Page 17 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

A couple of days after my impromptu and tense shopping trip with Atlas, I glare at the wedding dress I ended up selecting. Unlike when I tried it on at the shop, I’m alone this time, and the dress is hanging on the back of my door.

I’m freshly showered, standing in front of the mirror, trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m supposed to be heading to a church for my wedding soon.

My hair is still damp, drying in soft waves around my shoulders. My eyes look almost manic as I gaze at myself in the mirror, the same incredulous feeling that sits in my chest reflected on my face.

The longer I stand here, the more I’m starting to think that this was truly insane, and I should have found some way to back out of it. I mean… what the fuck? Marrying Nico, of all people? Joining our gangs, at least temporarily, is a smart move. But this? It’s nuts.

At the same time though, the pressure has never been higher, and I think of the report I got from Emmett last night.

Whoever is trying to take my gang out made another move, and we’ve had to permanently stop using one of the businesses we go through for money laundering because there’s just no safe way to get to it anymore.

It’s like whoever is coming after us knows the moves we’re making and is anticipating how we might try to get around them.

That affects our business and our bottom line.

Joining up with the Princes of Carnage is the only way to make things safe for my people again, the only way to make sure we’re not taken out by someone who’s put a target on us and is operating out of the shadows.

So I have to proceed. At least until this threat is no longer an issue. Then hopefully I can go back to being enemies with Nico and his men. The way it should be.

I sigh, dragging my hands through my hair. Being bitter about all of this isn’t going to help, so I march over to my dresser and yank out a drawer so I can start getting dressed.

On top of the dresser is a framed picture of me and my dad, and I let myself stare at it for a moment, grounding myself with memories of him.

We look so happy in the picture. Carefree, almost. He’s bent over a pool table, the cue in his hand, but his head is turned to look at me where I’m standing off to the side.

We’re both grinning at each other, caught mid-laugh.

My chest aches from the memory of that night and how neither of us ever predicted things would end up like they are now.

“Well, Dad,” I whisper softly. “This is it. The day every father dreams of for their little girls. It’s my wedding day.

If you were here, you could walk me down the aisle.

” As soon as I say the words, I have to snort at the absurdity of them.

“Yeah, right. Don’t get excited, because it’s not real.

I’m marrying Nico Morelli, that smug asshole.

But… I wish you were here anyway. Even though you’d probably be mad as hell about all this.

Maybe because of that. Maybe you could figure out a way to get me out of this. ”

I reach out and trace his image in the picture, dragging in a deep breath as tears burn my eyes for a second. Then I blink them back and force myself to get moving, pushing memories and regret away for the time being.

I pull on panties and a bra that will work with the dress I ended up picking out.

I have to admit, the dress is a nice one.

It’s lacy without being too princess-y, and with a skirt I’ll be able move in, which is important in case shit goes south.

There’s a slit up one side of it that will display a tasteful amount of thigh as well as revealing the tattoo that covers most of my thigh on that side.

The pink and red peonies that bloom over my thigh complement the color of the dress, and I wrinkle my nose because I definitely didn’t plan for that.

That would imply that I actually give a shit how I look for this wedding, and I don’t.

The dress will also show off the tattoos that wind up and down my arms, although the capped sleeves will hide the tattoo on my left shoulder blade. That one is my favorite. It was the first tattoo my dad ever gave me, an intricate, delicate design that almost seems to shift when I look at it.

It’s made up of lots of knots and twists and swirls, an image with no real meaning, but one that looks beautiful anyway.

Having a design that he created inked near my heart makes me feel closer to him somehow, and I turn in front of the mirror and trace my fingers over it for a second, then sigh and drop my hand.

Although I usually leave my face bare, I throw on some makeup today—nothing over the top, but enough that I won’t look washed out in the dress.

I opt to leave my hair down, but I use my curling iron to make the waves in my hair more dramatic, pinning half of them back with a clip studded with pearls.

Then there’s nothing left but to put the dress on.

