Page 118 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

I stare at Nico as his words hit me like a damn freight train. My chest tightens, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. The chaos around us fades away, and all I can see is the intensity in his eyes. He came for me. All three of them did. In spite of everything I’ve said and done.

A lump forms in my throat, and I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. What can I say? How can I possibly…

The moment shatters as a bullet ricochets off the container inches from my head. I flinch, snapping back to reality. Atlas lets out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, returning fire with renewed intensity.

My heart races, adrenaline flooding my system. I grip the stolen gun tighter, my knuckles turning white. I’m not dying here. Not in this dirty fucking warehouse. Not at the hands of these Young Killer bastards.

I grit my teeth, pushing down the whirlwind of emotions Nico’s words stirred up. There’s no time for that now. I need to focus, need to survive.

Taking a deep breath, I steady my hands. The weight of the gun is reassuring—as long as I’m holding this weapon, I still stand a chance.

But honestly? Even without the gun, I’d fight bare-handed if I had to. I managed to hold my own against them until Nico and his seconds got here. I would’ve found a way to hold on for longer if I’d needed to.

I turn to him and gesture to the top of the shipping container. “Give me a boost.”

His eyes widen. “Are you crazy? You’ll be exposed up there!”

“Trust me,” I insist, keeping my voice steady in spite of the chaos all around us. “I need a better vantage point.”

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “No. It’s too dangerous and?—”

“We don’t have time to argue,” I cut him off. “Do it now, or we’re all dead.”

He clenches his jaw, clearly conflicted, but nods. “Fine. But be careful, dammit.”

Nico interlocks his fingers, creating a foothold. I place my foot in his hands, gripping his shoulder for balance. With a grunt, he hoists me up.

I scramble onto the container, immediately flattening myself against the cool metal surface. My heart pounds in my ears as I army-crawl to the edge, keeping my profile as low as possible.

From up here, I have a clear view of the warehouse floor. The Young Killers are scattered, using whatever cover they can find. They’re focused on Nico and the others, unaware of my new position.

Perfect. Time seems to slow down as I line up my first shot. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger.

The crack of the gunshot is deafening. My target drops.

Before the others can react, I’ve already moved on to my next target. Two more shots, two more bodies hit the ground.

Confusion ripples through the remaining YK members. They can’t pinpoint where the shots are coming from, and that hesitation is all we need.

“Now!” I shout, my voice echoing through the warehouse. “Go!”

“Cover me!” I yell, scrambling to my feet.

Without waiting for a response, I sprint across the top of the container and leap off the edge. The ground rushes up to meet me. I hit hard, tucking into a roll to absorb the impact. Pain flares through my shoulder, but I push it aside, springing back to my feet.

Nico grabs my arm, steadying me. “This way,” he shouts over the gunfire, pulling me toward the far corner of the warehouse.

We run, weaving between crates and machinery. Atlas and Killian flank us, providing covering fire as we go. My lungs burn, and my legs feel like lead, but I force myself to keep moving.

“There!” Killian points to a metal door barely visible behind a stack of pallets.

We’re so close. Just a few more yards and?—

A burst of gunfire erupts from our left. We dive for cover as bullets tear through the air where we were just standing.

“Shit!” Atlas snarls, peering around the edge of a forklift. “They’ve cut us off.”

I risk a glance. At least six Young Killers have positioned themselves between us and the exit. We’re pinned down, outnumbered, and quickly running out of options.

Just as it seems like we might actually be fucked, the warehouse explodes into chaos.

The main doors burst open with a thunderous crash. Figures in familiar colors storm in, guns blazing. The cavalry has arrived.

“About damn time,” Nico mutters, a grin spreading across his face.

The Princes of Carnage tear through the warehouse like a force of nature. The Young Killers, caught off guard and outgunned, start to fall back.

We seize the opportunity, surging forward. I empty my clip into two YK members trying to flank our reinforcements. Nico takes out another with a well-placed headshot.

I push forward with the others, riding the wave of adrenaline and relief. The warehouse is a mess of gunfire, shouts, and chaos, but we’re winning. The Young Killers are on the run, and we’re picking them off one by one.

Through the smoke and confusion, I spot Atlas breaking away from our group. He’s moving with purpose, his eyes locked on something—or someone—across the room. I follow his gaze and my breath catches in my throat.

