Page 115 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

ATLAS

I lean against the grimy wall, watching as Nico and Killian inspect the dingy space. It’s a far cry from our old clubhouse—a run-down warehouse with cracked windows and graffiti-covered walls. There’s a faint smell of mold and the not-so-faint smell of stale cigarettes.

Nico reaches out toward a rusted metal shelf, then shoves his hand into his pocket instead, his lip curling in disgust. “This place is a shithole.”

“It’s what we’ve got,” Killian grunts, kicking aside an empty beer bottle. “Unless you’ve got a better option hidden up your sleeve.”

I push off the wall, joining them in the center of the room. “It’s not ideal, but it’ll do for now. We need somewhere to regroup, plan our next move.”

Our contact, a weaselly little man who, aptly, goes by Rat, looks half-nervous, half-annoyed. “It’s the best I could find on short notice. Real estate ain’t exactly booming in this part of town.”

Nico fixes him with a hard stare. “And you’re sure it’s clean? No one’s gonna come knocking?”

Rat nods emphatically. “Clean as a whistle. Previous owners cleared out months ago. It’s all yours.”

I take another look around the space, making a mental list of what we’ll need to get it at least semi-habitable. “We can make it work. Clean it up, reinforce the doors and windows. It’s not much, but it’ll send a message.”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “What message is that? That we’ve hit rock bottom?”

I shake my head. “That we’re still here. Still claiming our territory. The Princes aren’t going anywhere.”

Nico nods slowly, a hint of approval in his eyes. “Atlas is right. We need to make our presence known, now more than ever.”

I watch as Nico and Killian continue their inspection of our potential new base. Rat hovers nearby, fidgeting with the hem of his threadbare jacket.

“What about utilities?” Killian asks, flicking a light switch that predictably does nothing.

Rat shrugs. “Water’s still on, I think. Electricity might need some… creative solutions.”

I’m about to suggest we look into generators when Nico’s phone pings. He glances down at the screen, and I catch the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.

Nico looks up, frowning. “Yeah, fine.” But there’s a tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there before.

Killian, oblivious to the change, continues grilling Rat about the warehouse’s features. I keep my eyes on Nico, who’s typing out a response, his fingers moving quickly over the screen.

“So, what’s the deal with the roof access?” Killian asks, pointing upward.

Rat starts to answer, but I’m not listening. I’m watching Nico, who’s staring at his phone like it might bite him. Whatever message he received, it’s got him rattled. And that’s not like Nico at all.

“Nico?” I say quietly, moving closer to him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Just some business I need to take care of later.”

I don’t buy it for a second. Nico doesn’t get distracted during deals, and he certainly doesn’t look spooked over “some business.” Whatever that message was about, it’s big. And probably bad.

Nico turns to Rat, cutting off the man’s rambling explanation about the warehouse’s quirks. “I need a minute.”

I know from experience that there’s no point in arguing with that tone, but Rat’s face scrunches up in obvious annoyance. “Hey, I ain’t got all day here. You want the place or not?”

Nico ignores him, jerking his head toward the exit. “Atlas, Killian. Outside. Now.”

I exchange a quick glance with Killian, who looks as confused as I feel. We follow Nico out of the warehouse, leaving a sputtering Rat behind.

He leads us a few paces away from the building, then turns to face us. His normally stony expression has been replaced by pure anger.

“It’s from the Young Killers,” he says, holding up his phone. “Harlan, or whatever the fuck his name is.”

My stomach drops. The Young Killers have been a thorn in our side for a while, but direct communication from their leader? That’s new. And probably not good.

“What do they want?” Killian asks, his voice low and wary.

Instead of answering, Nico taps his screen. “See for yourself.”

He holds out the phone, and Killian and I lean in. A video starts to play, and I feel my whole body tense as Quinn’s face fills the screen.

She looks like she’s been through the ringer. Her hair’s a mess, there’s a gash on her forehead and blood and dirt are smeared across her face.

But there’s not even a hint of fear in her eyes.

Good. Whatever she might be feeling on the inside, she’s not letting those sons of bitches in on it.

She’s saying something, but I can barely hear it over the roaring in my ears.

My shoulders tighten, muscles coiling with a mix of rage and helplessness.

