Page 21 of Quinlan

We own her. I’ll have the best time proving it to her.

My mouth ticks up to the side.

Can’t fucking wait.

One week.

One.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rome

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

Liam’s been at this for the past ten minutes. Playing with the lid of his gold Zippo without lighting it while we sit in our living room at home.

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

It doesn’t bother me. Never has. The background noise and his silence have been a constant in my life for years. That’s a part of who he is, meaning it’s a part of me.

He needs it, meaning I need it.

While another person might’ve asked him to stop, I don’t. I scroll through my emails, waiting for Damien’s reply. As always, I’m completely unaffected by the flick and snapping sounds as I sit here, on the opposite sofa.

I watch him for a couple of seconds, running my hand over my light brown buzz cut. Giving him an opening. Waiting to see if he wants to talk.

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

No, it is. I turn my attention back to my work emails.

He’ll talk when he’s ready. He’s nervous. Understandably so. Damien went AWOL. We’ll start our rounds of visiting Quinlan this week.

Our plan is shaping into a real thing. After over twenty-three years of plotting.

The ideas we scribbled on a worn-out notebook. The late-night meetings. The stalking. The acquisitions we made on behalf of BLF Capital.

This is it.

We’ve been meticulous. Putting one brick on top of the other. Layers of cement gluing them together. Rain and shine and daily struggles.

I’m ready. So goddamn ready to use my fists. My muscles. My money.

We’re going to wreak havoc. Draw blood.

My body hums at the prospect.

The gym in our building has been an outlet for all this pent-up, violent energy within me. Liam runs. He lifts weights. It can’t be as relieving as kicking the shit out of a punching bag. Maybe he’s nervous about killing people, as bad as they are.

My eyes slide up to him.

We both changed from our work suits, both wearing a pair of loose jeans and T-shirts. His is white, mine black. We didn’t coordinate. It’s just how it is after living together for the past five years. We sync.

His eyes, though, they’re distant. Despite the way they glow in the soft light of the floor lamp, Liam’s far away.

It’s Damien he’s worried over, not our plan. I see that the longer I stare. Damien disappearing is the only unknown in this equation.

He’s never done that. Neither of us has. We’re honest with each other. Committed. Transparent. Otherwise, we wouldn’thave signed a contract to bind the three of us together. We wouldn’t have conspired to end our tormentors without a deep level of trust.

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