Page 176 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

KILLIAN

My shoulders tense the second Nico’s phone lights up with Zoey’s name. The fucking traitor has some nerve, calling here after turning the other Princes—our fucking family—against us.

Atlas straightens in his chair, seemingly oblivious to his injuries, and Quinn’s hand slides to rest at the spot on her hip near where she normally tucks her gun—a reflex none of us can shake these days.

“What do you want?” Nico’s voice is ice cold. He never was one for pleasantries, but there’s a new edge to his tone now. The kind that comes from betrayal.

I can’t hear what Zoey is saying, but her tone carries that same fake sweetness she always used when she wanted something. Watching Nico’s jaw clench, I know exactly what’s coming before he says it.

“A meeting.” He barks out a harsh laugh. “You want to meet after what you pulled?”

Quinn’s eyes narrow. No doubt she’s thinking the same thing I am—this reeks of a trap.

“Fine.” Nico’s lip curls. “But we do this at the old corner store at the eastern edge of our—of what used to be the Princes’ territory. Middle of the day, right there in the parking lot.”

Smart. That side of town is run down enough that nobody is going to bat an eye when a dozen bikers show up, but still wide open enough that even Zoey won’t be stupid enough to try anything there. “Two hours.”

He hangs up without waiting for her response, tossing the phone back onto the counter like it’s burned him. “She says she has a proposition for us.”

“Fuck that,” Atlas growls, then winces as the movement pulls at his stitches. “But I’m going. Just so I can see her face when you tell her to fuck off.”

“Like hell you are,” Quinn snaps, but there’s an undercurrent of fear beneath the irritation in her voice. “You can barely walk two feet without falling over.”

“Try to fucking stop me.” Atlas meets her gaze, unflinching. “I didn’t get shot and tortured just to sit on my ass while you all walk head first into whatever bullshit she’s planning.”

I watch Quinn’s face as she processes that. The terror of almost losing him is still fresh—I can see it in the way she hasn’t stopped touching him since we got him back. But she also knows Atlas well enough by now to recognize when he won’t be swayed.

“Fine,” she finally says, jaw clenched tight. “But we stay together. And you stay behind me.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “Behind all of us,” I add, leaving no room for debate. Atlas may be acting tough, but I can see the way he’s favoring his left side, how shallow his breathing is.

Quinn shoots me a grateful look. She won’t say it out loud, but I know she’s relieved to have backup in protecting his stubborn ass. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed since this all started—we take care of our own.

Nico stands, already planning ten steps ahead like always. “We need to move. If Zoey has something planned, I want us ready.” His dark eyes scan over Atlas. “Think you can ride?”

“Try to fucking stop me,” Atlas repeats, but there’s a ghost of a smile this time.

As we eat breakfast quickly, it strikes me in a sudden rush just how much has changed. A few months ago, we wouldn’t have trusted Quinn to watch our backs. Now I know without question she’d die to protect any one of us. Just like we would for her.

Looking over at Atlas, I can’t help but think back to the mark I saw on his chest—the one Quinn must have put there sometime last night.

Fresh ink, still raised and red around the edges where I had to restitch him.

Even through the blood, I could see how perfectly she’d done it—strong, sure lines marking him as hers.

I’ve always thought tattoos were fucking pointless. Body modification, unnecessary marks that only draw attention. But watching Atlas’s face when he looked at that place on his chest… There was something primal there. Something that called to the part of me that wants to possess and be possessed.

My fingers drift to my own chest, and I picture my unmarked skin beneath my shirt.

I’ve never wanted anyone’s mark on me before.

Never wanted to belong to anyone but myself.

But seeing her claim on Atlas, knowing he carries a piece of her wherever he goes—it stirs something visceral in my gut.

Something that suggests I might’ve been wrong about this, like I was wrong about so many things before Quinn.

Atlas pushes back from the table, grimacing as he stands. “I should probably shower before we go.”

He’s wearing a clean shirt, but there are already a couple of small blood spots from the fresh stitches I gave him.

“You’re gonna need help changing out those bandages.” Quinn is already moving to support him, and there’s steel in her voice that says she won’t be taking no for an answer.

“Careful, vicious,” Atlas teases. “People might think you actually give a shit about me.”

“Shut up before I change my mind and let you fall on your ass.” But her fingers tighten on his arm, betraying her words.

