Page 146 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

Killian leans forward, his face a little too pale, his expression even more serious than normal. “We went back to the tattoo parlor as soon as we had you somewhere safe, but Atlas was gone.”

“Gone?” I’m starting to feel like a parrot, repeating everything I’m being told—but it’s only because none of these words are making sense.

Atlas didn’t make it? Atlas is gone?

No. Fuck, no. I refuse to believe it. Still, a sick feeling twists in my stomach, and a distinct sense of dread starts creeping up my spine.

They both nod, the weight of their silence crushing me.

“There was a pool of blood on the floor in the back,” Nico continues. “Broken glass, several dead bodies—bodies of the mercenaries, mostly, from what I could tell. But no sign of Atlas.”

I shake my head, still unwilling to accept what they’re telling me. “No,” I whisper, “that can’t be right. He has to be somewhere. Maybe he got away, maybe?—”

Nico’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently. “He would’ve made contact by now. With his last breath, he would’ve called or sent word or… something.”

As much as I hate to hear it, I know he’s telling the truth. There’s a haunted look in his eyes—in Killian’s too—and it’s a pain I’ve never seen before. It’s raw and visceral, like they’ve lost a piece of themselves.

Because they have.

The realization hits me so hard that I feel myself starting to crumble. Memories flash through my mind, hazy and disjointed. Atlas’s face, worried and determined, swimming into focus as I struggled against the drugs in my system. His strong arms holding me up, his voice urgent in my ear.

“ Stay with me, vicious. Come on, stay awake .”

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold on to that memory, to make sense of it. But it slips away, leaving me with nothing but an aching emptiness.

When I open my eyes again, I look from Killian to Nico, then back again.

“You’ve been looking for him,” I whisper.

It’s not a question. I know it’s a fact.

Killian nods, his jaw clenched tight. “Every minute since it happened. We’ve called in every favor, turned over every stone.”

“But… nothing,” Nico finishes, his voice rough with emotion.

I’ve seen a lot of death in my life. Caused a lot. But this loss is too big, too overwhelming. Atlas, gone? It doesn’t make sense. It can’t be real.

But they wouldn’t lie about this, wouldn’t give up hope if there was any chance…

A sob builds in my chest, threatening to tear me apart.

I open my mouth to say something, to ask another question, but the words die in my throat as my phone starts to ring. The sound cuts through the heavy silence of the room, making us all jump.

For a moment, I just stare at it, my heart racing. Who could be calling? We’re supposed to be laying low. No contact.

With shaking hands, I reach for the phone. The number on the screen is unfamiliar, but something tells me I need to answer it. I hit the speaker button, my voice barely above a whisper as I say, “Hello?”

“Ah, Quinn. So good to hear your voice again.” The rough, familiar tone sends a chill down my spine. Ambrose . “I trust the drugs are wearing off by now? I really hope you’re feeling better.”

My blood runs cold. I look up at Nico and Killian, their faces mirroring the shock and anger I feel.

“I waited to call, you see,” Ambrose continues, his voice dripping with false concern. “I wanted to make sure you’d be awake and… coherent for our little chat.”

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. “What do you want?” I manage to croak out.

Ambrose chuckles, the sound sending another wave of nausea through me. “Oh, dear girl. We have so much to talk about.”

“Where’s Atlas?” I demand, thankful that the trembling and the desperation is finally gone from my voice. All that’s left now is steely, hard anger. “What have you done with him?”

Ambrose’s laughter crackles through the phone, cold and cruel. “Oh, he’s right here.”

My heart leaps into my throat, a surge of hope coursing through me. I grip the phone tighter, knuckles turning white. “Let me talk to him.”

“Now, now,” Ambrose tuts, his smugness palpable even through the speaker. “All in good time, my dear. First, I think we should have a little chat.”

I grit my teeth, barely containing the rage building inside me. “I’m not interested in chatting. I want to know Atlas is okay.”

“You know, Quinn,” Ambrose continues, ignoring my demand, “you’re quite the lucky girl. Ever since I got out of prison, I’ve had to buy all the help I’ve needed. Recruiting mercenaries, paying for loyalty… it’s been expensive. Damned expensive.”

My stomach churns at his casual tone, as if he’s discussing a business transaction rather than a life and death matter.

“But you,” he says, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice, “you’ve got three men willing to throw themselves into danger and do your dirty work for you. All thanks to that magic pussy of yours, I suppose.”

“Fuck you,” I spit out.

Ambrose chuckles. “Such fire. I can see why they’re so devoted to you. This one, for example,” there’s a rustling sound, as if he’s moving, “was even willing to die for you.”

My blood runs cold. “Atlas?—”

Before I can finish, a blood-curdling scream tears through the phone. Atlas’s voice, raw and agonized, fills the room.

“No!” I shout, panic clawing at my chest. “Stop it! Don’t hurt him!”

Ambrose’s voice returns, calm and collected over Atlas’s pained groans. “Oh, Quinn. We’re just getting started.”

My stomach clenches so tightly I can barely breathe, acid burning in the back of my throat. I want to vomit, to scream, to break something—anything to make this stop.

“Please,” I choke out. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”

Ambrose’s chuckle sends another wave of nausea through me. “Sorry, I can’t make that promise. Now it’s time to find out if you care about these men as much as they seem to care about you. What are you willing to do for them, I wonder?”

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. The pain helps me focus, helps me push past the momentary panic. “What do you want?” I ask, dreading the answer.

“It’s simple, really.” Ambrose’s tone is casual, as if we’re discussing the weather. “I’ll kill Atlas unless you use that little marker of yours to get me into the Dark Lotus Syndicate.”

My blood runs cold. The marker. Of course he knows about that. Is there anything this bastard doesn’t know?

“You can’t be serious,” I say, even though I know he is. Dead serious.

“Oh, but I am,” Ambrose replies. “You have connections. Valuable ones. And I want in.”

I look up at Nico and Killian, their faces tight with anger and fear. They both shake their heads, silently urging me not to agree. But how can I not? How can I let Atlas die?

“Tick tock, Quinn,” Ambrose drawls, cruel satisfaction in his voice. “What’s it going to be? Your precious marker, or Atlas’s life?”