Page 195 of Quinlan

“You’ll do,” she whispered to the blade. The metal glinted in the early morning sun, telling her that yes, it’ll do.

Will do?

We’re about to have our answer.

Quinlan spins to us, leaning on the counter.

Without letting go of the knife.

“Just in case.” She’s beautiful. Breathtaking. Even that’s an understatement.

Objectively, she’s the most gorgeous woman to exist. Wild, sandy hair flowing down the front of her body. Her clothes hug her soft curves. Pink cheeks and full lips.

Perfect.

But it’s what shines from inside her that gets my cock hard. That taunting glimmer behind her gray eyes that makes me forget the world. In a little over an hour, my life will change irrevocably. And I don’t care.

With Quinlan here, I just want to be done with it.

On those days, weeks and months that I’d fantasized what today, this scenario has never come to mind.

Controlled. Poised. Bloodthirsty. Impatient. I’ve been so sure that’s all I have in me. All I have to offer the world.

Which I am. I’m also possessive, mesmerized, and hot when I absolutely shouldn’t be.

Anne will walk through the doors to our penthouse in a few hours to join us. Then we’re off to our old home.

I can’t afford this distraction.

Can’t ignore it, either.

Don’t want to.

“In case what, sweetheart?” I’m at her side, my hand curling around the wrist of the hand holding the knife, thumb pressing to her pulse point.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

It’s raging beneath my finger. Her pupils are huge.

Quinlan grips the knife tighter. Her knuckles are white with how much she’s clinging to it.

“Yes, darling.” Damien’s at her other side, twisting her so he’s behind her. He brushes her hair to the side, then his hands are at her waist, mouth pressed to her neck. Smiling. “Tell us, what would you need a knife for? In case what, exactly?”

Quinlan shivers when he bites her, but she collects herself and lifts her chin. Her gaze clashes with mine, and there she is. The fierce girl who kicked the punching bag’s ass yesterday. Who listened to me. Who demanded to commit murders for me.

“You might ask for my help.” Her shoulders are squared, as if we’re not cornering her.

When I raise an eyebrow, she adds, “Killing your parents. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to do it alone. I’d punch them”—Quinlan lifts a fist between us, flexing her bicep and being sofucking adorable—“but I’m a few lessons short. I can’t use my guns. Yet. Hence the knife.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

We were supposed to keep her as our captive. I’d been obsessed with her, sure. Couldn’t stop thinking about what it’d be like to have this woman here, making her ours.

But everything was supposed to be intense. Serious.

Laughing? I can’t be laughing. This is wrong.

It’s what I have.

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