Chapter 5

It was the dead of winter, and the estate chapel was bitterly cold.

Quinn was forced to her knees on the stone floor by Holden's guards, the chill biting straight through to her bones. Her kneecaps screamed with a deep, drilling pain.

Years ago, she had disarmed the bomb strapped to Holden's body and dragged him out of that abandoned warehouse. When a burning beam came down, she'd thrown herself in front of it to shield him. Her leg had shattered — a fracture she'd carry with her forever.

After they'd gotten together, Holden used to cradle that leg in his hands sometimes, pressing careful kisses to the old scar. I'll protect you from now on, he had promised, word by word. I'll never let you suffer again.

The man who'd made that promise was the same man who'd put her here.

Two full days passed. No food. No water.

Quinn's face had gone the color of chalk. Her lips were cracked and peeling. Her knees had gone numb hours ago — or they would have, if the pain hadn't stayed constant, like needles driven in one by one.

She was close to collapsing when Serena appeared in the doorway.

"Holden says you can get up now." Serena's voice was light and pleasant.

"You should really thank me, Mrs. Blackwood. You did something rather selfless, taking all the blame to protect us. If Abby could see you from wherever she is, I'm sure she'd be very grateful to have such a devoted mother."

Quinn's head snapped up. "What?"

Serena smiled — that soft, helpless smile that fooled everyone — and tossed Quinn her phone.

Holden had posted the statement from her account.

The statement had gone out under Quinn's name. She'd once been one of the most decorated bomb disposal experts in the country, with a following that trusted her completely. Now those same people were in the comments, reading what she'd supposedly confessed:

Abby Blackwood? She was the one who got the other child caught up in this. Can you believe it?

Born rotten. Probably deserved what happened.

What a pretty face though. What a waste.

The comments kept going. Quinn kept scrolling, and with each line, the numbness in her knees spread upward, swallowing her whole.

She stumbled out of the chapel and nearly walked straight into Holden's chest. She grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands, her grip desperate.

"How could you."

How could you do that to her. To Abby.

Holden frowned, doing his best to sound reasonable. "Public opinion fades. Give it a few weeks and no one will remember. Abby's already gone — but Noah is still here, and he shouldn't have to live under this kind of cloud. And frankly, if you hadn't sent that tip in the first place, none of this would have happened."

She hadn't sent the tip.

Quinn's throat was too raw to argue it. She barely recognized her own voice when it came out. "Holden. I told you. If you ever desecrate my daughter's name — I will die in front of you."

He didn't believe her. She could see it in his eyes — the calculation, the certainty that she was bluffing.

But then he looked at her face, really looked, and something flickered there. Some buried, animal instinct for fear.

What if she means it?

The thought made him seize up. He reached for her, his voice suddenly urgent: "Don't do anything stupid. I'll call the best PR team in the city right now. Not one more word about Abby — I promise."

Quinn looked at him for a long moment. "You'd better be quick about it."

Holden let out a breath, clearly believing she'd stepped back from the edge.

Serena had heard the commotion and drifted out to watch from the doorway, an unreadable expression on her face.

Then the front gate burst open.

A man came stumbling through — disheveled, eyes wild — and the moment he spotted Serena his voice tore apart with rage: "You lying piece of work, you had my son calling another man Daddy — I'll kill you for this!"

In the afternoon light, the knife in his hand threw a cold gleam across the courtyard.

Serena let out a shriek.

Holden moved without thinking. He was across the yard in seconds, throwing himself over Serena, rolling with her across the ground. When they finally stopped, he was panting, running his hands over her urgently. "Are you all right? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I'm fine, but — Mrs. Blackwood—"

Holden went very still.

He turned.

Quinn was on the ground.

The woman who had kept her nerve in the middle of live detonations, who had dragged him out of a burning building with a shattered leg — she was lying in the courtyard, her clothes soaked through with blood.

He had shielded Serena. In doing so, he had left Quinn exposed.