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“I don’t know,” I admit. “All I know is…I love you and it’s killing me.” I squeeze my eyes closed, the hot stream of tears scorching my cheeks. “I’m so wrong for you, but I can’t stop wanting you. You’re the only certain thing in my life.”
My parents died when I was in college. I never had anyone close to me after that—never wanted anyone close. The only certainty I could depend on was me. Until Quinn.
I can’t look. Keeping my eyes sealed, I refuse to see the disappointment and hurt I know he wears. The pain I’ve put there. He expels a heavy breath, filling the wary air between us with heartache, and that one action sounds so defeated—defeated and lost—my misery is complete.
“I’m taking you to bed.”
I open my eyes then, just in time to glimpse the smoldering of his irises. It steals what’s left of my strength, and when his hands capture my face, I fall into him. Off balance, giving myself over fully.
Quinn inhales deeply, resting his forehead to mine. I can feel the war raging within him—the fight between giving in to his heroic side, where he does enclose those arms around me and shelters me from my own sins, and doing what he believes is ultimately right.
Like the tattoo marking his chest; Quinn lives by a code. And that code leaves no room for a broken woman whose lax morals created the mess we’re facing.
“Look at me,” Quinn orders as he pulls away.
For a second, I savor the press of his hot breath against my lips before I cast my gaze upward.
“We’re not figuring this out tonight.” He brushes aside the trail of tears dampening my cheek. “You need rest.” He releases my face and his arms surround me, cradling me against his chest in one strong move.
I bury my face against him, desperate—unwilling to think of being removed. All too soon, though, I’m lying in his bed, where he pulls back the covers and tucks me beneath the cool sheets.
I clasp his hand as he’s turning away. “Stay.”
He doesn’t turn around, only squeezes my hand in answer, before he moves out of my touch. My heart constricts, my desperation flaring. “You said…”
He stalls at the lamp, waiting.
“You said even my scars were beautiful. But my scars aren’t just skin-deep, Quinn.” Maybe the scars marring my soul are too hideous, too tainted for him to see past.
He flips off the light. I watch him exit the room, leaving me to despise the silence.
11
Id
Alpha
Think about the thing you want most—the one thing that will fulfill you. Not the dream car, spouse, home, kids… Fuck the mundane. What is your greedy little black heart’s desire?
Now break it down. What would it take to obtain it? Chances are, there’s one common denominator for everyone: money. If you dream big enough, we’re talking a certain kind of money. A special brand of green.
Wealth.
There are seven billion people on the planet. A record high. And only a pocket of humans in existence can truly call themselves wealthy.
Why is this wealth not more evenly distributed across the globe?
Because when faced with the challenges put before them, most fail to overcome their obstacles. You have to tear down barriers, eradicate the competition, stop at nothing to obtain your goal.
Very few possess this quality.
Do you want to know the secret?
It is the id. The id is greedy by nature. The id wants what it wants and has no moral limitations. The id is the most basic, carnal aspect of our personality. It demands to be satisfied. Leave it to Freud to name this selfish beast, giving credence to our pleasure principle.
We all harbor this demon—but it’s only the select few who will feed it, nurture it, and benefit from it.
I think about the id often, whenever confronted with new challenges. Like a certain gluttonous leach who’s been feeding off my territory. Suckling at my empire. Slowly draining my revenue.
