Page 194 of Quinlan

“That makes five of us.” He spins me toward him, ripping the gloves off my hands.

Taking my eyes off him is impossible. Rome stares down at my gloves while he tears at the Velcro, and I can’t stop looking at the face I’ve missed over the last few minutes.

The gloves are off and he snaps his head up, almost knocking me over with his intensity.

I stay right where I am. My muscles burn. Knees weak. Tremors coursing through me.

I do not move.

For him.

His hand rises to my sweaty, tear-streaked cheek, his thumb presses to my tattoo.

Dark, stormy eyes search mine. “No pity.”

“No pity.” I steel myself. Doesn’t take much to show him every ounce of hate I have in me.

“Good girl.” He leans in to kiss me, to bite me.

His hands are manacles around my neck. My arms link around his.

I’m furious. I’m murderous.

But until it’s time to act, there’s not much to do other than…

Kiss Rome back.

So I do.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Rome

“What’s this knife for,little flame?”

Quinlan’s shoulders hunch up at Liam’s voice.

Sure, he’s turned sneaking and stalked into a form of art. Except he hasn’t been watching Quinlan alone for the past three minutes. We have, together, arms crossed over our chests, spying on her every movement.

We didn’t mean to, but when she slipped into the shower before our alarm went off, we were curious. Of course, the three of us woke up the moment she got out of bed. We’re light sleepers and we feel her. And trust that her absence was felt.

We let her do her thing. Put on the white T-shirt and dark leggings we left out for her last night, then tiptoe her way out of the room and down the stairs.

Joseph and Elaine Langford were the last thing on my mind when Liam, Damien and I got up and hit the showers. They were supposed to be there, front and center, since I was about to kill them and all.

Quinlan. Sneaky Quinlan. Thoughts of her took center stage in my head. In my heart.

In a matter of minutes, the three of us were clean, dressed in jeans and T-shirts. BLF Capital’s offices were closed for the day, and we had a couple of hours to kill before the story about Joseph Langford’s corrupt ways would break.

And now we’re here, where we’ve been for the past five minutes. Studying this exquisite creator that’s consumed by the six chef’s knives that sit in their knife block.

Quinlan has gripped each one and ran her thumb along the sharp edges, the tips, the points. They weren’t a kitchen tool in her head. They looked like murder weapons.

She swirled each of them around in the light, fisted the handle. It took immense effort to keep quiet when she raised her arm and sliced the blade through the air.

This woman.

After the fifth knife, she found the right one.

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