It fits perfectly, falling over my body to great effect.

It hugs my curves and then flares out a bit at the bottom, but it’s a reasonable length, so I can walk in it without tripping all over myself.

It has a plunging neckline that shows off a good bit of cleavage, and even though it’s a fairly simple dress compared to some of the ones I tried on, it suits me the best.

I take one last look at myself in the mirror and then turn away, grabbing my phone and texting the members of my crew who will be coming to the wedding to act as witnesses, letting them know to meet me there.

Ten minutes later, I pull up to the church where the ceremony will take place.

Fallon, Emmett, and Carter are waiting for me outside, along with a few other Enigma members who’ve come to have our backs.

Fallon eyes me up and down and wolf whistles, and I glare at him, making him grin and give me a small salute. “No disrespect meant, boss,” he says.

I snort and greet him with a small nod. “You did a perimeter check?” I ask, focused and serious.

“Yeah.” He dips his chin. “No sign of any ambush or threat.”

“Good.” I glance between him and the others. “Remember, stay alert, but don’t start shit unless someone from their side starts it first. Until the vows are over, we’re not technically on the same side yet, so… be ready, just in case.”

They all make low noises of assent, and we head into the church together. I feel less alone with my people at my back, but that’s a small comfort on a day like today.

Nico and his people are already waiting inside, and he looks up as soon as we walk in.

His gaze lands on me, and he goes still.

Something flares in his eyes as his gaze slowly tracks up and down my body as I stand in my wedding dress.

My stomach flips in response, and I don’t like that.

I especially don’t like the heat that rises in me, echoing the look in Nico’s eyes.

He looks… good, dressed in a sharp black suit that makes his harshly handsome features seem even more striking.

Atlas flanks him on one side, ever present, and I’m not surprised to find him glaring at me.

He made it incredibly clear the other day that he doesn’t like me, and the feeling is fucking mutual.

I’ve never liked any of the Princes of Carnage, but as I discovered the other day when he took me shopping, Atlas has a way of getting under my skin in a way that few people have ever managed to do.

Maybe he’s still pissed that I stripped down in front of him in the dressing room, but it’s what he got for following me in there in the first place.

Killian is as impassive and silent as always, standing on Nico’s other side like a statue.

Atlas never really answered my questions about him at the boutique, so I don’t know any more about him than I did then.

But he’s staring at me just as intently as his two friends are, and my heart thuds in response, goosebumps breaking out over my skin.

I will them away, squaring my shoulders and then walking down the aisle to join Nico at the front.

It’s a sham of a wedding—even though there is a priest present, standing up at the altar waiting for us to say our vows—so there’s no processional music to accompany me down the aisle. There’s no pomp or ceremony, just tense silence.

Killian and Atlas stand with Nico, and Fallon and Carter fall into place to stand with me. Members of our respective gangs sit in the pews, filling out the witnesses for this farce.

“If we’re ready?” the priest says, glancing between us. I just clench my jaw in response, but Nico nods, gesturing for him to begin.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…”

The priest starts to speak, but I tune out of most of it. It’s a standard ceremony, something generic and easy to fill in the blanks. He says something about the sanctity of marriage, and it’s a struggle not to snort with derision at the notion that anything about this shit is sanctified.

Of course, neither Nico nor I have written any special vows, because why would we?

If we had to talk about our previous relationship together, it would just be about all the times we’ve pissed each other off and the rivalry between our gangs.

The grudges and retaliations between us for the past several years.

Not exactly the stuff romantic wedding vows are made of.

So the priest leads us in the basic shit, guiding us when it comes to what to say. It’s a little gratifying that the ‘love, honor, and obey’ shit goes both ways, because there’s no way in hell I’d make any kind of promise to obey Nico, but especially not if it was one-sided.

“Now then,” the priest finally says. “Who has the rings?”

Nico jerks his chin at one of his men, who steps forward… not with a ring box, but with a tattoo gun.

