Page 179 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

“Over our dead bodies,” Atlas growls, and the possession in his voice makes something warm and steadying spread through my chest. He steps up beside me, shoulder to shoulder, even though his movements are stiff from pain.

Killian moves to my other side, a wall of muscle and barely-contained violence, while Nico’s solid presence at my back makes me feel like I can take on anyone and anything.

Four against a small army. But somehow, in this moment, it feels like we’re the ones with the advantage.

Zoey’s face hardens, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine.” She spits the word like it’s poison. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

Her gaze slides to Atlas, and something ugly crawls into her expression.

“Although I have to say, Atlas, you’re not looking so hot.

” Her eyes rake over him, taking in the careful way he holds himself, the effects of pain he can’t quite hide.

“Seems like she’s more than happy to use you as cannon fodder.

A convenient body when she needs one.” Her lips curve up cruelly.

“You would’ve been better off staying with me. ”

“Better off with you?” He shakes his head, disgust evident in every line of his face. “I’d rather take another bullet.”

Then he does something that makes my heart stutter in my chest. He yanks up his shirt, revealing the fresh ink I put there—my mark permanently etched into his skin.

“You see this? Quinn made that mark.” His voice drops to a growl that sends heat racing through my veins. “This is where I belong. She’s who I belong to.” His eyes lock with mine for a heartbeat, and the possession there is enough to take my breath away. “The only person worth bleeding for.”

The way he claims me so publicly is almost overwhelming. I want to drag him somewhere private and remind him exactly why he wears my mark. But I can’t, so I force myself to focus on the threat in front of us, even as my fingers itch with the need to touch him.

Red splotches creep up Zoey’s neck, and for a moment she looks like she might actually try to claw my eyes out—and part of me hopes she does. I’m just the one to give her the beating she deserves.

Instead, she jerks her chin at her crew.

“We’re done here. But remember this moment, Quinn.

When your territory is burning and your people are bleeding out in the streets.

” Her gaze cuts to Atlas. “And you? You’ll regret choosing her.

The Tyrants are going to crush Enigma, and anyone stupid enough to stand with them. ”

“Get fucked,” I snap, but she’s already turning away, with her crew falling in around her like attack dogs answering their master’s call. I watch them leave, memorizing faces, counting weapons. The familiar calculations of war.

“You didn’t have to antagonize her like that,” Nico says to Atlas, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “She was already gunning for us.”

Atlas shrugs, then winces at the movement. “No regrets.” His hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. “Every word was true.”

I turn to him, and his eyes are dark with pain and something else—something hungry that makes my breath catch.

Before I can stop myself, I’m rising up on my toes, catching his mouth with mine and pouring everything I can’t say into the kiss.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, and for just a moment, the rest of the world fades away.

“Save it for later, lovebirds,” Killian drawls. “We’ve got work to do.”

He’s right. I break the kiss but keep my hand in Atlas’s. “Blood and Ink,” I say, and they all nod. We’ve got a war to prepare for.

Less than a minute later, we’re tearing through the streets of Detroit. I’m gripping the handlebars tight enough to hurt while my mind races with plans and contingencies.

When Blood and Ink comes into view, my chest tightens for everything that’s been lost. Most of the windows are still boarded up from Ambrose’s attack, and bullet holes pepper the brick facade. But it’s still standing. Still mine.

Just like my people, who come out to greet us as we pull up. They’re battered but not broken, and the sight of them makes my throat tight with pride and worry.

“Quinn.” Cabby nods in greeting as I dismount. “We heard the Tyrants were making moves.”

“Get everyone inside,” I tell him. “We need to talk.”

They file in quickly—the ones who survived, the ones who stayed loyal. My ranks have thinned since Ambrose’s attack, but the ones who remain? They’ll always be family.

Inside, there are fewer chairs now—some got destroyed in the firefight—but my people make do, perching on counters and leaning against walls as they gather around.

I hop up onto the main counter, and my men arrange themselves around me. The trust in these faces looking back at me… it’s a weight I’ll carry until my dying breath.

“Things have gone sideways,” I start, not bothering to sugarcoat it. They deserve the truth. “Emmett’s with the Tyrants now.”

“That rat fuck,” Damon spits, and angry murmurs ripple through the room.

“He knows our operations,” Jasper says quietly. The old man’s face is lined with concern. “Our routes, our safe houses…”

I nod. “Which means we change everything. Every single thing he knows about, we scrap it and start fresh.” My gaze sweeps the room. “It’ll be hard. Dangerous. But we’ve survived worse.”

“We’re with you, Quinn.” Cabby’s voice rings with conviction, and others echo him. The loyalty in their voices makes my heart clench.

“Good. Because here’s what we’re going to do?—”

My phone buzzes, and the number on the screen makes my blood run cold. “Fuck, just a second.” I step away from the group and answer, keeping my voice steady even though the rage coursing through my veins has suddenly been dialed back up to eleven. “What do you want?”

“You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you?

” Ambrose’s voice is dripping with venom.

“Using the marker for yourself and playing everyone against me.” He barks out a laugh that’s sharp enough to cut glass.

“I spent a long, long time setting this up. Watching you, sending your lovers to spy on you, patiently waiting while the four of you played right into my hands.”

My fingers tighten on the phone. Killian shifts closer, his presence steady as stone beside me, while Atlas and Nico move to block the rest of my people from getting too close. Creating a barrier between me and them, letting me handle this without an audience.

“Sorry to ruin your plans.” I know I need to be cautious not to antagonize him too much more than I already have, but… fuck it. Fuck him and everything he’s done to me. To us. “Maybe next time don’t torture someone I care about.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” The endearment sounds like a death threat. “The marker might be gone, but I’m just getting started with you. I’m the kind of man who remembers his debts. And you?” He pauses. “You owe me for what you took from me. You owe me dearly. And you’re going to pay.”

“I don’t owe you shit.”

“We’ll see about that. Your time will come.

You might have won the first round in a fluke, but I’m better at this game than you are.

I’ve been playing it longer. When I come for you again, the Syndicate won’t save you.

Your golden pussy—or whatever it is you used to lure those men in—won’t save you. ”

Ice floods my veins. “Go to hell.”

“You first. But before I send you there, I’m going to take everything from you. Your gang. Your territory. Those three attack dogs you keep on such short leashes.” His voice drops lower, almost intimate. “And when you’re alone and broken, then I’ll come for you.”

My stomach twists, but I force steel into my voice. “Big talk from someone who couldn’t even hold on to Atlas when he had him.”

“Keep running that mouth. We both know you’re scared. I can hear it in your voice—that little tremor of fear.” He chuckles. “Sleep tight, Quinn. And remember, every time someone you love bleeds… it’s because of the choices you made.”

The line goes dead, and I lower the phone slowly. Around me, my men are tense, coiled for violence. But it’s my people I’m worried about—the ones watching with wary eyes, the ones who’ve already suffered because of me.

Nico catches my eye, and I see my own fears reflected there. How the fuck are we supposed to fight a war on two fronts? The Tyrants coming at us with inside knowledge of our operations, and Ambrose… a shadow with too many resources and nothing left to lose.

I straighten my spine, shoving down the cold knot of fear in my stomach. I can’t let them see me weak. Not now. Not ever.