Page 23 of Quinlan

One week and she’ll be ours.

Not like it matters. She’s just another step of the plan. She couldn’t and shouldn’t matter.

My friends and our revenge do. That’s that.

“Do you think he went to see her?” Liam’s voice has my eyes snapping to him.

“Maybe. Probably.” I swing an arm over the back of the sofa. Turn to look at the outside world where Liam aims his gaze.

The river is almost black at night. It’s murky, alluring, in a sense.

Darkness used to scare me. Darkness was a picture-perfect penthouse with thousand-dollar chandeliers and spotless white and gold marble floors. Darkness was an abusive father that starved his children for fun.

Those days are gone. I own that bitch.

Fists. Blood. Pain. I’m the darkness.

“He wouldn’t have done it without at least mentioning it.” Liam sounds convinced. “Maybe he’s out shopping.”

“Maybe.” I place my phone away and study him. One of his bare feet taps on the hand-knotted blue and white wool rug. “Still pisses me off that he’s not answering.”

“Yeah.” Liam runs his fingers through his black hair. The wavy strands just fall back in place, on his forehead.

His unruly mid-length cut gives him a boyish look. However, confusing him for a boy is a mistake. Silent waters run deep and all that.

“Me too.” He doesn’t look pissed at all.

His fingers ghost the long, large scar across his cheek the way he does when he’s deep in thought. His gaze turns inward. Searching for a reason.

“Maybe he did go to meet her. It’s not like we weren’t going to do it a—”

“Honey, I’m home.” Damien cuts into Liam’s words. His voice is devoid of sarcasm. Of anything, really. He sounds like…nothing.

As hollow as the sound his keys make as they hit the ceramic console.

That grabs our attention. Our friend crosses the foyer toward us. Damien still wears the suit he had on at the office. A quick scan tells me it’s intact. Not a crease on the expensive fabric.

That means jack shit.

He could’ve gone to Quinlan. Could’ve played mind games without touching a hair on her head.

If anyone can do it, it’s Damien.

We sit in silence, the questions hanging in the air as he approaches.

Damien could’ve told Tatum where he was going before he took off. He didn’t. On top of that, he screened our calls and messages.

Questioning him would get us nowhere. Nothing’s stopping us from glowering at him, though.

I cross my arms over my chest. Liam crosses his as well while Damien takes a seat at the end of the sofa next to Liam.

For a couple of minutes, he’s silent. Placing an ankle over his knee, his bright eyes cross from Liam to me. His lips are sealed in a tight line. No smirking. No cracking a joke to break the tension.

He’s less of his version ofAmerica’s Sweetheartwhen it’s just the three of us. But this, this is new.

“I went to see her.” Damien comes out with it before my temper gets the better of me. Before I demand answers.

“This isn’t like when she was younger. When you stayed away. Youwanther. Have wanted her for years.” Liam goes for the kill. The man’s worse at chit-chat than I am. “You didn’t check inwith us, so you had to have talked to her. Had to have touched her. This wasn’t the plan.”

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