Page 15 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

ATLAS

In the morning, I head out from the club.

There are still a few Carnage members hanging around, drinking coffee and chatting, and I nod as I pass them, heading for where my bike is parked.

I get on it, tug my skull-emblazoned helmet on, and peel out, the wind whipping past me as I ride.

The task I’ve been given for the day doesn’t sit well with me, and I’m sure as hell not looking forward to it. But I’d do just about anything Nico asked me to do, so here I fucking am.

I’ve got my doubts about this whole thing, and I’ve voiced them all to my brother.

But aside from letting him know again that I don’t think this is a good idea, I didn’t argue with him last night, and now that things are in motion, I’ll do everything I can to make sure that this plan of his succeeds.

It’s more than just because Nico is the leader of our gang. More than just because I’m his de facto bodyguard, although that’s a part of it. The bond the three of us—Nico, Killian, and I—share is deeper than that. I owe Nico and Killian everything.

They’ve been there for me when I needed them the most, and that kind of loyalty is something I’ll always repay.

Even when I’d rather not be involved in the shit Nico comes up with.

I snort, shaking my head as I rev the bike’s engine coming out of a turn. It’s rare that I don’t agree with him, but this is one of those times where I wish he’d listen to reason.

There are so many ways this shit could go wrong .

About fifteen minutes later, I pull up outside the tattoo parlor that serves as the base for the Enigma gang. It’s still early enough in the day that there aren’t a lot of people gathered around outside, so no one gives me a hard time when I park my bike and walk inside.

The chimes over the door jingle, announcing my presence as I step in.

Quinn is there, her blue-green hair tied back into a messy bun. She’s straddling a low stool, bent over and working on a tattoo for some guy. From what I can see, she’s almost done, and the work is actually good. The tattoo shop isn’t just a front. She actually knows what she’s doing.

I watch her for a second, taking in the way she wipes away the excess ink with a damp cloth and then goes back in with her tattoo gun, doing more dot work to fill in a patch of shading on the guy’s arm.

When she sits back a bit to get more ink on her tattoo machine, I can see that the design is a large snake, wrapped around a blooming flower. The flower is done in bright hues, green and pink and orange, and the all-black snake stands out starkly against the color.

She looks completely in her element here, relaxed and focused. Her head nods along to the music that plays softly over the speakers in the shop, and she finally sits back with a satisfied look, spraying the tattoo down before wiping it completely clean.

Finally, she seems to notice me standing near the door. Her head jerks up as she registers my presence, and the relaxed look of concentration drops off her face as she scowls.

My shoulders tense too, an instinctive reaction to being in ‘enemy territory,’ so to speak. I guess we’re not supposed to think of it that way anymore, now that we have an alliance, but it’s gonna be a hard as fuck habit to break.

I close the distance between us, keeping my face neutral.

“That’s good work,” I tell Quinn, nodding at the tattoo. “Your line work is some of the best I’ve seen.”

“I don’t need your praise,” she snaps, her scowl only deepening.

Okay. She’s not in the mood to be flattered this morning. Noted.

She goes back to the tattoo, and for a second, I think she’s just planning to ignore me before she says, “What are you even doing here?”

“Carnage business,” I tell her shortly. “I’m here to make sure you get a wedding dress.”

It sounds fucking ridiculous to even say it, but Nico’s orders.

Quinn huffs a breath that could almost be a laugh. “That’s not necessary. I can just get married in something I already have.”

I shake my head. “Sorry. Nico said that if you’re going to do this, you’re doing it all the way.

It has to be a ‘real wedding.’” I put a heavy emphasis of sarcasm on the last two words, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“Dress, suits, the whole nine yards. That’ll let the other organizations in this little pocket of the city know that we’re aligning ourselves.

The more real it looks, the more seriously others will take us. ”

She drags in a deep breath and then lets it out messily, a frown still pinching her face.

“I hate it when he makes sense,” she mutters under her breath. Then she shakes her head, as if trying to banish the thought. “Fine. I’ll get a fucking dress. But I don’t need you to go with me.”

I smirk, enjoying the opportunity to piss her off even more.

Nico might say she’s going to be our ally soon, and Killian might seem weirdly on board with this whole thing, but as far as I’m concerned, the only upside to this arranged marriage bullshit is that it gives me a chance to fuck with and annoy Enigma’s leader when she can’t do anything about it.

