Chapter 9 #3
Because I'm seeing Lorcan's hands now. The same hands that wrapped around that girl's throat in the third-floor bathroom. The same hands that were trying to figure out how far he could push. How much she could take.
I take a breath. Recalibrate.
He walked away from the lifestyle. Buried it.
We both did.
Except… I didn't. I lied to him.
And even though I've never had any reason to suspect he was lying when he said he stopped, I never gave him any reason to suspect that I didn't stop either.
It's not like we hang out. I haven't even seen him in years. Our paths just don't cross these days. He's in Boston. And even before I was sent to Riverview, Pittsburgh is a very long fucking drive.
But in the 'now. Sitting here, watching the scene replay in my head—his hand on that girl's throat, her body going slack, the look on his face like he'd found God in the space between her pulse points when he came—I realize something I should've noticed years ago.
People who choke don't just stop.
Not when it's wired that deep.
Not when it's the thing that makes their brain light up like a fucking Christmas tree.
They might bury it. Repress it. White-knuckle their way through years of abstinence.
But they don't stop wanting it.
Ask me how I know.
"Giovanni." Jino's voice cuts through the spiral.
I look up.
He's closer now. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable except for the slight tightening around his eyes that means he's cataloging every micro-expression I'm failing to hide.
"This is what's happening to Emmaleen right now," Jino says, voice quiet but certain.
Clinical. Like he's laying out an autopsy report.
"She left the schoolroom. Walked upstairs knowing full well we were gonna find out—hell, more than that.
She wanted us to find out. She was counting up those demerits like a miser hoarding coins, Giovanni.
Every single one deliberate. Stacking them higher and higher until the weight of them crushed any chance she had of walking away clean. "
I let out a long breath. "And then, she didn't get her release."
"She didn't get her release," Jino echos.
"And she needs it." He nods. "Or the spiral will…" I don't have an answer. Or I do. An educated guess. But there's no possible way I can say it out loud.
"The spiral will devastate her, Giovanni.
Absolutely devastate her." Jino's voice drops lower, more urgent.
"We need to get her back. She needs to be back.
She needs her prison—her cage, her structure, her goddamn rules.
It's as natural to her as breathing. Hell, it's more natural to her than breathing.
This isn't just some random girl we shoved into a psychological conditioning program and broke down over a few weeks.
She's a natural submissive. A textbook case.
We didn't create that in her—we just gave her permission to want it.
Permission to respond to everything without guilt, without shame, without pretending she's something she's not.
And now she's with Lorcan fuckin' ó Fearghail.
Under his control. Isolated. With nothing but her unmet needs clawing at her from the inside out. "
He waits for me to agree. To give in. To say we will go scorched-earth on Lorcan. Fuck the Irish mob. Fuck the alliances. Fuck the consequences. We're gonna get her back and meet those damn needs if it's the last thing we do on this earth.
He waits for me to unleash the rage I've been holding back since the moment I realized she was gone. To let him mobilize every soldier, every weapon, every contact we have. To burn Boston to the ground if that's what it takes.
He waits for me to be the ruthless bastard everyone knows I am—the one who takes what's his, consequences be damned.
I want to do that. I do.
But I can't.
And Jino is not going to understand.
So I simply stand, adjust my suit coat, and say, "We'll revisit this at the twenty-four hour mark."
Jino's jaw tightens, but I keep going before he can interrupt.
"If Lorcan hasn't contacted me by then, I've got one chance—exactly one—to make him take my call.
One chance at him picking up another unknown number before he realizes it's me and lets it go to voicemail.
" I meet his eyes, let him see that this isn't negotiable.
"We're not going to waste it. We're not going scorched earth.
And we're absolutely not rolling heavy into Boston, ready to start a fucking war we can't finish. "
"Giovanni—"
"I have to give Lorcan the opportunity to make this right." My voice drops lower, harder. "It's not up for discussion."
The silence that follows is volcanic. Jino's entire body radiates fury—the kind that's been building since the moment we realized she was gone, compressed into something explosive.
But I don't stay to witness the eruption.
I turn and walk out.
Behind me, something crashes against the wall—porcelain, maybe glass—shattering into a thousand pieces that scatter across the hardwood floor like shrapnel.
I just keep walking.