Page 190 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

“Do you know how easily I could have killed him?” Ambrose continues. “One quick slice. Or slowly, if I’d preferred. So many options.” He sighs, almost dreamily. “The things I could have done with more time. The sounds I could have pulled from him.”

My vision blurs red at the edges. All I can think about is Atlas’s body when we got him back, the marks of torture etched into his skin. The way he still winces when he moves too quickly.

“But I was generous, wasn’t I?” Ambrose’s voice drips with false kindness. “I gave him back to you. Damaged, but alive. Remember that. Remember that I can be merciful when I choose to be.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl, cutting through his twisted monologue. “If you called just to spew bullshit?—”

“Oh no, Quinn.” The amusement drops from his voice so suddenly that it takes me by surprise. “That’s not why I called at all.”

Killian moves closer, his body coiled with lethal tension. I hit the speaker button, holding the phone between us as Ambrose continues. “I called because I want you to know what’s coming. I want you to feel it building.”

“Feel what building?” But even as I ask, a feeling of dread is starting to pool in my belly.

“The loss,” he says simply. “The helplessness of watching someone you care about die, knowing you can’t stop it.”

The words hit me like physical blows. I think of my father. Of Atlas being dragged away at the tattoo parlor. Of all the people I couldn’t protect.

Nico is typing something on his phone, his movements sharp and controlled. Atlas has his keys in hand, ready to move. But Killian just watches me, no doubt reading something in my face that makes his eyes go darker than usual.

“You’re not taking anyone else from me,” I say, but even I can hear the thread of fear beneath the steel in my voice.

Ambrose just laughs. “We’ll see about that, won’t we? Right now, I’m watching one of your people.” His voice turns conversational, almost friendly. “They just finished their morning routine at a coffee shop. Black, two sugars. Now they’re heading east on 7th Street.”

My blood turns to ice. Marcos, one of my newer recruits—young, eager to prove himself. Always gets coffee before his shift. Too fucking predictable with his routines, something I’d been meaning to talk to him about.

“Was that fresh ink on his forearm? It’s nicely done. Looks like the work of a real pro.” He pauses a moment. “Now that I think about it, you know what else it looks like? Like a target.”

Atlas is already moving toward the door. Nico is typing furiously on his phone now, hopefully pulling up traffic cams. But all I can hear is the sound of Ambrose’s breathing, the sick satisfaction in his voice as he describes my newest soldier’s last moments of freedom.

“Maybe I’ll send you pieces,” he says quietly. “So you remember what happens when you fuck with me. Starting with that new tattoo. Would you like that, Quinn? A little souvenir?”

The phone creaks in my grip. Marcos is just a kid, barely twenty-one. He joined up to help support his little sister after their parents died. This is my fault. My choices putting another person in danger.

“If you touch him,” I start, but Ambrose cuts me off with another laugh.

“You’ll what? Kill me? First you have to find me.”

The line goes dead, and I instantly start dialing the shop as the four of us spring into action.

“Spread out!” I bark into my phone as we race out the door. “I want eyes on every fucking corner within five blocks of 7th. He’s there somewhere.” My voice doesn’t shake, even though my insides are twisting themselves into knots.

Nico is already on his bike, his engine roaring to life. Atlas swings onto his, grimacing at the pull on his wounds, but there’s no time to argue about whether he should stay behind. Killian is right behind me as I mount my own bike, his presence steady and lethal as always.

We tear out of the driveway with rubber screaming against the asphalt. Three of my people radio in that they’re converging on the area. Good. We need all the eyes we can get.

My heart pounds against my ribs as we weave through traffic, splitting lanes and running reds. Every second feels like another nail in Marcos’s coffin. Every moment we waste could mean the difference between finding him alive or?—

No. I can’t think like that.

We screech to a stop at the corner of 7th and Marshall. Damon and Jasper are already there, expressions grim as they jog over to us.

“Nothing yet,” Damon reports, frustration evident in the tight lines around his mouth. “But we heard?—”

A sharp crack echoes from somewhere behind the row of buildings. Like metal hitting concrete.

Atlas’s head snaps toward the sound. “There.”

We move as one unit, drawing our weapons as we get closer to the source of the noise. There’s an alley between two abandoned storefronts, and we all exchange a quick glance as we approach.

This has to be it.

“Cover the exit,” I tell Damon and Jasper, not waiting for their acknowledgment before following my men into the darkness.

The silhouette of his body tells me everything I need to know.

“Fuck.” The word tears from my throat.

Marcos lies crumpled against the brick wall, limbs bent at unnatural angles. His face… Christ, his face. That fucking smile carved into his cheeks, blood still wet and glistening.

Killian moves forward to check the body, but I already know. We’re all staring at the same misshapen form. His eyes are empty. Glassy. His chest doesn’t rise or fall.

“He’s still warm,” Killian says quietly.

Bile rises in my throat. We were so fucking close. A few goddamn seconds too late.

“Quinn.” Nico’s voice cuts through the roaring in my ears. Atlas snarls something low and vicious that I can’t quite make out. But all I can see is Marcos’s face, twisted into that grotesque parody of a smile. All I can think about is how fucking young and eager he was to prove himself.

This was my fault. My choices led to this.

“I’m going to kill him,” I say, and my voice sounds strange even to my own ears. Flat. Empty. “I’m going to make him suffer.”

Killian’s hand finds my shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise. Grounding me.