His lips curl into that familiar cocky grin. “Pretty sure that once I get you alone in that shower with me, the only thing you’ll be helping is getting me hard.”

Fucking hell. It’s like living with a damn teenager.

I muster the most serious look I can, given the circumstances. “You pop those stitches again and I’ll stitch your dick to your thigh.” But the threat sounds as hollow as it is. Can’t blame the bastard for wanting her, even when he’s half dead.

“Worth it,” Atlas grunts. “Some things are worth bleeding for.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Nico says as he starts to clear away our plates. “We don’t have time to restitch you every five fucking minutes.”

“He’s right.” Quinn shoots Atlas a quelling look. “They’re both right. No fucking in the shower. You can barely stand as it is.”

“That’s what the wall is for,” Atlas growls, pulling her closer. But I can see the way his muscles tremble from just that small movement. The stubborn fuck is running on empty.

“Jesus Christ,” Quinn mutters. “Even half dead, you’re still thinking with your dick.”

“Only around you.” Atlas nips at her ear. “I just can’t help myself.”

“You’re gonna have to put it on ice for now,” she smirks, tossing a pointed look toward his crotch. “We need to get you cleaned up and then we’re going to this meeting.” She pauses, and her voice softens slightly. “I just got you back. I’m not letting you hurt yourself worse.”

The raw honesty in her words hits like a punch to the gut. Atlas must feel it too, because he stops arguing and lets her lead him toward the stairs.

I watch Quinn help Atlas up to the second floor, his arm slung over her shoulders as she takes his weight. My chest tightens at the sight—not with jealousy or possession like it might have before, but with something deeper. Something that feels dangerously close to peace.

The feeling catches me off guard. Peace isn’t something I’ve known since I was eight years old, watching my mother’s body sink beneath dark water. Even after finding Nico and Atlas, there was always an edge of violence to our brotherhood, a readiness for war that never quite settled.

But watching Quinn with Atlas, seeing how naturally she fits into the spaces between us… It shifts something in my chest. Makes me realize we weren’t just missing a fourth person in our lives. We were missing the thread that could stitch our jagged pieces into something whole.

Fuck. When did I start thinking like this? I’m the psychopath, the one who doesn’t feel. The killer who’s only kept in check by my brothers. Yet here I am, feeling my chest expand with emotions I can barely name as I watch Quinn take care of one of our own.

Our own. That’s what she is now. What we all are together. Not just a brotherhood anymore, but something more. Something I never thought I’d have after what my mother did to me.

A family.

The word should terrify me. Should make me want to run, to kill, to destroy before it can be taken away. Instead, it settles into my bones like it belongs there. Like maybe this is what I’ve been carved hollow for all these years—just waiting to be filled.

I shake my head, pushing away from these dangerous thoughts. Can’t afford to get soft, not with everything bearing down on us. But the feeling lingers, warm and steady in my chest, as their footsteps fade upstairs.

I need to be productive, to get my mind off… everything I’ve been thinking about. And since we’re about to throw ourselves willingly into a pit of vipers, the most productive thing I can do right now is to make sure we’re prepared.

The stairs down to the basement creak under my weight, and the fluorescent lights flicker and buzz for a moment before bathing the entire area in a bright, almost clinical light. The basement of Quinn’s house is my sanctuary—the place where we store our supplies and our weapons.

Unlike mysterious, nebulous feelings and emotions, I can reach out and touch and count and take inventory of everything down here.

As my eyes move from shelf to shelf, I catalog our arsenal with practiced efficiency.

Nine millimeters, clean and oiled. Combat knives, edges honed razor-sharp.

The satisfying weight of brass knuckles in my palm as I reach out to absently lift them before setting them back in their designated place.

We’ve accumulated a good stockpile, considering how our old clubhouse was destroyed and everything Quinn had at Blood and Ink was raided. But it’s not enough.

Not with Ambrose still out there, not with the Dark Lotus Syndicate’s hooks in Quinn, not with our old club turned against us.

The air feels heavy, charged like the moment before lightning strikes.

Every instinct I’ve honed through years of violence screams that this is just the calm before the storm.

I move to the medical supplies next, checking gauze, sutures, antibiotics. After seeing Atlas’s wounds, I know we’ll need more. The number of threats circling us is growing, and blood always flows before the end.