Fresh, cold air hits me as I walk for the main house, bringing my brain back from the fog she’s induced. I glare at the structure, for some reason annoyed with its possessive hold on me. I shouldn’t be, but something about Emily’s fingers under mine makes these grounds feel as insidious and underhanded as they really are.

Nothing here is owned from real achievement, not like she does with her little business. We took it. My father did. He took this place as a repayment, just like I still take what is owed to us now. We have always taken. We scheme and coerce, forcing debts to be honoured in whatever way I now see fit. It’s still as it has always been, but now, walking across this path to get to the only woman I should give a fuck about, it feels uncomfortable.

It started last night when I found her crying in her fitful sleep, tears proving a test I’ve never felt before. They looked so pretty on her as she lay in that bed. They had a grace about them that doesn’t belong here. They weren’t tears of fear or recrimination for a stupidity that brought her here; they were from confusion. And rather than that fact, amuse me and make me play with her again, it distracted me. Enough so that I laid down beside her for a while and let her drift deeper into sleep.

An hour of dealing with Russian tantrums and two fucking guns aimed at me should have been enough to wind me into a frenzy. It should have left me desperate to fuck deep into her and rid myself of the angst. It didn’t. It made me feel something other than hatred, and that unusual sensation sent me straight to my bar for clarity.

None came.

The gravel crunches underfoot as I join the main drive and look up at my mother’s room. She’s up there, one hand stroking the curtain she’s tidying. She doesn’t see me. No eye contact. No acknowledgement for her boy. She just keeps fucking about with the material in her other world. I snort, wondering if Emily feels like she’s in another world. She is, one she doesn’t belong in. That fact was proved by my reaction to the Russians last night. The same reaction that just made me hit my own brother for daring to open his mouth in front of her, let alone being so familiar with her name by shortening it.

“Mr Cane?” I look to the right, noting Maria as she scurries to my side, alarm all over her face. “Your brother took your car.” I raise a brow at her then look behind me at the drive to see both mine and Nate’s cars gone, Josh’s still sitting there. “We tried to stop him but he—”

I wave her off and move towards the house again, a slight huff at the thought of him trashing my car coming from my lips. I don’t care. Perhaps I should, would have a week ago, but not now. Now I’m too busy trying to understand this feeling inside me, find some order in it. Some part of me might even admire his little attempt at retribution if I bother thinking about it. It shows more backbone than I give him credit for. He is our father’s son after all.

I stride through the hall, heading for the only comfort I’ve ever known. She won’t be there for any real sense of sanity, but she’s more genuine in some respects than any of the world around me. She’s the last honest, decent thing that lives here. It’s inevitable that the one time I need her guidance she’ll be elsewhere, but for once I’m hoping for some lucidity to come from her mouth.

The stairs take seconds, and before I’ve fully thought the words through I knock briefly and enter her room, the lock snapping back into place the moment I close the door.

She spins, venomous eyes raking over my frame, her hand reaching for a vase to her left.

“Mother?”

Her whole body softens, eyes suddenly becoming those of the woman who used to sing me to sleep.

“Quinn, baby. Look at you.” Her fingers leave the vase then, returning to her side as she walks forward a few paces. “Still so handsome. When did you grow up to be so big?” I smile back, watching as she finds that elegance she’s always possessed. “Quinn looks sad,” she says, the trail of her long red evening gown dragging the carpet. “What’s the matter? Tell mummy. I’m going out soon. You need a lullaby before bed?”

“No, Mother.”

“And you’re not even in your pyjamas yet. Your father will be grumpy.” I couldn’t give one fuck how grumpy my father is, or has ever been. Still, this mood is useable.

She moves off to the side, reaching for her shawl and a bag. I stare for a while, a smile on my face as she prepares for one of her imaginary nights out.

“Where to tonight, Mother?”

“The ballet,” she muses, her feet swaying from side to side. “You know how I love the ballet. We’re flying to New York. Maria will look after the three of you for a few days.” She wanders over to the long mirror, her fingers setting her diamond drop earrings in place as she gazes at her outfit. “It’s our anniversary. Your father always treats me to special dates when it’s an important night.” I sneer at the thought, remembering those other nights when he fucked the entirety of Chicago for fun. “Dates keep the romance alive, Quinn. Without romance there’s nothing to fight for. It all becomes pointless if the fun goes out of a relationship.” She drapes her gold shawl, straightening the matching diamond necklace beneath it. “You’ll understand one day when you’re old enough to fall in love.” She smiles at her finished effort and pats her hair, pushing the curls into place softly. “Love, Quinn,” she says, her head spinning back to me, “Is the only thing worth fighting for.”

