Page 33 of Psychopath

Mars showed his support by moving closer.

Quinn accepted the call.

“Is…is this Quinn?”

The voice shook, slightly nervous, and Quinn knew his wasn’t going to sound much better when he replied, but he had to. He had to know.

“Yeah, this is Quinn, and you’re…you’re—”

“Sam.”

Sam. Sam Dustin, to be precise. The man Damon had cheated on Quinn with after having one too many drinks one night. They both knew Sam; he’d been at university at the same time but not in their friendship group, but Damon’s friendship group was all-encompassing.

“Look,” Sam said. “What happened with Damon… It was a one-off. We bumped into each other, we had too much to drink and…what happened, happened.”

Quinn could’ve accepted that. It was the same story Damon had told him. And maybe if it wasn’t for Zane, he would’ve accepted it, then called Damon and told him he was willing to try again, but the broken watch on his wrist glinted.

“I know you’re lying.” Quinn put conviction in his voice. “I know this…thing between you started months ago. Damon told me everything.”

Sam was quiet for a long time, then exhaled a long-drawn out, “shit.”

“Shit,” Quinn repeated. His heart fluttered. His palms were clammy. He resisted the urge to hang up on Sam and held on while they both took a moment.

“Why did you want to talk to me if you already know?”

“To clarify a few things. Damon was vague when it came to certain aspects of your relationship—”

“It wasn’t a relationship. It was just sex.”

Quinn winced. “Did you bump into each other one night like he said?”

“No.” Sam sighed. “He’d been sending me messages.”

“Messages?”

“You know what kind of messages.”

“For how long?”

“For over a year.”

Quinn folded over and braced his free hand on the coffee table. “That…that long?”

“I kept telling him he shouldn’t be doing that, he was in a relationship, but he persisted. He…he flirted, and I”—Sam groaned—“I know I shouldn’t have, but he wore me down and I responded.”

“When did it become more than phones? When did you…”

Quinn couldn’t say it. He wanted to be sick.

“A few months ago. We met up. We went into town, walked around a few shops, had something to eat, then…then went back to mine—”

“Did he buy a watch?”

Sam sighed. “He did. For me. I refused to take it.”

“Do you know what happened to it?”

“Not a clue.”

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