Page 8 of Wicked S.O.B.

I’m losing her.

I’m not ready.

“I love you.”

The words make her breath catch. An instant later, her eyes go bright with unshed tears. “I love you too.”

“I love you,” I repeat, but I know something is missing. Something inside me is too fucking terrified each time I utter those words. And I know she feels it. Just as I know it’s become a problem.

“I know, Quinn.”

“Do you?”

She nods.

“How?”

“Because I feel it. Here.” She takes my hand and presses it to her heart. But she’s still wearing that sadness like a cloak.

“But?”

She inhales deeply, and her fingers drift over my mouth. “I don’t want to fight—”

“But?”

“But I know you’re trying to contain it. You’re trying to handle it, put it in a box that you can visit when you think you need it. Or when you thinkIneed it.”

“No—”

“Yes. I love youallthe time, Quinn. I know the difference.”

Icy-cold terror spreads through me. “That’s bullshit, Elyse. I can’t fucking breathe when you’re not with me. What the hell is that if not love?”

“It’s love. It’s also obsession. A loss of control. And a lack of trust in what we have.”

“I see the good doctor’s been filling your head with bullshit again. Is that what he said to you on Friday morning? Is that why you didn’t call me all weekend?”

“I texted you almost every hour, Quinn. We agreed not to call because you didn’t want to disturb my time with Petra.”

Petra. Her sister, and the reason for her two-day absence that almost tipped me over the edge. Another subject I haven’t been able to reconcile myself with fully.

When we met a little over a year ago, Elyse was on the run from an asshole pimp who turned out to also be her biological father. By some insane set of coincidences, she was drawn into my orbit when I needed a final player in my game of revenge against my father, and she needed money to buy back her freedom and Petra’s safety.

The nightmare of nearly losing her to Clayton Getty still haunts me. But that’s just one of the many fucked-up battles raging in my head. It’s the reason I haven’t been able to meet Petra yet. Well, that and Dr. Fucking Freeman’s recommendation that meeting my lover’s sister wasn’t the best idea in the world right now.

In my better days, when a modicum of rationality shines through the dense fog of fuckery that is my mind, I even agree with his recommendation.

Elyse fought for a sister who is still alive. I fought to avenge a mother who was dead. I’m not sure why that difference grips me so hard. Maybe I’m jealous? Or maybe I don’t want to contaminate Petra with my filth. But the thought of meeting her terrifies me.

And I’m nowhere near “healed” enough to take on another relationship. Not when I’m already fucking up the only one I have.

“Tell me about Petra. How is she doing?”

Her face relaxes as the tension leaves her body. We’re nowhere near done talking about us, but I need something else to dilute the cold dread lodged in my stomach.

“She’s amazing. She’s gotten even better at horseback riding since I last saw her. Doris thinks she’s going to make an excellent show jumper one day. Paul is quietly terrified that she’ll fall and hurt herself. He’s trying to steer her toward becoming a vet.”

I can’t take my eyes off her beautifully animated face as she speaks of Petra’s adoptive parents. As she speaks of the love she has for another person besides me. I concluded I was a selfish asshole a long time ago. That conclusion hasn’t altered. Dr. Freeman wants me to work on that. It’s one of the many things that pisses me off about our shrink. “And you?” I force myself to ask. “What do you think?”

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