“Nico’s orders,” I say with a shrug. “As his muscle, it’s my job to go with you. Can’t have his soon-to-be bride in any danger.”

Quinn picks up a piece of ink-dotted cloth, wringing it between her hands like she’s imagining it’s Nico’s neck… or maybe mine. When she looks up this time, her eyes spark with anger. “I can take care of myself.”

“Guess not, or you wouldn’t have needed us to help bail you out of your current problems,” I shoot back, enjoying twisting the knife in her.

Her expression hardens. “You came to me first, remember?”

Yeah. I do .

That’s part of why I think this whole thing is a mistake.

Because Quinn is a fucking wild card, and Nico is kidding himself if he thinks he’ll be able to tame her or some shit like that.

I can still remember the way she threw herself into fighting against the two of us, the way she never let her guard down or slumped in defeat even once we had her outnumbered three to one and I had her pinned up against the wall.

But I just shrug again, ignoring her question. “Are you finished up here?”

“Jesus fucking…”

She grumbles the rest of that sentence under her breath as she pushes back from the tattoo chair.

She strides over to a row of drawers along one wall and yanks out a roll of clear film.

With her lips set into a thin line, she comes back over and places a long strip of the film over the fresh tattoo, then tapes it in place.

“You’re good,” she tells the guy. He glances between the two of us and then rises from the chair, hurrying to the front desk where another one of Quinn’s people deals with him.

I stand watching her as she methodically cleans up her station, ignoring me as if I’m not standing less than three feet away from her.

Irritation prickles under my skin, and I stretch my fingers and curl them into tight fists.

I don’t doubt that she takes her tattoo work seriously, which includes maintaining a clean station, but I know for a damn fact that it doesn’t need to be that clean.

She’s fucking with me, just like I was fucking with her earlier. Poking at me. Using the fact that we’ve suddenly been thrust onto the ‘same side’ to get under my skin when I can’t do shit about it.

Honestly, I might even respect her for playing the same game I’m playing if I wasn’t so fucking annoyed.

I hold out for as long as I can, refusing to let her get a rise out of me, but when she starts to wipe the same part of her equipment tray down for the third time, I finally snap.

“Are you fucking done yet?” I bite out, my voice harsh.

She glances over her shoulder at me, a smile tugging at one corner of her full lips. She’s distractingly gorgeous, the kind of viciously beautiful woman who would be completely my type if she weren’t my enemy… and engaged to one of my best friends.

And that only makes me hate her more.

“Oh. You’re still here.” She looks from me to her obscenely spotless work station and then lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Yeah, I guess I’m done.”

“Good. Then let’s go.”

I jerk my chin toward the door, and she rolls her eyes, still taking her sweet-ass time. She grabs her things and then marches outside, leaving me to follow her. But when she skirts around my bike, heading toward her car, I clear my throat.

“Uh uh, vicious. Your ride is right here.”

She stops in her tracks, glancing from me to the bike.

“Fuck no.” She glares at me. “I’m not getting on that thing with you. I’ll take my car, and you can follow behind me.” She pauses, then smirks as she adds, “Or you can go back to Nico and tell him that you didn’t manage to get me that dress after all.”

A muscle in my jaw ticks. I’m tempted as hell to throw her over my shoulder and haul her onto the bike, willing or not—but I know her well enough to know that if I try that, it would turn into a fight like the one at the warehouse immediately.

And that wouldn’t be a great start to this so-called alliance between our gangs.

So I just shrug, acting like I don’t give a shit either way, although I’m strangely disappointed that I won’t get the chance to see how she handles herself on my bike.

“Fine by me. Whatever gets this over with faster.”

Quinn shoots me a pissy look and gets in her car, making sure to slam the door closed before she peels away from the curb, leaving me to follow her.

She drives like an asshole the whole way there, weaving in and out of traffic, trying to lose me at intersections.

It forces me to use my skills on a bike to keep up with her, but I manage it.

There’s no fucking way I’ll let her lose me.

When she finally parks outside of a dress shop and gets out of the car, I’m right there behind her, pulling into an adjacent space.

As I take off my helmet, I catch a look of grudging respect in her gray eyes, but it’s gone so fast that I’m not even sure I saw it.