I stare with little appreciation for whatever world she’s currently in. Love has been irrelevant to me for so long I can’t remember the feeling in any way.

“How did you know with Father?” She frowns at me, her eyes glazing slightly as she tries to understand my question. “That it was love, Mother.”

“Oh, silly boy.” She walks over and takes my hand, leading me to her bedroom. “You want to sleep in our bed tonight?” I shake my head, but she keeps pulling me to the four-poster until she sits on the comforter and pats the bed next to her. “You just know, Quinn. Love changes what you thought you knew. It’s not like the love for Mummy and Daddy.” She strokes my head, her nails scratching slightly as she tugs me down to her chest. “It’s a beautiful feeling. You’ll give everything for it one day. You change when the right one comes along.”

There’s quiet for a few minutes, nothing but the sound of her room and our breaths. It makes me remember a time when I wasn’t so hardened. Playful fights with two younger brothers. The smell of pancakes in the kitchen, both of those thoughts based in the English countryside where we used to live before this became our life.

The sudden ripping sensation that rakes at my scalp makes me grit my teeth, fists clenching before they do damage to the woman causing the pain. She turns me away from her, nails digging into the flesh on my neck as she yanks at me and then kicks out, screams breaking the quiet of a few seconds ago. My head lolls back, a sigh coming from me as I let myself take the brunt of her anger. She kicks again, her heel making contact with my shin, and then her weight’s gone. I look up, searching the room for her and find her at the other side of it, a book in her hand ready to attack me with it.

“You’re after more, aren’t you?” she spits, a scowl marring the reposed elegance of minutes ago, shawl hanging from her shoulder. She reaches for another book, one in each hand. “You’ve done enough, taken enough. My family’s fucking debt is paid.”

My eyes drop to the carpet. Debt paid.

Because of love.

“Mother?”

“Get the fuck out. Why can’t you leave me alone now? Why? I want to go home.”

“Please, Mother, calm down.”

“Fuck you and your family. You’ve had your fun. Let me go home to my boys.” The thought sickens me, my eyes trying to stay on the carpet rather than acknowledge her body for what it became. She stares, wild eyed, her chin still held high as she prepares for more men. “My family owes you nothing anymore.”

I take a step backward at that, and then another, my hands up in the air in some offering of contrition. She glares, books still poised and ready to launch at me.

“It’s alright, Mother. I’m leaving.”

She spits, the phlegm dribbling from her chin as she braves a step towards me and throws one of the books. I dodge it, wondering if I should or not. Perhaps a good attack at me would do her good, get the angst out, and calm her down. And then as quickly as the venom came, she looks like a lost soul again, her eyes beginning to temper and return to a calmer self.

“Quinn?” I stop, lowering my hands back into my pockets. “Why are you here? You should be in bed, young man.” She flicks her gaze to the book in her hand and smiles. “Did you bring this? Such a loving boy. You’ve always been like your father. Let’s read it, shall we?” She wanders to the bed, straightening her shawl again. “Quickly, come on. He’ll be here soon to pick me up. We’re going to the ballet.” My feet back away slowly, a sneer etched onto my mouth as I watch her settle on the bed, until I turn and head for the door.

I’m nothing like my father.

The lock clicks behind me and I look along the landing, following the lines of the walls that lead to his room. I could go and show him how much I’m not like him, finish the fucker. The gun under this suit gives as few fucks for his existence as I do. There are no qualms here, barely any sense of loyalty to him anymore. There are only four members of this family as far as I’m concerned. His relevance to my thoughts has become nothing but bitter memories of a man who dropped his guard so badly that my mother, his wife, had to pay the price.

My gaze drops to the balcony and stairs, the lavish decoration highlighting the money this family has achieved with its constant corruption and dishonesty.

It tips my lips, a true smile coming with the thought of how solid we now are, because of me. Nothing can touch us. No enemies I haven’t got covered. No threat. No need for any retribution or repayment of debts.

