Page 121 of End It All

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she asked. "Who is this, Harlow?"

"I'm Quincy's husband."

The woman's eyes darkened as she stared at me. "Husband," she muttered and let out a disdainful scoff. "As if anyone would marry that wreck."

My jaw tensed. I felt it, the pressure of my teeth meeting shot through my jaw and down my neck. I'd never hit a woman before, but I was right on the edge of making her the first. Quincy seemed to take all of my firsts that way.

"Well, I did," I said. "And you need to clear out. I've found you a place to go, but you can't stay here. They're talking about suing Quincy. He's just getting on his feet again and?—"

The woman laughed in my face. "It's a son's duty to take care of his mother," she hissed. "If you think for one second I'm going to leave even one of my treasures, you've lost your mind. Now, get the hell out of my face!"

She went to slam the door on me, but I shoved my foot into the door. The flimsy wood slammed into my toe. I sucked in a sharp breath and barged into the apartment. Stepping inside just made things so much worse. The smell was almost overwhelming, making my eyes water as I moved through it. No wonder the landlord was pissed. Even in this hellhole, her place was ten times worse than anything around it. I watched a roach scurry over a stack of clothes. Imagining that bug crawling on Quincy as he slept when he was a kid, or hell, even when he came to visit, made my stomach pitch.

Doesn't he see he deserves so much more than this?

"Harlow, what is he doing? Stop him!"

"Shhh," Harlow whispered to her. "I wanna see where this goes."

I looked at the rusting, old personal heaters that littered the place. Even as they chugged away, they weren't keeping anything warm. The apartment was freezing. I grabbed Quincy's knife and crouched down. One of the space heaters, the oldest of the bunch from the looks of it, already had a fraying cord. I angled the knife and started cutting until it was completely exposed. Once it was, I tossed it back on the ground, piled some crap on top of it, and cranked it up the highest it would go.

"What are you doing!" the woman exclaimed.

"You're getting out of this apartment," I said as I walked back over to her slowly. "I suggest you find your purse, some mementos you can't live without, and your shoes. I already picked out a facility for you to move into. People can watch you there, they'll make sure you're safe."

"Who do you think you?—"

"Shut. Up," I said calmly. "You're lucky I'm this kind because if I was any one of my brothers, you would be strapped down to that disgusting chair and burned alive for your bullshit." I moved closer until she tried to shrink back, but couldn't. "Quincy deserves a hell of a lot better than you. But I can also tell he loves you. And I can't take away something he loves. Not even a miserable old asshole who goes out of her way to be cruel. So, shut up. Get your things. And walk out of here. This place and all this shit is going up in flames. Go. Now."

"You can't do this," she muttered.

"Save the crocodile tears. They don't work on me."

Harlow and I found her a ratty pair of shoes, a coat, and her bag that was buried under mounds of crap. She insisted she needed two of the dolls on the shelf and a few other odds and ends before I smelled the first tendrils of smoke.

"Time to go." I pulled my phone out. "It should be going up soon. Keep an eye on it."

"Yes, Mr. Vitale."

Harlow and I led Etta to the car and got her into the backseat. When we took off, the fire was just starting to really glow, smoke licking the air. I knew most people were at work, and the few that weren’t wouldn't be affected. I'd already paid off the fire captain to let it burn for a while. I needed that apartment to be unusable and everything in it. Out of sight, out of mind. If it was still there, she would just try to go back.

The sound of her crying tugged at my heart strings for half a second, until I remembered the look on Quincy's face. Yeah, he would probably be more than pissed off at me, but I had to do it. She was sick and needed help, but he couldn't do what needed to be done.

I could.

"Where to?" Harlow asked.

"I paid for a facility a little ways out of town. Thought some trees and openness might be nice after all that clutter."

He nodded. "You're a better man than me," Harlow said before he lowered his voice. "I definitely would have killed her."

"Quincy wouldn't want that."

"No." He sighed. "I don't think he would. You did good."

I glanced at Harlow. "Thank you. That actually means a lot."

"Don't be so sappy about it, little Vitale. It's one damn compliment," he muttered.