Page 120 of Depravity

One of Quinn’s men comes running and I pull my gun, shooting him down before he even gets close.

Another follows right after and he’s dead, lying on his mate before he can even blink.

I walk in, heading through to where I’m certain the bitch will be. As I reach the Great Hall, Quinn appears with a golf club in his hand, holding it like a bat.

“What is the meaning of this?” He snarls.

I let out a snort, a sound of derision. He really thought they were a match for us. He really thought that the Monclere’s were as big a name as the Blakes.

And then I hear those stupid little click-clack heels. She all but struts in, and she pauses when she sees me, running her hands down her body to smooth her dress like I’m here to fuck her.

“Husband, really, is this any way to behave around your in-laws?” She cooes.

“You’re not my wife. You’re not anything to do with me.” I state.

She puts a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. “Conrad, Darling. We’ve been through this. The marriage is next week. You can’t back out of it now…”

“I can if you’re not around to meet me at the altar.”

“And what reason would I have not to show?” She half-laughs.

I cock the gun, pointing it right at her face. “Maybe because you’ll have a bullet in your brain.”

Quinn looks between us, clearly not quite sure what is going on. “Conrad, be calm. Whatever this is, we can work this out. We had an agreement after all, the Monclere’s and the Blake’s are uniting. We’re one family now.”

“Not with her.” I sneer.

“I’m your fiancée.” Giselle says. “And this time next week, I’ll be your wife.”

I don’t bother to deign that statement with any meaningful reply. Instead, I toss the diary, and it lands right in front of Giselle. She stares down at it for a second before she crouches to pick it up.

“What is that?” Quinn asks, but we both ignore them.

“And where could you possibly have found this?” She says with that twisted, know-it-all look on her face.

“You know exactly where it was.” I reply.

“What is it?” Quinn repeats again, looking between us.

“Maybe you should ask your daughter.” I reply. “And while you’re at it, ask her where Brynn is.”

“Brynn?” Quinn scoffs. “What has any of this got to do with her?”

The way he says it, the way he speaks her name, the way he’s so dismissive makes me see red. It makes me lose control, more control. As if I had any to start with.

I raise the gun, pulling the trigger and he howls, grasping his leg as the bullet lodges itself right above his left kneecap.

“Daddy,” Giselle screeches. “Daddy, are you okay?” She asks before turning to look at me. “You shot him.”

“If you don’t start giving me answers, then I’ll shoot him again.” I state.

“Answers to what?” Quinn snarls.

“Why Giselle faked a diary about Brynn’s mother. Why she planted it with her things. Why she made her believe there was some great love affair between her parents.”

Giselle draws herself up, folding her arms. “I knew it, I knew you had her. I knew you were too obsessed to let her go. I was even willing to turn a blind eye, to marry you anyway and pretend that she didn’t exist.”

“None of that explains the diary.” I retort. I don’t give a fuck what her feelings where, what she did or didn’t know. She’sacting like she’s made some great revelation, when in reality, it’s yesterday’s news.

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