It’s Harlan. The YK leader. The bastard who started all this.

Atlas closes in on him like a predator stalking its prey. Harlan tries to make a break for it, but Atlas is faster. He corners him against a stack of crates, gun aimed squarely at his chest.

“End of the line,” Atlas growls.

Harlan’s eyes dart around, searching for an escape route. Finding none, he lets out a nervous laugh. “You won’t kill me,” he says, his voice shaky but defiant. “You know what that would mean. A full-scale war between our gangs. You don’t have the balls.”

Atlas’s lips curl into a cold smile. “Doesn’t take balls to kill a son of a bitch like you,” he says, his voice eerily calm. “And even if it did…”

For a split second, confusion flashes across Harlan’s face. Then Atlas steps back, his eyes meeting mine. “I think hers are bigger than yours anyway.”

I move forward, my heart pounding in my ears. Atlas holds out his gun, but I shake my head. I’ve still got one bullet left in my own.

The YK leader’s eyes widen as I approach. “You can’t—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“You know,” I say, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me, “if you want someone dead, you shouldn’t waste time.” I level my gun at his head. “You should just kill them.”

I pull the trigger. The gunshot echoes through the warehouse, and Harlan’s body crumples to the ground.

I lower my gun, my hand trembling slightly as the adrenaline starts to wear off and the exhaustion sets back in. The warehouse is eerily quiet now, the chaos of the firefight replaced by an uneasy stillness. I look around, taking in the aftermath of our brutal showdown.

Bodies litter the floor, most wearing the colors of the Young Killers. The sight should probably disturb me more than it does, but I’ve seen worse. I’ve caused worse.

My eyes land on a figure slumped against a nearby crate, still breathing. One of our guys has a gun trained on him, waiting for orders.

Nico walks over, the rage in his expression easy to see. I recognize the guy on the ground—he’s one of the assholes who jumped me earlier, before the shooting started.

“You,” Nico snarls, looming over him. “You’re the piece of shit who put his hands on my wife.”

The guy looks up, fear flickering in his eyes before he manages to hide it. “Your wife?” he scoffs, his voice strained. “That’s fucking hilarious. You know what they say about her, right? How she spreads her legs for all of you? Didn’t think you’d mind sharing her with a few of us.”

I feel my blood run cold at his words. Nico’s entire body goes rigid, his knuckles turning white as he grips his gun tighter.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Nico’s voice is dangerously low, a promise of violence barely held in check.

The guy sneers, apparently deciding if he’s going to die, he might as well go out swinging. “You heard me. Your little wifey’s got quite the reputation. Maybe you should keep her on a tighter leash if you don’t want other men touching her.”

I watch as Nico’s jaw clenches. He steps closer to the wounded Young Killer, looming over him like a predator about to strike. When he speaks, his voice drops to a dangerous whisper that sends chills down my spine.

“Listen carefully, asshole. You’re gonna deliver a message to your remaining buddies.

Tell them your leader is dead for fucking with us.

The Princes and Enigma? We’re a united front now.

And if any of you even think about coming after my wife or my people again, I’ll tear you apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left. Got it?”

The guy nods frantically, fear replacing all of his earlier swagger.

Nico steps back, gesturing toward the exit. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Outnumbered and unarmed, the terrified bastard scrambles to his feet. He starts running toward the warehouse door, limping slightly from his earlier injuries.

Just as he’s about to reach the exit, Nico raises his gun. The crack of gunshots echoes through the warehouse. The guy stumbles, crying out in pain as bullets tear through his leg and arm.

He collapses to the ground, whimpering and gasping. Blood pools beneath him as he tries to crawl away, leaving a dark red trail.

“Remember,” Nico calls out, his voice cold and steady. “Every second of pain you’re feeling right now? That’s just a taste of what’s coming if you or your friends ever cross us again.”

The guy doesn’t respond, just continues his agonizing crawl toward the exit.

My eyes flick to Nico, a question forming on my lips. He catches my gaze and nods, understanding without me having to say a word.

“He’ll make it back to his people,” Nico says, his voice cold and matter-of-fact. “The message will be more effective this way. Pain has a way of making things a little more memorable.”

It’s vicious. Ruthless. But I can’t help but respect the calculated cruelty of the move. It’s a good reminder of why he’s the leader of the Princes.