Page 197 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

I start to walk away from the burning shop, from my former gang, from all of it, but Cabby catches my arm before I can make it more than a couple of steps through the broken glass in the parking lot.

“Quinn, wait.” The emotion in his voice is understandable but still catches me off guard. “You’ve gotta reconsider this shit. This gang is all we’ve got.”

I don’t want to debate my decision. I don’t even want to talk about it anymore. Not here. Not now. Not ever.

I turn to face him, aware of others gathering around to listen. “I’ve made my decision.”

“Fuck that.” He shakes his head, agitated but respectful. “Look, we can beef up security, change how we operate?—”

“What the fuck is going on?” Damon pushes through the crowd, cutting Cabby off. “You can’t just?—”

“I can and I am.” I’m doing my best to keep my voice steady even though my heart has already broken into a million pieces. “As of right now, Enigma is done.”

“Bullshit.” Damon moves closer, looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. And maybe I have, but I won’t let anyone else get sucked into my insanity. Not after tonight. “We’ve lost people before. We’ve had setbacks. That doesn’t mean we quit.”

“This isn’t quitting.” I meet his eyes, seeing the same stubborn loyalty that made him follow my father for years. “This is protecting you. All of you.”

“We don’t need protection,” someone shouts from somewhere in the crowd. “We need to fight back. Together.”

I shake my head. “Ambrose won’t stop. He’s made this personal. He’ll keep coming after everyone connected to me until there’s nothing left.” Marcos’s death flashes through my mind—another body with its face carved into a grotesque smile. “I won’t have any more deaths on my conscience.”

“So we just walk away?” Damon asks. “We let him win?”

“You walk away to survive.” I scan the faces around me, memorizing them one last time. “Anyone who stays associated with me is going to have a target on their back. I won’t risk that.”

Cabby steps closer, lowering his voice. “Your father wouldn’t want?—”

“My father is dead.” The words come out sharper than I intend, but fuck it. No sense in dancing around the truth. “And I won’t watch the rest of you die too.”

Cabby’s face falls, and I realize how big of a shock this must be to him—to all of them. Hell, it’s shocking to me, and I’m the one who made the call. This isn’t what any of us want, but I’ll be damned if I have to live out the rest of my days with more needless deaths on my conscience.

“Listen,” I continue, softening my tone just a little. Only because I’m talking to the people who are practically family now. “Ambrose isn’t like other enemies we’ve faced. He doesn’t want territory or money. He wants revenge. He won’t stop until everyone I care about is dead or broken.”

“Then let us help you take him out,” Damon insists. “We’re stronger together.”

Any other time, I might have agreed. But not now. Not after this.

“No.” I gesture at the burning building behind us. “Look around. He hit my house and Blood and Ink in one night. He got past all our security, all our lookouts. And he has the resources to keep this going indefinitely.”

“So we adapt,” Cabby says. “We change our patterns, stay mobile?—”

“And what happens when he finds you anyway?” My voice rises.

“What happens when he carves up your face like he did to—” I cut myself off, but they all know who I mean.

Marcos might have been a new recruit, but he was one of us.

“He’s watching. Learning our moves. Using everything he knows against us. ”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. I can see fear mixing with the anger now.

“I won’t sacrifice any more of you,” I tell them. “Not for my war. Not for my mistakes.”

“They’re our mistakes too,” Cabby says quietly. “We’re family.”

“That’s why I’m ending this.” I meet his eyes. “Because family protects each other. And right now, the only way I can protect you is to cut ties completely.”

I turn to check on Jasper, still being treated in one of the ambulances. The EMTs are loading someone else in too, with an oxygen mask strapped to their face.

“At least let us help you hunt down Ambrose first,” Damon tries one last time.

“No. Go home. All of you. Stay safe.” I soften my tone slightly. “You’ve been loyal to my father and to me. I appreciate that more than I can say. But this is where it ends.”

They start to disperse, some angry, others shocked into silence. A few give me understanding nods as they pass. Cabby lingers the longest, his jaw working like he wants to say more.

“Go,” I tell him quietly. “Take care of yourself.”

His shoulders slump and he finally turns away. I watch them leave, these people who’ve been my family since I was a kid. My eyes sting as the parking lot empties, leaving just me and my three men.

The firefighters are still battling the blaze, but Blood and Ink is a lost cause. Just like my house. Just like Enigma. Everything my father built, everything I fought to preserve, has gone up in flames because I couldn’t protect it.