“We will,” he promises. “But first we need to move. We’re all targets right now, and we can’t secure the whole area—not for very long, at least.”

He’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. But leaving Marcos here like this isn’t an option.

“Go,” I tell Damon and Jasper, who are hovering at the mouth of the alley. “Get our people here. Clean this up quietly. No cops.”

They nod and disappear, leaving me with my men and poor, sweet Marcos.

The rage hits like a tsunami, drowning everything else out.

I tear down the alley, gun drawn, searching for any sign of that sadistic fuck.

My boots splash through puddles tinged pink with Marcos’s blood, but I barely notice.

All I can see is red. All I can hear is the thunder of my pulse and Ambrose’s mocking laugh echoing in my head.

Nothing. No trace. No fucking trail to follow.

He planned this. Planned exactly how long to stay, exactly when to make that noise. Played us like fucking puppets on strings.

“Fuck!” The scream rips from my throat as my fist connects with the brick wall. Pain explodes through my knuckles, but it’s not enough. Not nearly enough to match the fire burning in my chest. I pull back to hit it again just as strong arms wrap around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides.

“Stop,” Killian growls in my ear. I thrash against him, but he holds firm.

“Let me go!” The words come out raw, savage.

“Not until you calm down. Breaking your hand won’t bring him back.”

The truth of it hits like another punch. My legs give out, but Killian takes my weight easily. Nico appears in front of me, his face full of understanding as he takes my bloodied hand in his.

“Breathe, mia cara,” he says quietly. Calmly. “Breathe.”

Atlas stands guard at the mouth of the alley, every muscle in his body coiled and ready for more violence. I know he’ll protect me—protect all of us—with his life at the first hint of trouble.

I don’t deserve these men. None of them. How I’ve somehow ended up with all three, I’ll never know.

I force air into my lungs. Force the rage back down into that dark place where I keep all my ugliest emotions. My people will be arriving soon, looking to their leader for guidance. For strength.

I can’t give them vengeance. Not yet. But I can give them what they need to keep going.

Killian slowly releases me, and I straighten my spine. Wipe the blood from my knuckles. Put on the mask of authority that my father wore so well.

It’s time to be what they need me to be. It’s time to bury another soldier.

The rest of the day rushes by in a blur of maddening but necessary tasks.

I gather my people in small groups, watching their faces harden as I deliver the news about Marcos.

Some of them knew the kid, took him under their wing.

I see the same fury in their eyes that burns in my gut, but I can’t let them act on it. Not now. Not when we’re all exposed.

“Shut it down,” I tell them, hating the words as they come out of my mouth.

It has to happen though. “Everything goes dark until further notice. No one works alone. No regular routines.” I meet each gaze in turn, letting them see both the leader and the woman who has lost too many people already.

“I’m not losing anyone else to this psychotic fuck. ”

By the time we finish dealing with Marcos’s body, notifying what’s left of his family, and battening down the hatches of every Enigma operation in the city, the sun is already low on the horizon.

Killian peels off to handle an errand he won’t elaborate on, leaving me, Atlas, and Nico to head home and prep for tonight’s other nightmare—the Dark Lotus Syndicate’s impossible demand.

Back in the quiet privacy of my bedroom, my black tactical gear feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I pull it on.

My hands shake as I try to zip up the jacket, and suddenly everything crashes over me at once—Marcos’s mutilated face, the growing body count, the impossible choice waiting for us tonight.

A sob rips free before I can strangle it back. I slam my hands against my eyes, pressing until I can see sparks in the darkness. As if I can physically hold back the tide of grief threatening to fucking drown me.

“Quinn.” It’s Nico’s voice, quiet but firm. I didn’t even hear him come in.

I try to straighten up, to pull my shit together, but another sob escapes instead.

“I can’t—” The words catch in my throat.

“I’m not cut out for this. My father, he…

there were barely any deaths when he was in charge.

But me?” I laugh, and it sounds cracked.

Broken. “Everyone keeps dying. I keep getting people killed.”

Nico moves closer. “Your father loved you,” he says, and the gentleness in his voice nearly breaks me. “He wasn’t like mine. Anyone can see that. But he still put you in an impossible position.”

My breath hitches. “What do you mean?”

“That marker.” Nico’s fingers brush my shoulder where the Dark Lotus Syndicate’s brand has scarred my skin.

“He marked you without telling you what it meant. Left you to play a game you didn’t even know the rules to.

” His voice hardens slightly. “Now you’re cleaning up the mess, trying to keep everyone alive while flying blind.

And you’re doing a hell of a lot better than most people would. ”

“But not good enough.” Marcos’s empty eyes flash through my mind. “Never fucking good enough.”

“Hey.” He grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re fighting a war on multiple fronts. Ambrose. The Syndicate. Your own people’s expectations. And you’re still standing.” His thumb brushes my lower lip. “That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”

Something in my chest eases, just slightly. Just enough to let me drag in a real breath.

The sound of boots on the stairs gives us warning before Atlas appears in the doorway, Killian right behind him. They both read the room instantly, frowning as tension radiates from their bodies.

“It’s time,” Killian says simply. There’s fresh blood on his knuckles—whatever errand he was running clearly involved violence.

I straighten my back and let Nico’s words settle in. I’m not weak, even though I feel that way right now.

I’m strong. Really fucking strong. I’ve proven it to myself, my friends, and my enemies time and time again. I’ll prove it again tonight.