Page 208 of Quinlan

Quinlan does. My hand closes on her cheek, hurting her the way she loves. “We’re going home. Right this fucking minute. Unless you start talking.”

“Rome.” She searches my eyes, frowning. “I was smiling. That’s all.”

A subtle shake of her head gets her talking.

“Fine.” A sigh, then her smile returns. “Is it sick that I have butterflies?” Quinlan’s large gray eyes look at me as the five of us start filing into the elevator. I’m still holding her. “It’s like I don’t even recognize myself anymore.”

“It’s hot is what it is.” Damien tugs on her hair.

“You don’t have to turn everything into—” Red travels up Quinlan’s neck and cheeks. She remembers that Anne’s here. Clears her throat. “I was talking to Rome.”

“He’s right. It is hot.” The elevator goes up. My blood boils and still, I have this moment to give her. “You’ve always been this person, sweetheart. Good and feisty and unhinged. You needed to stop surviving and start living to see that, that’s all. You’re not sick.”

“Sick is starving your children for the fuck of it,” Anne laughs, her pitch a tad too high. Guess I’m not the only one getting worked up. “Wanting them dead is justice.”

“Okay.” Just as Quinlan says that, the elevator reaches the top floor of the building.

We step out into the hall. The pounding between my ears is loud, but the rhythm is slow and consistent. Confident.

“We’ll keep her safe.” Liam slides his arm around Quinlan’s waist, tucking her into his side.

“What?” Her head whips toward him. “I’m not staying out here.”

Damien stands on her other side. “Of course you aren’t. No one will. We’ve been waiting for this for years.”

My thumb caresses the bandage on my right ring finger one time, and then I fish the penthouse key from my pocket. That was the easiest part to retrieve, thanks to their locksmith.

Anyway.

“Here we go,” Anne whispers. The metal glints under the glow of the overhead, expensive light fixtures of the hall. Her eyes shine brighter. “This is it, brother.”

This isn’t the right moment to hug anyone. This isn’t the time to feel any other thing than the need for revenge.

It really isn’t.

“Yes.” I hug my sister regardless.

“This ends today.” She pulls away.

“It is.”

The key fits in its hole. The lock gives in. One click, one push on the bronze handle, and the door opens.

My stomach roils that first second I step inside. This goddamn place hasn’t changed. The white marble floor is clean and inviting as the warm lights are. An original painting hangs on one of the walls of the foyer.

Antique wood furniture lines the other. There’ll be more of it throughout the place. They belonged to a Duchess from wherever the fuck. Whatever I had in my room, I broke andtarnished before I hauled my suitcase and my sister out of this hellhole.

This deceiving fucking hellhole.

Memories push their way up. They try to assault me.

I’m that kid again. Curled into a ball in the corner of my room after two days without food. My stomach was so empty. Elaine’s empty expression when I begged her to spare Anne.Anything, even dog food would do.

Fuck this. I push them back to where they belong. Far away where they’ll never bother me again.

No more.

“Why the hell do I pay you, you bunch of incompetent imbeciles?” my father shouts, his voice booming from the living room. Bouncing off the walls. This isn’t the tone he used on us when he announced there’ll be no food for the next few days. He isn’t calm. Not enjoying himself. “You’re my PR firm. Your job is—Shut up, idiot. Shut up and listen. Damage control is what you do, is it not?” The brief silence ends with a, “So fucking do it. Our stock will not plummet. No one’s removing me from my own company. No. One.”

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