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My stomach twists, and the need to retch thrusts bile up my throat, making the thought twice the jagged pill to swallow.
For all intents and purposes, I strictly play along with the notion that Curty is Jack’s boy, as if there’s no doubt. It’s the only way to stay safe. But the thought of that monster having achieved his sick mission to tear Quin and me apart is a cross I can’t bear, and the saving grace that helps get me through every day is telling myself Quin beat him to the punch. To wake up every day and keep going, I need to believe Quin and I pulled one over on the man who ruined our lives — that at leastpartof my life is what I wanted and chose.
Jack Montgomery is an evil, abusive asshole with too much power, and the only way he got inside me was with death threats, blackmail, and the use of restraints, to keep me from gouging his eyes out while he made me take his seed.
Quin, on the other hand… I’d volunteer to have his kids any day of the week — tomorrow, if I was permitted to get within ten feet of him.
I rub one ankle against the other, as the bracelet there comes into my conscious awareness. It looks decorative, but it serves a much uglier purpose.
It’s a tracker, and although the clasp appears functional, it’ll take a pair of bolt cutters to remove the thing. Which won’t be happening, because death will arrive on my doorstep within a minute to claim me — just as it will if this bracelet doesn’t remain at least the prescribed distance from Quin’s irremovable watch. It’sgame over, then. For one or all three of us.
For Curty’s sake, we’ll never take that risk.
So we live parallel lives. Never coming together. Never touching.
But I dream about being free of this curse. More so in the night, when Quin invades my thoughts most, and I remember his loving touch while my fingers trail over my skin in the dark.
“Mom?”
Curty tugs at my hand, to keep me from walking out the front door of the Montgomery Enterprises building, where Thaddy lives. I look down, snort, and tidy his ginger hair out of his eyes. “What’s up, Ratbag?”
“I said,can Quin come over tomorrow?”
I blink at him a few times, flooded with the realization that Quin and I just agreed to do the riskiest thing we’ve done in ten years without properly thinking it through.Whoa. We really were affecting each other if we were that careless.
With the clarity of some more distance giving me the ability to redirect my swoony thoughts away from riding the massive erection he tried to hide, I’m quick to comprehend that his spending time at our house will not be an easy process.
“Tomorrow?” I squeak.
Curty nods. “It’s Sunday, so Jack won’t need him, right?”
Jack.
None of them ever call that manDad. Sixteen sons, and not one of them wants to admit where they came from.
“Um… I’ll need to check some things first,” I say slowly, as my mind fully releases its daydream. “Did Quin say he’d be free? It’s a bit short notice. He probably already has plans.”
Curty stares at me. “But if he doesn’t, can he come over? He said to check timing with you.”
“Right.” I think about it a moment. I would have appreciated more time to prepare myself for Quin’s visit, but what do I even do on weekends? Clean the house? Catch up on some laundry and meal-prep for the week? I’ll be able to stay out of their way while they bond over wood and nails — Quin’s going to love that. He always wanted to be a carpenter, but Jack had other ideas.
Fucking Jack.
I wish he’d hurry up and die.
I’m so tired of him, making us live such a warped fraction of the life we wanted. He’s so fucking smug, always thinking he’s top dog. Well, if this lowly bitch gets thrown some scraps, she’s going to claim them.
We only get one life, and this treehouse business might be the closest Quin, Curty, and I will ever come to being the family unit I wish we were.
“Tomorrow’s great,” I say, before I can think about how hard it’ll be to have Quin so close and still not be able to touch him. “And if he’s not free tomorrow, we’ll find a day he is andmakeit happen.”
HOW IT ALL BEGAN…
3
QUIN
She surprised me. In every sense of the word.
