Page 191 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

My heart pounds against my ribs as I crouch behind a parked car, watching the luxury hotel’s entrance. Two of Arturo’s men stand guard out front, their hands resting on concealed weapons.

“The left one keeps checking his phone,” Nico whispers beside me. “He could be our weak link.”

“Or he’s waiting for check-in signals,” I mutter back. “Atlas, how long until your distraction hits?”

Atlas checks his watch. “Three minutes. My guy knows what he’s doing.”

“He’d better,” Killian growls. “We only get one shot at this.”

Through my binoculars, I track movement on the penthouse floor. More of Arturo’s men are patrolling up there, keeping Celine locked away like a princess in a tower. Except this isn’t a fairy tale—it’s a fucking nightmare, and she’s living it.

“There are four on the top floor,” I whisper to my men. “Two guards by the elevator, two roaming.”

Nico nods. “We know from Elliot’s intel that there are two cameras in the hallway, one at each end. But the service corridors are blind spots.”

Killian’s massive frame shifts beside me. “Phone boy’s getting antsy.”

“Yeah, we need to get this fucking show on the road,” Nico says. “Atlas?”

“Ninety seconds.”

All four of us are armed to the teeth—guns, knives, flash grenades, the works—and we’ve gone over the plan a dozen times, but my stomach is still churning. Not because I’m afraid of what we’re about to do, but because of what the Dark Lotus Syndicate expects us to do.

“Remember,” I whisper, “She’s very pregnant. We have to keep her alive through the initial break-in, and we can’t risk roughing her up too much.”

“We know, mia cara,” Nico murmurs. “We’ve got you.”

A loud crash echoes from the parking garage, followed by shouting and the sound of breaking glass. The front guards exchange looks.

“Think that’s enough of a distraction?” Atlas asks dryly as both guards jog toward the sound.

“Subtle as always,” Killian says, but there’s approval in his voice.

“Move,” I whisper. We slip from shadow to shadow toward the service entrance, my heart in my throat. If this goes wrong, we’re all dead.

The service door’s lock is pathetically easy to pick. Within seconds, we’re inside the fluorescent-lit corridor that runs behind the hotel’s glossy facade.

“Clear right,” Nico murmurs.

“Clear left,” Killian responds.

“Security patrol schedule?” I ask, keeping my voice low.

Atlas consults his phone. “Maintenance is done for the night. Next patrol’s not due for forty minutes.”

“Unless phone boy called them,” Killian adds.

“If he did, we’ll handle it,” I say, but my heart rate kicks up.

We move silently past stacked linens and cleaning supplies, our boots barely making a sound on the concrete floor.

The maintenance elevator is exactly where Elliot’s blueprint indicated, tucked away in a corner where the hotel’s wealthy guests won’t have to see the machinery that keeps their paradise running.

“You good?” I whisper to Atlas, noticing how he’s favoring his left side.

“I swear, vicious, if you ask me that one more time?—”

“She asks because she cares, asshole,” Nico cuts in.

“I know.” Atlas’s face softens. “But I need you focused on the job, not on me.”

“I can do both,” I mutter, knowing he’s right but still pissed that he thought he needed to point it out.

The elevator requires a key card scan. I slide our copy through—courtesy of an Enigma member who used to work here. The light blinks red.

“Shit,” I suck in a sharp breath.

“Try it again,” Nico says.

I do. Red again.

“Third time’s the charm,” Atlas says quietly. “Always is with these readers. Something in the magnetic strip has to catch just right.”

I swipe again. Green light. The doors slide open with a soft ding that sounds deafening in the quiet corridor.

“See?” Atlas smirks. “Told you.”

“Shut up and get in.” I roll my eyes, but I’m fighting a smile.

Once we’re inside, I hit the button for the service level of the penthouse floor and the elevator groans to life.

“If anyone’s monitoring the elevator…” Killian starts.

“They’re not,” Atlas assures us. “Checked the security setup when I was planning the distraction. They only watch the guest elevators.”

“Ready?” I ask as we near our floor.

Three slight nods answer me.

The doors open to darkness that’s barely illuminated by the red glow of exit signs. We move together as one unit, our weapons ready.

“Two by the main doors.” Nico holds up two fingers. “Just like we thought.”

“Quick and quiet,” I whisper. “No guns unless we have to.”

Killian’s voice is barely audible: “I’ve got right if you’ve got left.”

“Done,” Nico confirms.

They move in perfect sync, closing the distance before the guards can react. Nico’s hand clamps over one guard’s mouth while Killian’s arm locks around the other’s throat.

“Put them in the storage closet,” I hiss, already moving to open it. Atlas covers me, knife ready.