My stomach does a little swoop, and I glance sharply at Nico. “What the fuck is that for?”

“Let’s just say I don’t quite trust you yet, wife,” Nico says in a low voice meant just for me.

He smiles, and I hate that he looks so fucking handsome—like a devil in a fitted suit.

“So I’m making sure that there’s a sign of our union that you can’t just slip on and off when it suits you.

It has to be a permanent mark. A reminder of who you’re bound to. ”

My jaw clenches, and it’s hard to breathe through the anger climbing up my throat. “A ring would be fine,” I grit out.

“Would it?” His eyes narrow, like he’s searching my face. “I don’t think so.” He waves a hand, gesturing to the church, the priest, all of it. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it all the way.”

I bite back the urge to tell him that people get married with just rings every fucking day, and it doesn’t make their commitments any less permanent—but once again, he has a point, and I hate that.

It’s not like we have any bonds of love to fall back on.

We don’t trust each other. We don’t even like each other.

My nostrils flare as I suck in a breath, staring silently at him for a long moment.

As proud as I was of the marks I left on Nico, now he’s going to leave a mark on me, and I can’t even begin to sort through the mess of feelings I have about that.

Around us, my people and his all tense up as the silence builds between us, as if they’re waiting for a confrontation to break out right here in the church.

But then I nod, holding his gaze as I echo his words. “All the way.”

Nico takes the tattoo gun from his man and steps closer to me.

We’re so near to each other that I can feel the heat from his body and smell the scent of his body wash or cologne.

It’s warm and spicy, making me think of the other day when I couldn’t quite distinguish which was his scent and which was Atlas’s.

I guess I have my answer now.

I try to breathe shallowly as Nico tugs lightly at the neckline of my dress, exposing enough of my chest right over my heart so that he can press the tattoo gun to it.

The sound of the machine flaring to life is familiar, as is the burning sting of the needle moving over my skin. It doesn’t take long, and I’m almost afraid to find out what he might have marked on me.

But when I look down, it’s not his initials or some crude mark to symbolize the Princes of Carnage. Instead, it’s just a simple circle with overlapping lines. Just a ring.

Nico moves to step back, but I reach out and catch his wrist, stopping him. I glance down at his chest, hidden beneath the fabric of his suit.

“I wear your ring, you wear my ring,” I say, holding out my other hand for the tattoo gun. “All. The. Way.”

A half smile tugs at his lips, almost as if he would’ve been disappointed if I hadn’t insisted on tattooing him too. He puts the tattoo machine in my outstretched hand, and I frown slightly as I look down at it.

“I hope you brought extra supplies for this thing,” I mutter. “I’m not swapping pathogens with you just because we’re getting married.”

He chuckles lowly and motions to his guy again, who produces the supplies I need.

I swap out the needle and get fresh ink, and by the time I’m ready to use the tattoo gun, Nico has unbuttoned his jacket and shirt halfway, baring his chest. He already has some ink, a dark design that crawls up his right shoulder and across part of his chest, but the space above his heart is blank, so I decide to put my ring there.

It’s surprising, the vicious flare of pleasure that I feel at getting to tattoo him. He might have gotten to mark me, but I’m getting to mark him right back.

I press harder than necessary with the needle, but even so, my work isn’t shoddy. Nico doesn’t flinch at all, just watching me as I carefully etch the ring into his skin. I use the same basic design that he did, but I add a little extra flourish to it, unable to help myself.

When the tattooed ‘rings’ have been exchanged, one of his men comes and takes the machine out of my hand, and we turn to face the priest again.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Michigan, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest intones. “You may kiss the bride.”

Nico grins and leans in, and I don’t really have a choice but to lean in as well.

He gets so close to me, close enough that my senses are filled with the spicy scent of him and the feeling of the heat from his body.

Just before our mouths meet, he speaks, his voice a low rumble as his breath teases my skin.

“You can bite me this time too if you want, mia cara. I like it.”

Then his lips meet mine.