I pull in a breath and listen to the sudden scream and thud of flesh against wood behind me, my mother’s body trying to break through the wood encasing her insanity. Nothing will do that to us again. There’s nothing coming for me that I’m not ten steps ahead of. I’m in control of everything that my father couldn’t govern. I was within a year of taking over. We’re safe now. Contained. Able to breathe a little more calmly than we did back then.

Firm strides lead me away from him, narrowed eyes finally leaving the landing as I reach the bottom steps and head for the entrance hall. I pass Maria as I go and nod her upstairs to my mother. Not that she needs to be told. She’s always there, protecting her from self harm.

For now, though, regardless of the state I’ve left her in, it’s time to leave this godforsaken heap and live my life for a while. Try to understand this sentiment Emily brings out of me. Use it maybe. It’s confusing to me, bringing a sense of discord to what is normally so simplistic. Numbers and death. Charts and money. And yet, with her around, I’m slowly feeling trapped in unclear territory, as if the feds are on my ass for something they’ve got over my head. They haven’t got anything on me. They’ve got nothing on any of us, but that’s the feeling that’s tainting the clear air I walk out into.

I stare at Josh’s car, considering why Emily affects me in ways she shouldn’t. She’s just another woman. Just another pussy to delve into. But the way she held that ice on my hand, the way my own hand touched hers was fuck all to do with pussy. That’s emotion and interest in something that does not belong in my world.

Minutes pass and I find myself pressing the Lamborghini's lock, the door rising upwards in front of my eyes. I don’t know what I’m doing, but Mother said romance was important, that I’d know love when it hit me.

Maybe that’s what this is. It’s not fucking wanted. She should stay locked in that house, be sent back to England even. Women like Emily don’t belong here, irrespective of my need for those innocent eyes to connect with mine.

The engine revs, the purr of it reminding me of youth and unencumbered thoughts before I became head of this enterprise. I stare at the main house then flick my gaze down the drive towards mine. I can smell her in there, even from here, see her as she wanders aimlessly. Confused and alone. It makes me spin the wheel, purposely focused on getting the fuck out of here for a while, and hit the accelerator so hard gravels flies out behind me. I snort, amused at my childish actions. Fuck. Where the fuck am I going? I’m Quinn Cane for fuck’s sake. And what? This woman is controlling how I act? Screw that.

I floor the damn car back in her direction, both irritated and elated at the thought of taking her with me. I don’t know where to. Who gives a fuck? We’ll just go on one of those dates Mother talks so fondly of. She can take some fucking photos or some shit. Smile.

The brakes slam on and the car rakes the gravel up again, the slide of the back wheels landing me precisely where I aimed for. I’m out and barging through the front door before I’ve thought rationally about anything.

“Emily?” I shout, not seeing her anywhere. She rounds a corner in front of me, the cream jumper and leggings making her appear cute for a reason I choose not to think about. “We’re going out.”

She stops, her eyes widening as I march over to her and grab her by the arm, dragging her back out and towards the car.

“Out? But I haven’t got any shoes on. I’m barely dressed, Quinn.” I couldn’t give one fuck about shoes. We’ll get some while we’re out.

I shove her towards the car then round to the other side to get in myself. I’ll take her somewhere to get some shoes, and a coat. Whatever the fuck she needs, we’ll get later.

There’s silence as the car screams out of the drive, more dust flying into the air. It’s the most irrational behaviour I’ve ever given in to. It makes me feel like I’m seventeen again, a smile tipping the corner of my mouth as we head out onto the freeway and I rev the damn thing faster.

She doesn’t speak. There’s nothing but the occasional gasp, her fingers clinging on to the seat as if we’re about to crash any second. We might. For once I don’t give a fuck. I’m out of control, barely giving any thought to my priorities as we speed faster towards Chicago.

“Where are we going?” she eventually braves, one hand now clinging to the seat-belt.

“Out.”

It’s all I’ve got. I don’t know where, and the skyline coming into view doesn’t help me offer her any clarity. Boots and a coat first, then we’ll walk the riverwalk. Grab a coffee. Talk, maybe. She must be going mad holed up in my house permanently and it’ll do me good to get some fresh air away from the grounds. That’s it as far as I’m concerned. No plans. No procedures. No looking over my shoulder and negotiating the next move, concerned for the fate of my family. We’ll just be alive for the day, see where that shit takes us.

We pull up outside a boutique on Oak Street, and I barely offer her time to breathe before getting her out and marching her inside. A startled woman looks her over, her manicured appearance disgusted with what I’m presenting.

