Page 184 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

The regular entrance to the building looks exactly like it did the first time I came here, understated luxury that serves as a thin veneer for whatever darker purposes Malcolm and his Syndicate use it for.

But this time, we’re led through a different door, hidden behind what looks like an ordinary supply closet.

The stairs going down into darkness seem endless.

Our footsteps echo off stone walls as we follow our guide deeper underground into what feels like a nuclear bunker that’s been carved out from beneath the sleek building above us.

Finally, we step into a cavernous room dominated by a large wooden table that wouldn’t look out of place in a medieval castle.

But instead of a king and his knights, we’re faced with Malcolm and his band of deadly criminals.

The six Syndicate members are already seated, their faces barely lit by the scattered lighting in the room. Each one of them has at least two people standing behind their chair—bodyguards who look just as dangerous as their employers.

Malcolm sits at the head of the table, and his smile when he sees me makes a knot form in my stomach. But I keep my chin high as I walk to the nearest empty seat with my men at my back.

“For fuck’s sake.” The platinum-haired woman two seats down slumps back in her chair, managing to make even that petulant gesture look elegant. “Is this really necessary? Some of us have actual business to attend to in a few hours.”

“Poor baby,” the auburn-haired woman drawls from across the table. “Did someone interrupt your beauty sleep?”

“Careful, Imogen.” Blondie’s smile is razor-sharp. “Your casinos have been looking a bit empty lately. Would be a shame if certain authorities started asking questions about your bookkeeping.”

The auburn-haired woman laughs, her eyes glittering. “Tit for tat, darling. Don’t start a war you can’t win.”

Blondie arches a brow. “Don’t worry. I always win.”

Their banter almost has the cadence of old friends talking shit, but there’s an edge to it that makes it hard to tell if they respect each other or hate each other. Maybe it’s a little of both. I can feel my men shift behind me, responding to the predatory energy filling the space.

“Ladies.” Malcolm’s voice cuts through their back-and-forth.

“Need I remind you of your vow to the Syndicate?” His authority fills the room, making even these hardened criminals straighten in their seats.

“The same sacred oath we all took when we joined. The one that demands we respond to a votum immediately, regardless of the hour or circumstance.”

“Some of us take those vows more seriously than others,” the man at the opposite end of the table adds smoothly, his dark blond hair falling across his forehead as he shoots a pointed look my way. “Although perhaps our newest member could use a refresher course in Syndicate etiquette.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” I ask, feeling my men tense up behind me.

“Meaning,” the man with long hair and a beard cuts in, “that most people don’t burn through their first votum before the ceremony has even finished.”

His hair is pulled into a man-bun today, rather than loose around his shoulders like it was during the ceremony at the cemetery, but the hairstyle somehow makes him look more dangerous rather than less.

The blonde woman closes her mouth with an audible click, but the look she shoots me could freeze hell itself. Her perfectly manicured nails drum against the table in a slow, steady, precise rhythm. “At least I had the decency to wait a full week before calling in my first favor.”

“And look how well that worked out for you,” the other woman murmurs, examining her own blood-red nails. “Wasn’t that the vote that ended with three of your lieutenants in prison?”

“Enough.” Malcolm’s voice doesn’t rise, but it fills every corner of the room.

“We are not here to relitigate past votums or question each other’s methods.

” His dark eyes sweep the table. “When any member calls for aid, we respond. That is the foundation of everything we’ve built and everything we are. ”

His gaze settles on the blonde woman. “Unless you’d like to formally challenge the legitimacy of tonight’s summons?”

She holds his stare for a long moment before dropping her eyes. “No. My apologies.” The words sound like they’re being dragged out of her. “I will honor my vow, as always.”

“Now then.” Malcolm’s shark-like smile does nothing to warm the temperature in the room.

“Given the unconventional nature of your initiation and immediate use of your votum, we never properly introduced you to your new family members.” His emphasis on the word ‘family’ seems to carry a subtle threat.

He starts with the platinum blonde, who lifts her chin as he says her name. “Cassandra Vale runs organized crime operations spanning several states. Everything from narcotics to high-stakes gambling falls under her purview, and she handles it all with ruthless efficiency.”

“You forgot to mention my winning personality,” Cassandra interjects with a cold smile. “And how well I play with others.”

Malcolm continues as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Rafael Castillo.” The man with dark blond hair and a charming smile tilts his head in acknowledgment.

“Our master of black market operations. If it’s rare, illegal, or supposedly impossible to acquire, Rafael can get it.

His network extends from Detroit to Dubai. ”

“You flatter me,” Rafael says smoothly. “But seriously. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Nico clears his throat behind me, and I can only imagine the looks Rafael is getting from my men right now.

“Owen Callahan,” Malcolm intones. The man with the rugged appearance and man-bun gives a slight nod as Malcolm says his name. “There isn’t a border in the world he can’t cross. His smuggling routes have never been compromised, and his discretion is nothing short of legendary.”

Each introduction comes with carefully curated details about their specialties and territories, painting a picture of an organization with tentacles reaching into every dark corner of the criminal world.

Malcolm presents them like pieces on a chessboard—each one deadly in their own way, each one positioned for maximum effect.

“Imogen Brooks,” Malcolm says. The woman with striking auburn hair examines me like I’m a particularly interesting insect.

“Her casino empire provides an excellent cover for more lucrative ventures. The high rollers at her tables never realize they’re betting against the house in more ways than one. ”

Imogen’s lips curve. “And they never seem to remember that the house always wins. Always.”

