Page 29 of Endless Anger
EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD
Quincy’s sittingin front of my bed, her legs pulled to her chest and her arms wrapped around her knees. Her dark brown eyes—just like mine and Dad’s—have purple bags beneath them, and her black hair is pulled back, her bangs almost hiding her expression.
Complete and total terror.
I shrug out of my hoodie and toss my headphones onto my desk. “Didn’t know you were home.”
She doesn’t respond, so I kick out of my sneakers and move to my dresser, finding clothes for after my shower. Running with Foxe this morning was the only thing that could keep me from heading to the Wolfe residence and making an even bigger fool of myself.
I’m covered in sweat, seriously unpracticed from miles-long runs, but somehow Foxe wasglowing. Despite finishing his night pissing Jägermeister and fucking who knows what, he’d been prepped and ready to go before I even showed up.
That’s been his routine for the past few months, really. Could be a problem, but as long as he’s functioning, who the hell am I to intervene?
I’m not his mother, and I’ve got my own problems.
Growing irritated with Quincy’s prolonged silence, I slam my dresserdrawer shut and spin around, pinning my sister with a look. “What are you doing in my room? Don’t you usually poke around in Noelle’s when you visit?”
“She’s not home,” Quincy whispers.
It takes me a moment to realize she’s shivering—no,trembling. My throat constricts, and my hands ball into fists at my sides, wrinkling the clothes.
I think about the one time I saw Noelle in a similar state years ago, when she’d spent several hours in the shower and came out bloodred all over.
Back then, I was just a kid, so I didn’t mention anything. She never said what happened, and I think to this day it’s a secret, but I’ll never forget that look in her eyes.
Shallow and broken, so similar to Quincy’s now.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
Finally, Quincy moves, shaking her head just slightly. When she lifts her gaze, I try not to react over how bloodshot it is. The whites aren’t visible. At all.
There’s dirt dried on her jaw and a scrape across her cheek. Yellow bruising on her neck.
My heart beats faster.
Faster still.
So fast, I think I might pass out.
Inhaling slowly, I inch a step toward the door. “I’m getting Dad.”
“No,” Quincy rushes out, her eyes widening.
It’d be comical—me, the Anderson family vault, threatening to tattle on one of my sisters—if she didn’t seem so panicked.
Thing is Dad’s got forty or so years of life on me. Vengeance is much easier for him to navigate with a calm mind, whereas the idea swallows me whole.
Already, I want to taste the blood of whoever made Quincy look like this. I want to feel it pump beneath my fingers before the life leaves them for good.
“I told him and Mom. They’re aware. That’s why I came home.”
“All right.” I scratch at the back of my neck. “Then what’s going on? Why are you here?”
She frowns, bringing her hands into her lap. I watch, silent, as she twists them together, the delicate gold rings on her knuckles shifting with each movement.
“You’re not going to Avernia.” She glances up at me. “Right? Mom said you weren’t sure?—”
“Are you asking or warning me against it?”
