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“I’ll be okay,” I whisper, but we both know I’m lying.
“You’re so beautiful you’d stick out like a sore thumb. You did at the auction. Don’t try to deny it. Everyone who looked at you wanted you, Fiona. You’d be snatched up before you reached the end of the street.”
“I could wear a disguise,” I suggest helpfully, but Quinn just shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, Fiona. I know you’ve been through hell and this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but this is your life now. This ship,” he motions around the room. “This is your home now. You don’t get a choice.”
“I don’t want to stay on your ship,” I whisper. “I want to be free.”
“Freedom is an option that left when you were taken,” Quinn says. “That’s not something you’re going to experience again for a very, very long time.”
“But,” I say again, protesting lightly.
“I’m sorry, Fiona,” he says. This time, he pushes me gently away and stands up. “You aren’t going anywhere. I purchased you and I spent a lot of money on you. I spent more than I’m willing to walk away from. That’s what setting you free would be: walking away from cash.”
“But my family,” I say, struggling to find words. The tears are blurring my eyes and that makes it harder to think. “They have money,” I insist. “I have a bank account. I can pay you back,” I say. “Please.”
He walks to the door and I throw my body at his feet. I hit the floor and cry out when my palms hit the hard tile.
“Please,” I cry louder, harder. I grab his ankles and look up at him through my tear-streaked face. “Please.”
Only it doesn’t matter.
Any hope I had for Quinn showing me mercy vanishes as he pushes me away with his foot, and then he leaves the room.
Emptiness consumes me, and I start to scream.
Chapter 12
Quinn
So I’m the biggest fucking asshole in the world.
In case anyone was wondering, or competing, you might as well not waste your time. It’s me. I’m the jerk.
Fuck.
I head down the hallway, but I can’t escape from the sounds of her screams. Apparently, the bedroom is much less soundproof than I originally thought because I can hear all of her.
I can hear all of it.
I can hear her cries of desperation, and it fucking breaks me. I barely reach the control room before I start crying myself, and then I collapse on the floor. I haven’t heard anyone scream like that since Hedgar LeBlaie took my little sister.
I haven’t seen anything like that since he stole her away.
I remember lying in a pool of blood, dizzy and almost unconscious, completely unable to move. I remember being trapped and not being able to get up to rescue her. I remember him hauling Hayden away.
Now, I realize I’m doing the same thing to Fiona. I’m capturing her, hurting her. I’m taking away her last shreds of hope and I hate that it makes me such a bad person. I hate that it makes me just as bad as the monster I’m trying to stop.
I hate that it makes me just as evil.
I hate that I’m hurting her.
The tears roll down my cheeks silently, but I refuse to let them make me feel like less of a man. That’s not who I am. I’m not breakable. I’m not weak. I’m not a child for crying.
I’m still a man and sometimes, when life hurts the most, sometimes men cry.
My brother taught me this years ago. One night, when the world felt like it was ending, Ezra pulled me into his arms and he told me, “Quinn, we all cry. What matters is what happens once you’re done crying. Are you going to get up, brush it off, and keep moving forward with your life? Or are you going to stay broken? That’s the true mark of a man. This isn’t going to break you. I won’t let it. I’ll be with you the entire time.”
