Page 193 of Quinlan

He isn’t capable of saying it to my face. Not for the first time, at least. Being vulnerable is a struggle for him, as much as it was a struggle for me to open up about how lonely I’d been for years. How hurt I’d been. How I needed someone to care.

The jealousy from a few days ago is a distant memory. Rome isn’t just mine. He belongs to Liam and Damien and his sister, Anne.

I adore that about him, this fierce, unrelenting love. How he spreads it equally between his people.

Rome’s body is talking to me, and I listen. His heart beats against my back ribs. His silent instructions provide constant guidance. Together we land one, two, three blows to the punching bag.

“Saying Joseph, my father”—growl—“is a bastard, would be underplaying what a monster he truly is.” We switch legs a second time, right forward, left back. Rome nudges my feet inward, just the smallest angle, then squeezes my right bicep. “What I’m showing you now is called a jab. You’re right-handed, so that’s where you’ll start.”

There’s no rushing Rome. I follow his lead, readying my body and my heart.

“A jab.” When I nod, the stubble hair on Rome’s cheek scrapes my cheek. He twists his head, pressing a soft kiss to my tattoo, and that’s it.

That’s all I could ever need.

“Yes. Right hand up to protect your chin. Always protect your face. That’s a good girl, sweetheart. Lean into the power in your hips and shoulders. Land that punch.” Once my gloved hand connects to the punching bag, Rome continues, “He’s sadistic. Abusive. He just is, for no reason whatsoever.”

“Some people are born monsters.” The anger doesn’t rise slowly. It’s erupting from deep within me. I’m so mad, I go at the punching bag myself.

Twice. I feel the small shocks and welcome the pain. Anything is better than the burning ache in my chest.

That’s what Rome meant when he said the pain on the outside helps. It’s a distraction.

“They are. My…mother, Elaine. She’d been enabling him for years.” Rome twists my upper body again, tugs my left arm close, pushing the right arm forward. “She let him lock food away. Never snuck not a single fucking breadcrumb when Anne and I had been starving. When Anne and I scratched at her walls and ate that because our bodies were so starved for calcium. Sometimes he made us throw up our food.”

A light sheen of sweat forms on my forehead. My heart beats at a manic, furious pace.

This isn’t the exercise doing that to me. It’s what he’s saying and all the things he doesn’t. It’s the images my mind conjures. The rage that fires through my muscles.

“Liam and Damien always brought extra food at school for me and Anne. Food I snuck in past my parents’ staff. I couldn’t bring her much, or they would’ve seen it hiding under the clothes I’d stuff at the bottom of my backpack. Liam’s parents had us over whenever my dad wouldn’t lock us in the house. When they were home.”

My forearms are slick. Rome isn’t bothered by it, doesn’t lose his grip on me as he guides my fists into the leather.

“School breaks were the worst. Joseph would either allow us out of the penthouse or not. He’d lock Anne and me in our separate bedrooms for hours, or not. A toss of a coin, that’s what it’d been like.”

Sweat pours down my cheeks, my face wet. It’s just sweat. I’m not crying. I’m not sobbing. I have no right to be this miserable. This hollow.

“I never asked him for food. Not a day in my fucking life.” The punching bag swings, and I realize it’s me doing it. Rome’s at my back, but I’m doing all the work. “I asked Elaine. I begged her to help Anne. She was useless. Wouldn’t go to the police with me, either. He has her wrapped around his little finger. She loves him. Still, I figured—”

Rome drags a long breath in. His fingers sink into my abdomen, his arms thrusting me into his chest. I stop moving. Stop breathing, I think. I’m here for Rome. I’m screaming inwardly, demanding he takes every piece of comfort I have to offer him.

Let him have all of me.

I hope he hears. I think he does, because his grip on me tightens. His lips go to the crook of my neck.

This beautiful, strong man groans. The sound is tortured. Agonized. It reaches into my stomach and twists.

Good, I think.Let me take it. Put it all on me.

“I figured she loved her kids too. At least one of them. I didn’t want her love. Gave up on it long before Anne was born. But Anne.” Rome’s palm burns me through my tank top. “Two days with nothing but water is a lifetime for a kid. She was so small. She’s eight years younger than me, and just as fierce. I mean, look at her now.”

Rome shakes his head, his laugh void of humor. Acrid.

“Look at her, what?” I whisper.

“She’d complain about her boss. About her work. Not once did she complain about being hungry.” His thumb brushes my navel, soft. Every other muscle of his body is strained. “By the time she was old enough to realize I’m just as skinny as she was, she wouldn’t accept food from me. She wouldn’t take a bite until I took one in front of her.”

“I hate them.” My lungs are full. I’m suffocating on pain. I shouldn’t be able to speak. Except it’s my rage that’s responsible for the words coming out of me. “I hate them, Rome.”

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