Page 211 of Quinlan

Red. My whole fucking world is red. That’s the color of revenge, of the need to protect what’s mine.

Joseph stumbles back, doesn’t make it far. I bat the phone out of his hand.

His throat is in my hand, my face in his. This isn’t how I choke Quinlan. I’m not being careful with his windpipe.

Quite the opposite.

“Don’t you dare talk to her,” is the first thing I say, hauling him closer. “This is about you and me.”

He clutches at my T-shirt. “About you going to prison.”

“This again?” I shake him. “You really think I’ve waited all these years to end up in prison?”

Joseph is a couple of inches shorter than I am. His idea of working out is playing golf with his rich buddies. He struggles in my hold, his fingers rising higher to claw at my hand as he gasps for air.

The smell of his fear is intoxicating.

“Answer me.”

When I shake him a second time, that’s when his new reality sinks in. His pupils are huge. His forehead glistens with a sheen of sweat.

That doesn’t stop him from testing me. “You won’t g-get away with this. You’ll die in prison.”

“What’s that,Dad? You’re worried about me all of a sudden?” The adrenaline rushing through my veins nearly blinds me. I’m drowning in it. “Don’t. You worry about staying alive long enough for me to shatter every bone in your body.”

I’ll never forget this. The first punch to Joseph’s cheekbone, to the area below his eye. The way my bloodied knuckles crack against bone. The way righteousness isn’t a word anymore, it’s a feeling.

“Leave him alone,” Elaine sobs.

Sobs.

For the twenty-six years we’d lived here, she hadn’t shed one goddamn tear over Anne or me.

She was either angry or annoyed. When Anne cried too loud. When we started BLF, and I could afford taking my sister out to restaurants whenever they let her out of the house. They never caught me, but Anne gained weight. They made her throw up, but not always. Not all the time.

Elaine scolded me for the new clothes she had to buy my sister. Acted like she was doing me a favor by not snitching to ourfather.

“No.” My fist lands on the same place on his face, thecracksomehow louder than before. I must’ve broken a bone, or maybe just cracked it. That’s fine. We have time to do more damage. “You’re getting what you deserve, old man.”

I toss him on the floor, and he lands there like a pile of old, sweaty clothes. He’s quick to school his bewildered expression. His hands—fuck yes—they betray his fear, flying up to protect his face.

Anne laughs, and it sounds the craziest of all her laughs up until this moment. Nothing wrong with that.

Hell, I don’t feel all thatnormalmyself. Whatever that means.

“That’s a lie. You’ll never get everything you deserve.” I’m on my knees, one hand around his throat, connecting my fist to his ribs. One, two, three. A hundred times. “It’s unfortunate that I’ll have to settle for”—I grip his wrists, wrenching his hands off his face—“just a few punches. You’ll be dead in no time. Truly unfortunate.”

Someone’s watching me. Calling for my attention.

Not Anne. She’s over at my side, crouched over Elaine, who she threw on the floor. She pokes the tip of a dip pen into Elaine’s throat.Stab.Stab.Stab. The bitch keeps sobbing and screaming. There are already five holes there. Blood trickles down, tainting the collar of her blouse. The floor.

Anne’s not the one who’s looking at me. In fact, she’s doing great. When we talked on the phone the other day, I didn’t know how much she needed this. I’m glad she convinced me to bring her with us.

This leaves my friends. My Quinlan.

Joseph groans, miserable beneath me. Reminding me why I’m here.

Carnage. I’m there. So fucking ready.

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