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“What thefuckdid you do?”
Everything. Nothing. All the wrong things. But I don’t get a chance to try and figure out how to respond, because his fist collides with my jaw, and my head whips to the side. I stumble into the wall.
I deserved that.
“What did you do?” he shouts, hitting me again.
And I let him.
But his fists do little to erase the agony that’s settled inside of me. The pain that bursts inside of me as my lip splits doesn’t erase the memory of how sweetly she looked at me. How soft her fingers were against my jaw. How fragile she was beneath me. How much I loved it. How much I wanted to stay. His punches don’t turn back time. They don’t give me the chance to fix what I’ve fucked up.
It’s a punishment, and I take it without protest because I broke my promise.
Mom only asked me to do one thing, and I’ve royally fucked up. She’d be so disappointed, disgusted by my actions. Without that promise, what good am I? I built myself around my vow. I spent years trying to make her proud. Shame rolls through me as Dylan hits me again.
Austin pulls him back, stopping a punch that would have surely bruised my ribs. “Stop,” he tells Dylan, yanking him away from me. “Quinn.”
That’s all he has to say. Both of them lift their eyes to the top of the stairs. Quinn is standing there, wrapped in a towel, coated in descenting lotion. It’s almost laughable, because the entire house smells like her. There’s no hiding it now.
“Stop.” Her bottom lip trembles. There, at the crook of her neck, is my mark.
My head hangs in shame. Even now, she’s too good for me. Better than I’ve ever been. The bond should feel amazing. I should be proud. But all I feel is utter despair.
“You marked her?” Austin’s shock cuts through the room, slicing through me.
How can I respond? How can I make them understand, when I don’t even understand? There’s nothing to say. Nothing can excuse what I did. Nothing can make it better. I clench my jaw and shove away from the stairs, flying down them and out of the house. I’m in my car and tearing out of the neighborhood in a matter of seconds.
But there’s no running from what I’ve done.
Thirty
AUSTIN
I’ve never hated Brady before. I’ve been mad at him. I’ve wanted to shut him up. But I’ve never hated him. Until now. I watch Quinn stare at his retreating back, confusion, longing, anger, all of it etched across her features. Then there’s the sadness. It clings to her skin.
And now I know why.
She’s our scent match, and she’s been denying herself for years.
Quinn tears her gaze from the door, looking at me and Dylan. She doesn’t offer a smile, like usual. She doesn’t grin at me and call meChef. She’s closed herself off, crossing her arms over her chest, like she’s expecting a fight. Like she needs to protect herself.
If Brady wasn’t my brother, I’d kill him for hurting her.
I hate the steel in her eyes. I hate the hard set of her jaw.
“Are you hungry?” It’s the only way I know how to help right now.
Her face immediately softens, and tears brim those pretty eyes. “Yeah,” she whispers.
“He’s a fucking fool,” Dylan growls.
“I don’t want to talk about him. About any of it. I can’t”—she sucks in a shaky breath—“can’t deal with more rejection.”
I’m moving before I even realize it, stopping at the top stair, intentionally positioning her above me. She avoids looking at me. I grab her wrist and lift it to my nose, inhaling and finding it woefully devoid of her scent.
The day I stumbled upon her in the kitchen, I did the same thing. Then, I was disappointed; now, I’m hollow. Her perfume hangs in the air. The honey and musk clings to my skin, as if it knows it’s meant for me. But I can’t smell it on her. Her scent teases me, making me question my sanity. I can’t confirm it, even though I know it’s true. I know it’s her.
She’s the only omega here. She’s the only one.
