Page 217

Then the phone rings with an incoming call from Daddy.

Relief explodes through me.

My thumb swipes to answer, but Quillan is already moving. He doesn’t lunge; it’s worse than that. He simply leans forward, his larger hand closing over mine, prying my fingers back one by one with a terrible ease.

I’m able to keep my grip on it until the moment the ringing stops. I deflate for half a second from missing the call, giving Quillan enough time to take it from me.

He rises to his full height. “Sorry, kid.”

“That’s mine!” I cry out.

He ignores me and answers on the first ring when Daddy calls a second time. “Hey, Adrien.”

Daddy’s voice erupts from the speaker, a distorted snarl of fury I can feel in my teeth. Quillan holds the phone a few inches from his ear.

“Yep.”

A pause filled with staticky rage.

“He’s fine.”

Another pause, heavier.

“Mathias is here too.”

Daddy’s response is a guttural stream I can’t decipher. Quillan’s mouth twists in a faint grimace.

“No one touched him.”

Another volcanic burst. Quillan’s eyes flick toward me, then away.

“Drive like a normal human being,” he says, ending the call.

My mouth falls open.

He tucks my phone into his inner jacket pocket.

“Give it back,” I demand.

“No.”

“But it’s mine!” I lurch to my feet. “Give me my phone.”

Quillan looks toward Mathias, who hasn’t moved a muscle, then returns his gaze to me, cool and unmoved. “When Adrien gets here.”

I hate him. The feeling is a rock in my stomach. “I don’t like you.”

A ghost of regret passes over his face. “Most people don’t.”

I sit back down with a huff.

Quillan resumes his sprawl as if nothing happened, and Mathias hasn’t spoken yet.

That changes a minute later.

“Is Adrien treating you well?” he asks.

My eyes snap toward him. The question hangs there, simple and loaded. The answer is complicated.