Page 90 of Quinlan

I’m sure he’s there, placing a hand on Rome’s shoulder. He’s good at that, at handling Rome’s anxiety.

I bury my trauma beneath layers and layers of confidence. Of laughter. My friends heard my stories. Saw the scars. The agony on my face while I’d been cut, slapped and kicked around—the screams I shouted while my foster siblings were tortured—they’re mine. I handle it by myself.

Liam and Rome always get the best version of me.

And while I’ll never be as attentive as Liam, I’m here for them. I offer a smile. An inappropriate joke. Just until the storm clouds pass.

“True. What is it, like”—I check out at the clock on the phone—“eleven? Is it really the right time for beef ragu?”

“There’s the lasagna she talked about in the fridge. I made cream cheese sandwiches,” Rome grits out.Come on, Liam. Dosomething.“Egg salad. Chicken salad. She likes those. We have pictures of her eating that. Did you tell her about everything, Damien? Did you show her to the fridge? The pantry?”

My dark blue sheets crumple in my death grip. My eyes close so I don’t see the beige wool rug under my feet or the bookshelves decorating my walls. I don’t deserve this luxury when he’s in so much pain.

Black. That’s what I see. The color of my frustration at my failure.

“She wasn’t exactly asking for a grand tour, Rome.” A wry laugh escapes. I want to save my friend and lack the words to do it. Fuck this. “I tried talking to her on the drive over and got nothing. When the elevator doors opened”—warmth seeps in at the memory, one I hope to transfer to Rome—“she asked, ‘Where’s my prison cell, asshole?’”

That was cute of her.

A laugh from Rome. Finally.

“Is that another joke?” he asks, his voice lighter. As much as Rome’s voice can lighten up.

“No.” I sit up straight, feeling a bit lighter myself. “Then she slammed the door to her room in my face.”

“You said something. Went too far,” Liam deadpans. He doesn’t chide me. Just states a fact.

“I did.” No use denying it. “Enough about me. I have it covered. What about you, L? What about Aria?”

Flick. Snap. Flick.

“Liam?” I repeat. “You didn’t go. Don’t you want to see her being miserable? We got her fired. She has nothing but debts and her miserable apartment. What’s going on?”

“What’s going on is fuck her,” he snaps. It’s harsher than the click of his Zippo when he shuts it. “I’ll watch her when it’stime.” Our code words for killing her. “Our private investigators won’t let her get away. That’s enough for me.”

“You’re passing on her humiliation. We have reports that she’s crying. You’ll love that, won’t he, Rome?”

Flick. Snap. Flick. Snap.

The sound is soft over the phone. Dulled. Silenced, almost. Like Liam was when Aria made it her mission to ruin his life.

I could go over there and slice her throat open. I’d do it. Except this isn’t my revenge to take.

“Maybe we should do this later.” The roles have reversed. Rome’s the one to be in charge of comforting Liam. “Liam, wecan take the day off. Reschedule the meeting we have in thirty. Fuck them.”

“No.” Liam clears his throat. Pulls it together. “No. They’re expecting us. Any sign of weakness, and DriverGone will pull out of the deal. They’ll take the other offer.”

He’s not wrong. We’ve been negotiating the terms of our acquisition for months. The small startup company is working on a chip that’s going to change the car world. A couple of guys in their twenties, and they’re already huge.

We know that. They don’t. They have no idea how big they can get with the right funding. No one does, other than Liam and his team and maybe our competitors.

We have the funds to turn their dreams into reality. But others have been snooping.

We have to be there for the meeting.

I would’ve gone, if not for the sweet captive we have locked up here.

The airtight contract I wrote will take my place in the meeting. Rome, Liam, Quinlan and I stand to be even more filthy rich than we have before.

---