“Boots, coat, scarf and hat,” I snap, not caring for a conversation about Emily’s unkempt appearance. She’s got more about her than this bitch could ever offer.

She raises a brow at me and wanders off, seemingly irritated with my invasion into her sanctuary of calm, but returns with a selection of upper class garments. Emily’s eyes brighten, but she’s nervous, unsure. I can tell by the way she’s fucking fiddling with her sweater. I nod at her, giving her the confirmation she needs to take a closer look at the sophisticated clothes on offer. She reaches for the cream coat, taking it from the bitch's hands. Fine. I throw my card at the woman, amused as she tries to catch it.

“Get dressed, Emily,” I say, still watching the uptight bitch frown at Emily. Fuck her.

When the debacle has righted itself and I’ve had fuck knows how much money taken from me, I turn to see Emily staring out of the shop window. It’s a picture in itself. One I would have drawn myself years ago. High collar, a blue scarf wrapped around her neck, a slouched beanie at an angle, and heeled boots that make me lick my lips and imagine no clothing at all.

“You ready?” I ask, coming up behind her.

She turns, a warm smile coming from her as she nods out the window.

“It’s huge out there. Chicago, I mean.” I smirk at her, wondering where the hell she thought she was. Everything here is huge. “I’ve never been to America. I don’t know what I thought, but it’s real. It was dark last time we came in. I couldn’t see the scale of everything.” I open the door, my hand waving her through as I snatch at a pair of leather gloves on the counter beside me.

“Sir, you can’t…”

“Sue me,” I mutter back, more interested in the ass that’s walking back to the car as I slam the door and quicken to catch up. “No, we’re walking from here,” I say, grabbing her and turning her in the other direction. She flinches in my hold, a confused look marring her smile of moments ago.

“You don’t have to grab me all the time. I’ll follow you, Quinn.” I ease my fingers, suddenly realising their constant grip on her. “It’s not like I can go anywhere without you, is it?” I chuckle at that and look along the street, still wondering what the fuck I’m doing here. “So, where are we going?” I don’t know, but I want her next to me as we go there.

I start walking, winding my way through the crowds of shoppers, and turn my head to look back at her. She’s staring upwards, her body bumping into everything she’s not looking at. It makes me growl and reach back for her hand, pulling her closer to me as I head to the coffee shop in the square.

“The light,” she says. “Look at it, Quinn. It’s amazing. The glass reflects it beautifully.”

I don’t look. I keep hauling her ass through the people, occasionally frowning at someone who barges into her because she’s still not looking where she’s damn well going.

“Emily,” I snap, watching her feet tripping over themselves for the tenth time. She gasps, the sudden realisation that she’s lost her balance catching up with her, loose arm flailing. I snatch her to me, levering her from the pavement before she hits it fully. “Jesus, woman. Your mother never teach you to walk?”

She pants in my hold, her lips inches from mine as I stare into those different coloured eyes of hers.

“Not … not in these heels,” she says, the words fluttering softly from her lips. I look at them, barely restraining the need to kiss them and forget Anton’s cock buried inside them. They’re my lips now. Nothing else is going anywhere near them. Not one other thing but me and my body will touch those dirty, beautiful, full, soft lips again. My tongue licks my own, remembering the gagging sound she makes when I’m balls-deep in her mouth, the way she whimpers as I tighten my hands on her, then moans my name. “You can let go now,” she says quietly.

The sound of her brings me back to the present. I shake my head, amused at my mind wanderings, and then search the area.

She’s sitting on a bench within seconds, pressed onto it by my hands.

“Don’t run, Emily. I’m warning you. Chicago’s not nice to pretty things who don’t know what they’re doing.” She frowns for a second then nods, but she’s got that look of tenacity that comes every now and then, the same one that came when she fought the Russians off. “I’m serious, Em. You sit here and wait for me. I’ll be back in a minute or two. You run and I’ll find you. The result won’t be nice.”

She smiles. I don’t know why, but her second nod gives me more assurance that she’s understood me. I back off, all the time watching her as she watches me, until I finally trust her not to run and turn into the crowds. She’d be stupid to try it anyway. Where can she go? She’s got no money, no hope other than what I offer her.

The only way she’s ever getting home is if I release her, and, at the moment, that’s not happening any time soon.