“And finally…” Malcolm’s voice takes on a slight edge. “Elliot Sands.” The man’s pocked face and hazel eyes seem to absorb the dim light, and it’s clear that his slightly crooked nose has been broken at least once. “His particular expertise lies in… human commodities.”

The euphemism for human trafficking makes bile rise in my throat, but I force my expression to stay neutral. Dad always said the most dangerous people in our world were the ones who could make atrocities sound civilized.

“Charmed,” Elliot says in a tone that suggests he’s anything but. His gaze rakes over me like he’s assessing my market value, and it takes everything I have not to reach for my gun.

My stomach clenches as the full weight of my situation hits me.

Every person around this table commands enough power to crush Enigma without breaking a sweat.

Their networks span continents, their influence reaches into the highest levels of government and business.

And here I am, the leader of a relatively small Detroit gang, surrounded by apex predators who already resent me.

I feel Atlas shift quietly behind me, a subtle reminder that I’m not alone. But even with my men at my back, I know we’re outgunned. The target I painted on myself by using that votum so quickly feels like it’s glowing neon bright.

Still, I keep my shoulders squared and my chin high, channeling every lesson about projecting power that I learned from my father and from leading Enigma. My voice stays steady as I meet each of their calculating stares.

“I appreciate the introductions,” I say, letting just enough hardness enter my tone to make it clear I won’t be intimidated. “I look forward to working with all of you.”

It’s a lie, of course, but it might serve me well in the future. I’d much rather have these people as reluctant allies than outright enemies.

Elliot’s scarred lips twist into something that might be a smile.

“I’m sure you do. Assuming you survive long enough for us to work together.

” Without waiting for a reply, he turns to the rest of the table, his scarred face twisting with impatience.

“I called this meeting for a reason, and it wasn’t to welcome our newest member to the fucking book club. ”

His hazel eyes are hard as steel as he surveys the room. “I’ve just received word that Arturo Valencia is in Detroit. That slimy fucker thinks he’s here for a quick business deal, but this is my chance to eliminate him permanently.”

The name doesn’t mean much to me, but Malcolm cuts in to explain that Arturo runs a rival trafficking operation that’s been aggressively expanding into Elliot’s territory.

“Valencia?” Rafael leans forward, suddenly interested. “I heard he was still in Colombia.”

“He was.” Elliot’s fingers drum against the table. “Until my contact at Border Control informed me that he entered the country yesterday on a private jet. Apparently, he’s gotten bold enough to travel under his own name now.”

“Or stupid enough,” Imogen adds, her auburn hair catching the light as she shifts. “How reliable is your intel?”

“Very.” Elliot’s smile is all teeth. “I have proof he’s meeting with some of our shared connections and trying to cut deals that would push me out of the Pacific trade routes entirely.”

“So what do you want from us?” Cassandra asks with a petulant sigh.

“We’re going to kill him, of course,” Rafael answers. “But the window of time is narrow. He’ll be in the city for less than forty-eight hours. If we’re going to move, it has to be now.”

“And you’re certain about this timeline?” Malcolm asks, his calculating eyes fixed on Elliot.

“Dead certain.” Elliot’s choice of words sends another chill down my spine. “Which is why I’m calling in my votum. I want every person in this room committed to this operation. With your help, I’ll make sure Arturo Valencia doesn’t leave Detroit alive.”

“I need each of you to play a specific role.” Elliot begins doling out assignments with the precision of a general planning a war.

“Rafael, your network will create a fake business opportunity—something too lucrative for him to ignore. Make him think he’s about to cut into our profit margins even further. ”

“What kind of numbers are we talking?” Rafael’s charming smile has an edge now.

“Eight figures, minimum. Make it look like you’re ready to undercut his entire Eastern European operation.” Elliot’s scarred face twists. “He’s greedy enough to bite, especially if he thinks it’ll hurt me.”

“Owen.” He turns to the smuggler. “You’ll handle his security detail. I want every member of his protection team identified, tracked, and eliminated before they know what hit them.”

Owen’s man-bun bobs as he nods. “I’ll get my contact at the airport to send over their arrival manifest. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Imogen.” Her auburn hair gleams as she leans forward. “Your casinos will be the backdrop. Make him feel safe there, comfortable enough to let his guard down. Then lock down every exit when the time comes.”

“Which venue?” Her blood-red nails tap against the table.

“The Golden Palace. It’s closest to where he’s staying, and the private gaming rooms have… convenient access points.”

The assignments continue around the table, each task more ruthless than the last. Cassandra will ensure local law enforcement stays away. Malcolm’s teams will handle perimeter security and cleanup. These people plan murder with the same casualness that normal people plan dinner parties.

That’s not the part that gets me though.

I’ve done the same with my own men plenty of times. It’s the cold, calculated efficiency that makes me jealous and a little nauseated at the same time. But then, what did I expect from the Dark Lotus Syndicate? They didn’t get to where they are by playing nice.

When Elliot’s eyes finally land on me, his lips curve into a cruel smile. “And Quinn…” He draws out my name like he’s savoring it. “You’ll handle the loose ends. Make sure there are no surviving heirs left to seek revenge or rebuild his operation.”

His choice of words makes my stomach clench. “Surviving heirs?”

“Just one, really. Arturo has taken a wife and has apparently knocked her up.” He pauses, squinting a little as if he’s sizing me up. “Your job is to kill her.”