Page 150 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

NICO

I’m sitting on the edge of the bed watching Quinn sleep. I’ve completely lost track of time, but I can’t take my eyes off her—and not just because she’s fucking gorgeous.

It’s hard not to feel protective when she’s lying here so peacefully, especially after the hellish twenty-four hours we’ve been through with her.

The memory of seeing her so completely exhausted and broken cuts right to my core, not because I’m a stranger to suffering and grief, but because I’ve never seen it from her.

Not like that.

I’ve seen her mourn her dad. I’ve seen her come close to breaking down when she’s lost gang members. But seeing her torn up over Atlas took things to a whole new level—a level I don’t want to revisit anytime soon.

She hung up the phone with Ambrose, and it was like a dam bursting.

Everything came pouring out. Sobs wracked her body as she finally let go of the iron grip she normally has over her self-control.

I held her close, feeling helpless as she cried for Atlas, for the sacrifice he’s made.

And I think—though I probably won’t ever know for sure—that she was crying for more than that too.

For a simpler past. For everyone she’s lost along the way. For the uncertain future ahead of us.

Now, even though she’s been sleeping for hours since that phone call, her brows are still knitted together in a frown.

Her fingers are gripping the blanket as if it’s a lifeline, and she’s still occasionally tossing and turning, letting out angry, frustrated little sounds in her dreams. The sight of her like this, so vulnerable and broken, makes my fucking heart hurt like nothing else.

I shift my gaze from Quinn’s restless form to the other side of the room.

Killian’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes locked on her too.

I’m not sure how long he’s been there this time around, but we’ve been trading places next to her off and on all night.

But it’s the intensity of his stare that catches me off guard.

There’s something in his expression I’ve never seen before when he looks at Quinn now. A raw vulnerability that strips away his usual quiet confidence. It’s like looking in a mirror and seeing my own thoughts reflected back at me.

Especially now, in this moment, I know we’re thinking the same thing. We both wish it had been us instead of Atlas. That we could’ve been the ones to make that sacrifice, that he should be here with her too.

Killian’s jaw clenches as his fingers dig into his folded arms. I can almost hear the words running through his head, because they’re echoing in mine too.

It should’ve been me.

If it had been one of us, Atlas would be here now. He’s just better at shit like this. He’d know exactly what to say and how to comfort her. Instead, we’re both left watching her struggle through nightmares, feeling utterly fucking useless.

The irony isn’t lost on me. We’re strong, capable, dangerous fucking men. We’re not afraid to die. We’re sure as hell not afraid to kill. But here we are, completely powerless in the face of her grief.

Killian’s eyes finally meet mine, and there’s a silent understanding that passes between us. We’d both gladly trade places with Atlas in a heartbeat. We’d endure whatever torture Ambrose wants to dish out if it meant Quinn wouldn’t have to feel this pain.

But we can’t. And that knowledge sits like a lead weight in my gut, mixing with the guilt and helplessness that’s been gnawing at me since this whole fucking mess started.

I need to snap out of this funk, to shake off this sense of desperation and start being the leader Killian—and Quinn, and Atlas—expect. The rest of my people might be splintered into different factions right now, but they’ll realize quickly enough that they need me now more than ever.

And I have to be ready when that realization finally hits.

As I look at Quinn’s restless form and then back at Killian, something else clicks into place.

Any of us would lay down our lives for each other without hesitation.

It’s been that way since we first became a team.

But now, watching Quinn fight her demons even in sleep, it’s crystal clear to me that we’d all die for her in a heartbeat.

It’s not about spying or getting the upper hand anymore.

It’s not even because I know she would do the same for us.

It’s because she’s become the heart of our fucked-up little family, and we need to protect that beating heart at all costs.

The thought should terrify me, but instead, it’s the only thing I’ve thought about lately that’s calmed my nerves.

Clearing my throat, I catch Killian’s attention. “Hey,” I say, keeping my voice low to avoid disturbing Quinn. “It’s gonna get better. We can’t forget who we’re dealing with here. Atlas is tough as fucking nails.”

Killian’s eyes narrow, but he nods, encouraging me to continue.