The sound of glass breaking somewhere inside the shop makes me flinch.

Memories flash through my mind—my father behind the counter, teaching me how to run the register.

Or in his office, teaching me the books.

Me taking over after his death, determined to prove myself. All those moments, burning away.

“Just like the fucking Princes,” I mutter, barely aware I’m speaking out loud.

“Quinn—” Nico starts, but I cut him off.

“No, it’s fucking poetic, isn’t it?” My laugh comes out harsh. “You lost your club to Zoey. I lost mine to Ambrose. Both after a senseless fucking fire.”

I run my hands through my hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. “At least you three chose to build the Princes. My father dropped all this in my lap when he died. The gang, the marker, all these fucking secrets he never bothered to explain.”

The firefighters start packing up their gear. There’s nothing left to save.

“Everything he worked for.” My voice drops to a whisper. “Everything I promised to protect. And look at it now. I’ve fucking destroyed it all.”

I turn away from my men, needing space. Needing to get myself under control. Leaders don’t break down in parking lots. They don’t cry over burning buildings.

Then again, I’m not much of a leader if there’s nobody left for me to lead.

“Quinn.” Killian’s voice carries across the lot. “Don’t.”

“Give her space,” Nico says, but I’m already walking.

My feet carry me toward the edge of the lot. Away from the emergency lights, away from concerned looks. Away from everything.

“I need a minute,” I call back without turning. “Just… a minute.”

I press my palms against my eyes, willing the tears back. Willing the pressure in my chest to ease. I’m not some weak little girl who falls apart when things get hard. I’m Quinn fucking Kent. I’m?—

A laugh tears from my throat, bitter and sharp. Quinn fucking Kent. Right. The girl who just disbanded her father’s gang. The one who couldn’t protect her people.

My nails dig into my palms as I clench my fists. Focus on the bite of pain. Anything to keep the tears at bay.

“Get it together,” I mutter to myself. “Get it the fuck together.”

But the words feel hollow. Empty, like everything else.

I lean forward, pressing my palms against the cold brick wall of the building in front of me, letting my head drop forward until my hair falls around my face to give me some sort of privacy.

I’ve had setbacks before, but this? This is what real failure looks like. Everything I’ve touched has turned to shit. So many of the people I’ve tried to protect have ended up hurt or dead.

I’m nothing now. No gang. No home. Nothing but a fucking target that gets everyone around me killed.

The sound of footsteps approaching makes me tense. I don’t want comfort. I don’t want understanding looks or gentle words. I just want—fuck, I don’t even know what I want anymore.

“Don’t,” I say without looking up. “Just… don’t.”

The footsteps continue anyway, steady and determined. Just like their owner.

I recognize Atlas’s gait even before he speaks.

“Vicious.”

“I said don’t.” The words come out more pleading than sharp. “Just leave me alone. Please.”

“No.”

I whirl to face him, ready to snap, to push him away, to do whatever it takes to get some fucking space. But the look in his eyes stops me. I see understanding. And pain. And something else I’m not ready to name.

“You think you’re the only one who has lost everything?” His voice is gentle even though his words aren’t. “You think you’re the only one who’s watched everything you love go up in flames?”

“Atlas—”

“I know what this feels like.” He steps closer, ignoring my attempt to back away. “Better than most.”

“I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“Good. Because that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” I try to step back again, but the wall is behind me now. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop pushing us away.” His hands come up to bracket my shoulders. “Stop acting like you have to handle this alone.”

“I do have to handle it alone.” I lift my chin. “That’s what leaders do.”

“Bullshit.” His grip tightens. “That’s what scared people do. And you’re not just scared right now. You’re fucking terrified.”

I try to shove him back. “Get off me.”

“No.” He doesn’t budge. “I’m not letting you run from this. Or from us.”

Is he really so determined to make me lose it? To make me break down right here in this goddamn parking lot? Because that’s where things are heading if he doesn’t back up and back off.

“I don’t need any fucking help.” I look away because we both know it’s a lie.

“Yes, you do.” His hand comes up to cup my face, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You need to hear this. You need to understand.”

I try to jerk away again, but he holds firm. “Let me go.”

“No.” His thumb brushes my cheek. “Not now. Not ever again. Listen to me. I was fourteen when they killed my father. Right in front of me. Rebel Saints, the club we both rode with in Chicago.”