

Rome stares at me, a thunderstorm in his eyes. Sheer honesty bleeds from him.

Rome and his pain.

“I’m listening.” I twist my head, kissing his rugged knuckles.

“Stay here,” he repeats the order. Turns around and disappears up the stairs.

Leaves me with my heart pounding and my mind whirring.

I try not to think of the worst. I really do. Invisible knives push into my collarbone, slicing me down the middle anyway.

He’s back in the kitchen after a few minutes, changed out of his office clothes. Rome exudes just as much power wearing snug black T-shirts and joggers. Silent as he places white hand wraps, red boxing gloves and a pair of my black leggings next to me. The socks and sneakers he’s brought for me are left on the clean floor.

I’m as quiet as he is. This isn’t a fun boxing session we’re going to have today. Nothing about what happens next could be qualified as fun.

“Hands,” he commands, already cupping my right one.

Rome’s methodic as he slips the thumb loop in place and starts wrapping the elastic over the back of my hand. His movementshypnotize me. I’m drawn to them, to how careful he’s being as he crosses the hand wrap over my wrist, my knuckles, my palm.

He’s not done, yet he pauses. Smooths his thumbs over my partly wrapped palm. “Wiggle your fingers.”

The movement of my fingers satisfies him. He still asks, “How does it feel?”

“Why don’t you put them on too?” I didn’t need to see him the other day to figure it out. I place my left palm on top of his bruised knuckles, stroking him.

“I like the pain. It takes off the edge.” His intense gaze almost knocks me over. “That, and my fists are all I’ll use when I kill my parents.”

The weight of what he’s telling me doesn’t sink in slowly. It’s a blow to the chest. To the gut. I wish—fuck, how I wish—I could’ve gone back in time. Throttle these assholes myself.

My mouth remains clamped shut. Rome, much like Damien, Liam and me, hates pity. I don’t pity him. I’m murderous.

And I’m quiet.

Rome nods once before he continues to wrap my hand, finishing it off with the Velcro. Other hand.

“Hold on to my shoulders.” My obedience is immediate, and with his palms on my hips, Rome lowers me to the floor.

“Damien’s going to be pissed that you’re changing me out of my clothes.” I smile at Rome as he pulls my jeans down my legs.

At that, Rome’s eyes warm by a fraction. “I’m sure he’d agree you’d be more comfortable boxing in leggings.”

“He’s kind of volatile.” I step out of my jeans, running my fingers over Rome’s neck. Coaxing a low hum out of him. “I can never tell with him.”

Despite the humor in my tone, it’s clear that we aren’t discussing my outfit anymore.

Rome’s expression sobers. Even when he’s on his knees, helping me into the leggings, he’s strong. Incredibly so.

“He loves you.” Rome slides my leggings up, one leg at a time. “Don’t ever doubt that. You don’t have to fear he’ll ever stop. He won’t.”

My mouth goes dry. It was easy to accept Liam’s love. As closed off as he might be, he bared his soul to me. He was the first to do it.

Rome’s vulnerabilities have been out there for me to see since day one. He’s short-tempered. He was probably starved as a kid, the way he’s obsessed with feeding me. He’s also protective to a fault.

Damien is an enigma. He’s obsessed as the other two men are, but he’s holding out on me. I’ve seen so much of him, and still, something’s missing. Not for long. He wants to show me. I just know it.

I lick my lips. “I love him too.”

“He makes it impossible not to. But only his people love both sides of him.”

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