“Remember that time he got caught up in some shit on the west side? When those cartel motherfuckers had him strung up for days?” I pause, the memory vivid in my mind even though it happened years ago.

“We all thought he was done for. But he walked out of there on his own two feet, bruised to hell but still cracking jokes.”

A hint of a smile flickers across Killian’s face. “Yeah, I remember. Bastard had the nerve to complain about our timing.”

“Exactly.” I find myself grinning too, in spite of everything. “And let’s not forget his childhood. The shit with his old man’s gang? Most people wouldn’t have survived that, let alone come out the other side as strong as he did. But he did it as a fucking teenager.”

Killian just nods again, and I can see his jaw tightening as I bring up some of those shittier times—the times before we were a team, a club, a brotherhood.

“Atlas has been through hell more times than we can count,” I continue. “And every single time, he’s clawed his way back. This time won’t be any different.”

Killian nods, his posture relaxing slightly. “You’re right,” he admits, uncrossing his arms. “If anyone can survive whatever The Saint throws at him, it’s Atlas.”

“Damn straight,” I agree, feeling some of my own tension ease. “We just need to focus on doing our part. Keep Quinn safe, gather intel, and be ready to move when the time comes.”

I’m trying to project confidence, but the truth is, I feel like I’m drowning. It’s like everything is spinning out of control, and I fucking hate it. There’s no solid ground anywhere, nothing to grab onto.

I’ve always prided myself on being able to handle any situation, to find a way out of any mess. But this? This feels different. Bigger. More dangerous than anything we’ve faced before.

The weight of it all settles on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Quinn is still tossing and turning in her fitful sleep.

Killian has gone back to watching her with that hyper-focused, intense stare of his.

And somewhere out there, Atlas is in the hands of a sadistic fuck who’d love nothing more than to tear our whole world apart.

I can’t let myself get lost in these thoughts. I have to do something, anything, to feel like I’m making progress.

“I need you to stay with Quinn,” I say, before I fully let my inner thoughts get the best of me. “Keep an eye on her. Protect her.”

He looks at me, his eyes narrowing slightly.

For a moment, I think he might argue, might insist on coming with me to wherever I’m going—or that he might ask where I’m going, at the very least. But then he nods, his expression softening slightly as he glances back at Quinn. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

I nod, thankful as hell that’s one thing I can count on. Killian’s word is as good as gold, and I know he’ll guard Quinn with his life if it comes to that.

I lean over Quinn’s sleeping form and brush a strand of hair from her face, letting my fingers linger on her cheek for a few extra moments.

“Sei forte, mia cara,” I whisper, hoping the words travel straight into her dreams even though I know she won’t be able to understand them. “Questo non ti spezzerà. Non lo permetterò.”

It’s a promise I intend to keep with every fiber of my being. She’s strong, yes, but she won’t ever have to face this shit alone. Not as long as Killian, Atlas, and I still have air in our lungs.

She stirs slightly at the sound of my voice, her frown deepening for a moment and making me worry I’ve woken her, but her eyes stay closed. She shifts, turning her face toward my hand, looking for me even in her sleep—at least that’s what I’m telling myself.

I press my lips to her forehead and say a silent prayer of protection, of devotion, of a promise I’m making to her and to myself. We’ll get through this. We’ll bring Atlas home. We’ll make it right.

With a heavy sigh, I straighten up and turn to leave. Every step away from her feels wrong, but I know I have to go. There’s work to be done, plans to be made, a war to prepare for.

I look back at Quinn one last time before I walk out the door, then to Killian. His eyes meet mine, and I see my own determination reflected there. We both know what needs to be done and that she comes first at all costs.

The streets are quiet as I speed aimlessly through the city, but it’s an uneasy sort of quiet, like there might be someone around every corner watching and waiting for me to make a wrong move.

I wouldn’t normally be this paranoid, but damn. These days there really are people coming out of the woodwork to take us down.

I didn’t set out for anywhere in particular when I left the house, but I don’t fight the urge when I start navigating to Blood and Ink, Quinn’s tattoo parlor and Enigma’s base of operations.

For once, I’m glad Quinn isn’t with me to see her shop. The place looks like a fucking war zone, with busted windows and bullet holes in the walls.