Lee’s gaze held something far too close to a warning as he came closer. Quinn beamed, plastering on the smile and forcing it into her eyes as she presented her cheek. Waving her fingers at her white smeared lips she gave a self-conscious laugh.
“7:30, pet. Don’t be late,” Lee said, brushing his lips across the tear stained softness of her cheek.
“I won’t.”
As soon as Lee closed the door behind him, Quinn crumpled in on herself, grabbing hold of the vanity chair to keep upright. Lee was a man with rules harsher than any punishment Alton had ever doled out upon her flesh. Every interaction was ripe with overwhelming possibilities of Lee becoming dissatisfied, or worse, unhappy with her. The pressure to perform, to be the perfect Omega, was suffocating.
Taking one steadying breath after another, she slowed her heart to something nearing calm and stumbled to the bed. Belly full of an evil man’s seed, she clambered onto the mattress to sit in the middle of her nest. It was a glorious construction. The finest, softest fabrics she’d ever touched were worked into gentle hills and valleys that welcomed her. She had arranged everything about it just to her liking, every fluffed pillow and plush blanket meant to comfort and soothe.
She hated it.
It wasn’t strewn with the well scented fabrics of her mate. The scent of the Alpha keeping her was flat and lifeless. There was no one to soothe her with his very presence, no one to calm the ache. There was only a man who terrified and coddled her.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. He’d been clear he had no designs on being her mate, with no intention of taking the claim scarring her shoulder. She had no desire to be tied to a man that could make her heart and lungs stammer to a halt with a simple look. He saw to her needs, kept her full of his knot and enough come to keep her sane. Whether or not she was repulsed and frightened by him, Lee silenced the misery.
It didn’t make it any easier late at night when she was alone. Desperate, howling cries ricocheting inside her skull, her heart wrenching, tearing, clawed to shreds by some unknown force. Shivering, aching and unable to find solace in any direction, she spent the long nights sobbing into her fine, fluffy pillows. No one was there to soothe away the tears or fuck her into oblivion.
Curling up on her side, Quinn dragged a heavy quilt over her head and burrowed.
At least not being his mate, Lee felt confident taking her out and showing her off. Fine restaurants and theaters, museums and galleries, he’d whisked her through the polite society of Highriver. No one had said a word about the rough texture of her speech, only made polite laughter when she let a choice epithet slip. No one commented on her pregnancy, as if her huge belly did not exist. None questioned that not even one of the marks scarring her belonged to the man whose arm she decorated.
Things hadn’t been much different among the less genteel people Lee interacted with. There were no meetings in grungy warehouses or clandestine excursions into dank cellars for a man like him. A few of the faces changed, the venues a little less garish but no less opulent. Overall these men and women worked their crimes in the bright light of day. He didn’t hide what he did from her, neither the gilded skyscraper where he owned a lucrative company nor the more illicit ventures.
He enjoyed having her watch him work.
His favorite was in the pristine white room in the basement of his extravagant home. After mingling among the glittering people, dressed in the fanciest clothes, he’d take her down to the echoing space and sit her aside in a chair that had no business being as comfortable as it was. Had her watch as he rolled up his sleeves, explaining in his calm, authoritative manner that he liked to handle these things, lest people forget who and what he was.
Made her watch him rip a screaming man into pieces, bit by bit, until there was little more than a vivid smear on the gore strewn floor.
Women were only a little different, but he let his men do part of that work. He’d snuggle Quinn as Ilya and Darryl or Maurice and Randy worked the wailing female over. Lee would massage Quinn’s neck, fingers caressing over her belly as he asked her about her day. All the while the ghastly wet sounds of torn flesh and pain a cacophony in the background.
She soon learned just how much power Lee held, watching him interact with these people, seeing them all bow and scrape before him like a fucking king. It was easy to group Alton and Lee together, with their rules and expectations, the way they lorded their power over others. The way they used her, made their demands and expected her to smile. It was wrong to do so, though, the two men were as different as night and day. Alton had his empire of trash, but he was nothing compared to Lee.
Lee Grimes didn’t just run Highriver. He owned it and it owed him a debt. One he collected on as the mood suited him.
There was no denying there were benefits to this. Treated with a respect and reverence she’d never experienced before, people fell over themselves to see to her smallest needs. She’d been on more shopping trips in the last two months than she could remember being a part of her entire life. From baby furniture to lingerie, nothing was off limits. And she had gotten to pick her clothing. Granted it had been at fancy salons and boutiques that Lee approved of, but no one was playing dress up with her. Her yoga pants had upscale designer labels now, but she had several pairs to choose from.
She’d even picked out the ridiculous blue dress.
Strapless, with a sweetheart neckline and an empire waist, it strained against tits that had grown massive to her perturbed eye. The fluffy crinoline layers of the skirt that didn’t even skim her knees allowed for the obscene bulge of her third trimester stomach. She had thought it dainty perfection when she tried it on, full of chocolate and strawberries and Lee’s rumbling praise. It had been stupid.
Now she had to wear it.
Rubbing the heel of her palm against her chest as something burned and twisted, Quinn grumbled and dragged herself from her meandering thoughts. There was no reason to reflect on what had led to this point.
There was only this moment.
She could get through the next.
Crawling from the nest, she pulled on one of the beloved yoga pants, wriggling and hopping to drag the tight cotton up over her thighs. Hadler wanted her to gain another ten pounds, but at this rate she’d have to get a whole new wardrobe to accommodate it. Blowing a raspberry at her reflection, she threw on an oversized t-shirt and headed towards the door.
Breakfast would be good.
Except it wasn’t.
Seated at the end of the long formal table with her eggs growing cold, Quinn sat between Darryl and Ilya, Maurice taking up position near the head of the table. The ruined half of Darryl’s face was turned aside, but the bitter blue eye that stared at her dared her to show an ounce of pity or disgust at what had befallen his gorgeous features. He liked the fear he inspired, liked to taste it on their skin. Ilya stared at her breasts though there wasn’t much to see other than the deep curve of them beneath thick cotton. He had a thing for mothers, lactating in particular.
Maurice, by contrast, was the most controlled of them. He watched Quinn with an intensity that was unnerving but made no aggressive moves in her direction. He watched and waited. The blue-hued black of his skin pricked with vivid pink scars that trailed down his neck and peeked from the open collar of his shirt. An appropriated style, she’d once heard him boasting about his kills, each mark representing someone who had fallen to his knife.
