Page 162 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

NICO

My fingers twitch toward my gun the moment Quinn steps out from the inner sanctum of this place.

The relief at seeing her unharmed is immediately at odds with the urge to raise hell with these assholes for separating her from us in the first place.

Beside me, Killian’s breath catches—he feels it too.

Quinn’s expression is cold as fucking ice as she walks right past us without even breaking her stride. “Let’s go.”

My muscles coil tightly as I fall into step beside her, scanning faces, memorizing details. The receptionist’s perfectly manicured nails tap against her keyboard. A man in an expensive suit lingers by the water dispenser. Two women whisper behind their hands near the entrance.

Any of them could be a threat. All of them are probably watching and reporting back to someone. The weight of my gun presses against my ribs, ready if needed.

“Are you—” I start to ask, but Quinn cuts me off with a sharp look that screams ‘not here.’

Fine. Message received. But I need to fucking know what happened in there, what Malcolm said or did.

The door feels miles away. Each step takes too long, leaves us exposed for too many seconds. Killian holds it open when we finally reach it, his knuckles white against the handle. The parking lot stretches before us, and I keep checking our six, waiting for someone to come charging out after us.

Only when we reach our bikes does some of the tension ease from my shoulders. But not much. Not until we’re home and I can make sure Quinn is really okay—and can find out what price we just paid to get Atlas back.

Back at the house, Quinn paces across the living room, her boots practically wearing a path in the carpet.

“Malcolm is exactly what you’d expect from someone running the Syndicate,” she says, rubbing her arms like she’s trying to scrub away something unpleasant. “All polished surface and sickly smiles, but definitely hiding something darker underneath.”

“What happened in there?” Killian leans forward in his chair, his eyes narrowing at the mention of Malcolm.

“The plan worked. There are cameras all over that fucking place, and it didn’t take long to get his attention once I left the marker symbol as a calling card.

” She stops pacing, her fingers trailing over her collarbone.

“Did you guys have to strip where you went? Everyone was naked on my side. Even when I met with Malcolm. Sleaziest fucking power play I’ve ever seen. ”

My jaw clenches so hard my teeth might crack, and my fingers curl into fists as Quinn continues.

“Had to show him the tattoo with the marker. Fucking creep actually touched it.” She traces the spot on her shoulder where I know the marker is hidden beneath a tattoo.

“Didn’t let him get to me though. Fuck that guy. ”

The room temperature drops about twenty degrees. Killian’s expression darkens, and I fight the urge to put my fist through the nearest wall. The image of that bastard’s hands anywhere near Quinn makes my blood boil.

“He kept walking circles around me while we talked. Like a shark.” Quinn drops onto the couch, running her hands through her hair. “But it worked. He agreed to honor the marker. It’s done. It’s set up.”

“At what cost?” The words come out rougher than intended.

“There’s an induction ceremony.” Quinn’s eyes meet mine. “That’s when I officially call in the marker for Ambrose to be allowed into the Syndicate.”

The tension in my shoulders hasn’t eased one bit. Killian still looks like he wants to murder someone. At least we have the pieces in place to get Atlas back though. I might not like any of this bullshit, but it’s our only realistic hope of ever seeing him alive again.

Quinn pushes herself up from the couch. “I need a shower. Need to get this whole experience off my skin.”

The exhaustion shows in her face now that the mask she wore at the spa is finally cracking. Her shoulders slump as she heads for the stairs.

Killian stands too, his jaw still unnaturally tight. All he says is, “I need some air,” before disappearing toward the back of the house.

My chest constricts painfully as I watch Quinn climb the stairs. The image of Malcolm circling her, touching her—it’s still fucking burning in my mind. Before I realize what I’m doing, my feet are carrying me up after her.

She reaches her bedroom door just as I hit the top of the stairs. When she moves to close it, I catch it with my palm.

Her eyes snap to mine, tired but sharp. “What?”

I step inside, closing the door behind me. The space between us shrinks as I move closer, until she’s backed against the wall.

“What do you want?” she asks.

I can hear the exhaustion in her voice, but I take another step until my chest is just inches from hers. “Take off your shirt.”

Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t argue. She reaches for the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, revealing a gorgeous expanse of pale skin from the bottom of her bra to the top of her jeans. My gaze drops to the curve of her breasts, the soft rise and fall of her chest.

