Page 213 of Quinlan

The morning I walked into her room. My little sister chewed on the wall. On a piece of paper from her notebook. Just to have something—anything—to pad her very empty stomach.

“Stop,” Joseph groans when I’m taking a break from his face to yank his shoulder out of place. “Kill me, please.”

“Hmm.”

The day he was home early and emptied my bag. He threw away the food Damien or Liam brought me. I saved that for Anne.

I was so skinny. Couldn’t fend for my sister. Before she came into the world, there were days I wished for death. I didn’t understand the meaning of it. I only wanted the constant pain and the humiliation of being neglected to go away.

Until I had another person to look after.

“Stop.”

“Stop?” I laugh. I mock him. I pull out his other shoulder to a nauseating yet oh-so-pleasing cracking sound. “We’re having so much fun, though. Father and son bonding. Why would I ever stop?”

I do have to stop, though, at some point. We’re on a deadline.

“Anne, bring her over here.”

The woman who supported Joseph’s sick, sadistic idea of fun. The pathetic excuse of a mother who called up every favor they had to stop me from becoming Anne’s legal guardian the day I turned eighteen. Joseph punished both Anne and me for entertaining the idea. The bastard locked us in separate rooms, denied us food for three days straight. Didn’t matter that Damien and Liam pounded on the door to our home. Took advantage of the fact that I forbade them from calling the police. Joseph would’ve kicked me out if I did that. That was the only way I could stay close to Anne.

“Come, come, bitch.” Elaine doesn’t put up a fight as Anne drags her the short distance over to me.

Joseph coughs, screams. Of course he does. I’m ruthless, throwing his arms over his head. Holding him down by the wrists. His shoulders must be on fire.

“Throw her on top of his arms.” I look at Anne, my cruelty reflecting in her eyes. “I need them to stay pinned to the floor for this.”

“Yes, brother.” Anne follows my directions.

Elaine—who seems to have passed out—collapses on top of him. He squeals, wriggles his body.

He’s not moving anywhere.

Anne crouches beside me, ignoring Joseph’s curses. “Quinlan said she’d help if we needed her. On the drive over.”

I swallow. Hard. Anne’s considering this. She’s officially welcomed Quinlan to our family. And all it’s taken was, what? An hour together?

It was meant to be. We were meant to be.

“What about you? Do you need her?” I whisper, not letting on how much I do, in fact, need Quinlan. How…wholesomeit’d be for her to be a part of it.

My opinion could affect Anne’s answer. And this isn’t just about me. Hasn’t been since I became a big brother.

Anne whirls a lock of hair around her finger. The blood that’s dried on said finger isn’t hers. It’s Elaine’s, and my sister smears it on her hair.

Her eyes aren’t distant, though. She’s present for this. No one’s ever died from temporary insanity, so I guess it’s fine.

More than that. She’s having fun. Yeah, that’s the word for it.

“Need?” Anne pushes the bloodied finger into the hollowed part where Joseph’s arm used to be connected to his body.

He winces, the sadistic fucker, and the movement shifts Elaine on his arms. He screams again at the new pressure.

Good.

“Such a crybaby.” Anne rolls her eyes. “Anyway. I think we’re handling it. Except…” She looks over her shoulder, at the three people behind us. “We’re not alone anymore, Rome. He doesn’t have the power over us, either. We don’t have to do it by ourselves.”

“Anyone interested in fucking them up? With us?” I glance at them, swallowing around the damned emotion in my throat. “They’re still breathing.”

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