Page 99 of Quinlan

“Your half-brother isn’t a good man.” Getting out the words is a struggle; I can hear it in his voice.

Confessing the truth.

I tilt my head up to look at him. The anger from before, the intensity, they’re gone. Vanished. The sharp lines of his face have smoothed over.

He really doesn’t hate me. He won’t hurt me.

His teeth on my body? It was a kink. But the way he’s touching me isn’t cruel. His confession about Rex isn’t an accusation.

It’s an explanation.

Interesting. The monster lets me into his softer side. Me.

Why? And why do I like this? Having him trust me?

He took me against my will. I should hate myself, and I’m calm around him.

Through my heavy eyes, I skim his beautiful face. His relaxed lips. The muscles on his forearms and biceps flex while he keeps rubbing my skull. It feels nice.

I’m still curious, and all I can do is frown.

“You asked why, Quinlan.”

“Right.” It takes me a moment to realize my mouth is hanging open. I clamp it shut in a pop.

The corners of his lips lift. For a single, confusing moment. The next, he’s serious.

“Has Rex ever told you what he”—Damien bites his bottom lip, shaking his head and growls—“was. What he did for a living before you were born?”

“He worked at Maeve’s. Always.” I’m starting to come down from the high, but it’s a slow landing. I’m sluggish. My eyes are heavy. “Like you would know. How old are you, even?”

“I do.” He doesn’t stop massaging me. “Thirty-four. Rome is my age. Liam’s two years younger.”

“Okay.” Confusion pulls my brows low on my face. “You couldn’t have met him before, then. You’d have been eleven. Rex was twenty-three.”

“Yes.”

That’s it.

My eyes follow Damien as he walks around to the other side of the tub in complete silence. He reaches inside for the plug and drains some of the water that has gone cold.

Weird. I haven’t known him for long, but he doesn’t strike me as the silent type. This man always has something to say. A clever retort. A snarky comment. A command.

Yet he’s being quiet. The silence stretches, and Damien keeps moving around the bath. He starts the hot water again, from the handheld shower head this time. They pour out in a soft stream, and after Damien tests the temperature with his fingers, he returns to his place behind me.

“Deep breath. Close your eyes.”

When I do, magic happens. His fingers are there to remove the suds of shampoo off my hair, and his touch is…divine.

“Good girl.”

Nothing’s harsh about him, nothing at all. He disarms me of my anger at being kidnapped, of being manipulated. Damn him, I like it even more when he applies conditioner and washes it off.

I’m clean from head to toe, and he still hasn’t explained anything. I haven’t pressed him for answers during these long minutes.

Truth is, I’m dreading the moment he will.

“Come here.” My legs are wobbly, and he helps me up. He places my hands on his shoulders, not caring that they’re wet. His only concern is that I get out of the bath without tripping all over myself.

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