Her eyes flash back to mine, a challenge in them. “If this is a game, I’m really not in the mood.”

“Not a game. Take off your pants.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation, then she reaches for the button on her jeans. The zipper comes down, and she shimmies out of them, leaving her standing in her bra and panties. My gaze sweeps down her legs, the curve of her thighs, the lean muscle of her calves.

I swallow hard. Fuck, she’s gorgeous. Even when I’m pissed off. Even when she’s exhausted. I could get off just by looking at her, but that’s not the point of any of this. “Take off your bra.”

She doesn’t hesitate this time even though there’s still a hint of confusion in her eyes. She reaches behind her and unfastens the clasp, letting the bra slide down her arms. Her breasts spill out, full and round, the nipples tightening right in front of me to two little peaks.

Jesus.

It’s fucking criminal how goddamn perfect she is.

“Panties too.” I clench my jaw as I’m forced to reach down and adjust myself.

“Happy now?” she asks when she’s finally standing completely naked in front of me.

“No.” I swallow again. “Where did he touch you?”

She lets out a breath as a faint flush rises to her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does fucking matter. It matters to me.” My eyes lock onto hers again. “Where? Show me.”

Her finger trembles slightly as she points to her shoulder with the tattoo. “Here first.”

I spin her to face the door, pressing her against it. My lips find that spot on her shoulder, teeth scraping across the sensitive flesh. She gasps as I bite down, not quite breaking skin but hard enough to leave a mark. My mark. To erase any trace of that fucker’s touch.

“Where else?”

“Neck,” she whispers, tilting her head to expose the pale column of her throat. “When he walked behind me.”

A growl rumbles in my chest as I attack that spot next, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Her breath hitches, and she presses her hands flat against the door.

“Where else?”

“Down my… my arm.”

I drag my teeth down the lightly toned curve of her upper arm all the way to her elbow, marking her again.

“Collarbone,” she whispers before I have a chance to prompt her. I trace the delicate ridge with my tongue before biting down, claiming that spot too.

“And my back.” She shudders as she says it. “He put his hand on my lower back when I was leaving.”

I drop to my knees behind her, gripping her hips as I bite roughly at the spot she indicated. She arches against me with a soft moan.

“Non c’è un parte di te che non sia mio,” I growl against her skin.

“Mio e dei miei fratelli. Nessun altro ti toccherà mai così.” The words falling from my mouth are like a prayer now, just as much for my benefit as they are for hers.

My hands slide possessively up her sides. “Non condividerò mai con nessun altro.”

I can feel her responding to each touch, her body growing more and more worked up with each bite, each possessive grip.

She whimpers as I grope her, my hands exploring every inch of her skin.

Her nipples harden against my palms, and I roll them between my fingers, pulling another soft, plaintive moan from her lips.

“Please,” she begs. “Don’t stop, Nico.”

I kick her feet apart, spreading her legs wider. “Spread them for me, mia cara,” I growl. “Show me how much you want it.”

She complies, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps as I slide my hand down her stomach and between her legs. My middle finger slides over her clit, and we both almost lose it.

“Christ,” I groan as my cock throbs, painfully hard against her ass. “So fucking wet for me. This is what you want, isn’t it? First, my fingers…” I leave her clit for a moment to slide first one, then another finger inside her. “And then this big fucking cock.”

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she chants in time with each thrust of my fingers. Her head is pressed against the door and her ass is grinding against my cock. She’s so fucking gorgeous like this that I wanna take it slowly and savor each and every second.

That’s what I want, but it’s not what I’m going to do. My cock is so hard it’s aching, and I might fucking explode if I don’t get it inside her.

“Tell me how much you want it.” I lean in and bite the tattoo on her shoulder again, just to feel her squirm against me. “Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you.”

She starts answering before I’ve even finished making my demands. “So badly,” she gasps. “I need it, Nico. Need you inside me… please.”

“You want me to fuck you hard?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

“Want me to make you scream?”

“Please, Nico—fuck, oh fuck, just give it to me.”

I unzip and shove down my pants to free my aching length, then slide the first inch or two inside her, mostly just the head of my cock.

She gasps as her body tenses around me. I give her ass a hard smack before sliding in another inch, and she cries out in what sounds like a mixture of pain and pleasure.