The guards struggle, but my men are stronger and we have the advantage of surprise on our side. Within seconds, both guards are dead. We drag them into the closet, but hear footsteps approaching just as we’re closing the door.

“The patrol,” Atlas whispers.

“How many?” I ask.

“Two sets of steps. Coming from the east wing.”

I press myself against the wall with my knife ready. Atlas mirrors me on the other side of the hallway. Nico and Killian crouch in the shadows, ready to back us up.

The guards are in mid-conversation when they come around the corner. “—said the boss wants hourly checks now?—”

I strike before he can finish. My blade finds the sweet spot between his ribs while Atlas takes his target down with impressive efficiency. A wet gurgle, then silence.

“Fuck,” Killian mutters. “Now there’s blood on the carpet.”

“Arturo’s gonna have a hell of a cleaning bill.” Nico smirks in the darkness. “Good thing he’s dying tonight too. Get these guys in with the others.”

My hands are slick with blood by the time we’re finished hiding the bodies. It’s far from the first time I’ve killed, and it definitely won’t be the last. But this wasn’t ever supposed to be my fight.

“They chose this life,” Atlas says quietly, reading my expression. “They chose to work for a monster.”

It’s the one small consolation I can take with me tonight. The guys we’re killing are the lowest of the low, and the world will be a better place without them. And their boss.

“I know.” I wipe my blade clean. “Their blood is on their own hands as much as mine.”

“The hallway is clear,” Killian reports. “But we need to move. That check-in they mentioned—someone’s going to notice they missed it.”

“Then let’s not waste time,” I say. “Ready?”

My men nod, and we move toward the penthouse doors.

The penthouse door opens silently—thank fuck for well-maintained hinges in expensive hotels. The whole place is dark, but there’s enough moonlight coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows that we can easily navigate around the furniture.

Killian gives the hand signal that we’re clear on the left, and Nico does the same for the right.

“Should we split up?” Atlas asks.

I shake my head. “It’s too risky. We stick together.”

“Let’s check the kitchen first,” Nico suggests. “Most people run there for weapons.”

We move together, checking corners and doorways. The kitchen is empty, except for a handful of gleaming appliances and an expanse of marble countertop long enough to land a fucking plane.

“Christ,” Atlas mutters. “Look at this place.”

“Blood money buys nice things,” I say. Everything here was paid for by human trafficking.

“Movement,” Killian hisses suddenly. “From the main bedroom.”

We freeze, listening. Nothing but silence follows.

“It could be the target,” Nico says.

“Or a trap,” I counter. “Does everyone have eyes on the exits?”

“Two windows,” Killian reports. “And the fire escape is on the left.”

“The door on the right leads to the bathroom,” Nico says.

“The master closet will be straight ahead once we’re inside the bedroom,” Atlas adds.

I signal them forward toward the doors to the master suite. They’re barely cracked open, enough to see that we’ll be in complete darkness there too.

“I don’t like this,” Nico whispers.

“Me neither.” I shake my head. “But we have to get her out of here. Time is running out.”

“Watch the corners,” Atlas warns as we approach the doors, and I can’t shake the feeling we’re being watched. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Something is wrong. This is too easy too?—

A dark figure launches from behind a decorative screen, catching me in the side. The impact nearly knocks me to the floor.

“Quinn!” Atlas hisses.

“Stay back!” I order, recognizing my attacker’s size. “It’s her!”

Celine is obviously in fight or flight mode, and she’s choosing to fight like a cornered animal. She clips my jaw with an elbow, and I taste blood.

“Stop,” I try to say, but she’s already swinging again.

The men move to help, but I wave them off. “I’ve got this!”

“Let us—” Nico starts.

“No! She’s pregnant, remember?”

“Fuck,” Killian growls, clearly torn between protecting me and not hurting Celine.

She throws another wild punch, but I catch her arm and use her momentum to spin her around, pulling her back against my chest. She thrashes, but I hold her tight until she goes limp in my arms.

“Please,” she begs, voice raw with terror. “Don’t—my baby?—”

“Stop fighting,” I tell her, pressing my knife to her throat just to give her a little extra incentive to calm the fuck down. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

Yeah, she’s not buying it.

“Liar!” She starts to struggle again. “He sent you—Arturo sent you?—”

“If Arturo sent us, you’d already be dead,” Atlas says, moving around the perimeter of the room with his gun drawn, securing windows and doors as he goes.

“Your husband’s not walking away from tonight,” Nico says. “But you can.”

That catches her attention. “What?”

“We’re here to help,” I say. “But you have to trust us.”

“Why should I?”