Quinn’s voice cuts through the fog in my brain. “Face it, assholes. You picked the wrong hostage if you’re trying to get to Nico. He doesn’t give a shit what happens to me. Neither do his seconds.”

I’m barely aware of Nico flinching beside me. Killian reacts too, but I can’t focus on him. My heart feels like it’s been stabbed, a sharp pain lancing through my chest.

The video continues, and I watch as Harlan’s hand suddenly appears in frame. He backhands Quinn hard across the face, making her head snap to the side. The screen goes black, but the image is seared into my brain.

“We have to go get her.”

The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I’m speaking. All thoughts of Quinn being the enemy have vanished from my head. All I know is that we have to get to her, to stop Harlan and his people from laying another goddamn finger on her.

Nico looks up from the phone, a strained expression on his face. His mouth opens, but I cut him off before he can speak.

“If you won’t help, I’ll do it myself. She’s not just yours, Nico.”

My fists are clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, my body ready for a fight.

The rational part of my brain knows this is probably exactly what Harlan wants—to lure us into a trap.

But I don’t fucking care. All I can see is Quinn’s face with that familiar, defiant look in her eyes, and Harlan’s hand striking her.

I’m about to launch into a tirade, to demand that we gather our forces and storm the Young Killers’ hideout, when Nico’s voice cuts through my anger.

“I know she isn’t just mine. I saw the mark.”

His words stop me cold. The mark. The one I put on her breast, a small tattoo that only someone who’d been intimate with her would know about. My gaze snaps to Nico’s face, searching for any sign of accusation or betrayal.

But what I see instead catches me off guard. There’s a mix of emotions in his eyes. Not just anger, but also pain, regret… understanding, maybe. Our eyes lock, and in that moment, it’s like we’re having an entire conversation without words.

We both still care for her. Despite everything that’s happened, despite the tangled web of loyalty and betrayal we’ve all woven, Quinn still matters to both of us. And right now, that’s all that matters.

The tension between us shifts, morphing into something else. A shared purpose, a common goal. We may have our differences, but when it comes to Quinn, we’re on the same page.

Killian’s voice breaks the moment, low and deadly. “If any of those bastards hurt her, I’ll cut off more than just their hands.”

I turn to look at him, surprised by the vehemence in his tone. What I see on his face shocks me even more. There’s a depth of fury there that I’ve rarely seen, even in our most heated battles. His eyes are dark with rage, his jaw clenched so tight I can see a muscle twitching in his cheek.

Killian’s words touch something deep inside me, igniting a fierce protectiveness I didn’t even know I had. It’s like a switch has been flipped, and suddenly we’re all on the same wavelength. Without a word, we turn toward our bikes.

Nico’s already got his phone out, fingers flying over the screen as he starts making calls.

“Get everyone together,” he barks into the device. “I need eyes and ears on the streets. Find out where the Young Killers are holed up.”

I swing my leg over my bike, the familiar rumble of the engine beneath me doing little to calm the storm of emotions raging inside. My mind’s racing, trying to piece together any clues we might have about the Young Killers’ location.

Killian’s revving his engine, his face set in a grim mask of determination. I can see the same urgency I feel reflected in his eyes.

The warehouse door bangs open, and our contact storms out, his face twisted in annoyance. “Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going? We ain’t finished here!”

Nico doesn’t even spare him a glance, still barking orders into his phone. I’m about to tell the guy to shove off when Nico finally lowers the device, fixing Rat with a cold stare.

“Something more important came up,” he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “We’ll be in touch.”

Before Rat can sputter out another protest, Nico’s kickstarting his bike. The roar of three engines drowns out whatever the man might’ve said next.

We tear through the city streets, weaving between cars and blowing through red lights. My focus has narrowed to a single point—Quinn—and every second feels like an eternity, another chance for Harlan and his goons to hurt her.

I can feel Nico and Killian flanking me, their engines roaring in sync with mine. We’re a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless.

As we near the outskirts of Young Killers territory, I spot the gathering of our people. Bikes line the street, their riders tense and ready. We screech to a halt, and immediately we’re surrounded.

“What’s going on?” someone demands. “Why’d you call us all here?”

Nico steps forward and doesn’t mince any words. “The Young Killers have taken Quinn.”