Page 208 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

KILLIAN

The streets of this city are more familiar to me at night than at any other time. I don’t know if it’s the darkness itself or the relative quiet after the sun goes down. Maybe it’s the moonlight.

Whatever the fuck it is, this is how I work best—alone and focused, with nothing but the hunt filling my mind. Quinn fought me on it earlier, those pretty gray eyes of hers flashing with worry.

“If something happens to you…” she’d started to say, but I shut her up with a kiss. Rough and deep, the way she likes it. The way I need it.

I’ve been systematically working my way through the list of places I found when I broke into Emmett’s house.

From the look of the place, he must’ve cleared out weeks ago, but he left enough breadcrumbs for me to follow.

Arrogant and sloppy, just like we were counting on.

The kind of weak fuck who would sell out his own people because a woman didn’t want him.

My fingers itch to wrap around his throat and feel the life drain out of him for what he did to Quinn. Then I’d do it all over again for the way he got Atlas taken and tortured within an inch of his fucking life.

But now I’m being selfish. Unfortunately, we still need Emmett alive. For now.

I pull up in Quinn’s car outside Murphy’s Bar, remembering the matchbook I found in Emmett’s place. The parking lot reeks of exhaust and piss, and I can hear the noise of distant traffic mixed with 80’s rock that’s blaring from a jukebox inside.

I stick to the shadows, keeping my head down and avoiding the neon lights until I get to the grimy windows and take a look inside. The place is busier than I thought it would be, but that just works to my advantage.

The door squeals on rusted hinges as I step inside.

Music pounds through blown speakers, and the floor is sticky enough to grab at my boots with every step.

I’ve been known to hang out in some sketchy fucking places, but this?

This joint reeks of stale beer and cheap cologne—exactly the kind of place I’d expect to find my least favorite walking asshole.

Almost subconsciously, I’ve already started doing a quick sweep, cataloging exits and threats as easily and naturally as breathing. There are two doors besides the main entrance, and a handful of bikers who are focused on a game of pool for now, but might cause me some trouble later.

Past the pool table, there are at least three working girls looking for johns. And there, perched on a barstool like he’s above it all, is my target.

Emmett.

Something dark and primal spreads in my chest. I like to think of it as the predator in me, and he’s always waiting just beneath the surface to come alive at the sight of my prey.

My jaw clenches as I watch him trying to hit on some blonde at the bar, leaning in too close like the desperate fuck he is.

His hands gesture wildly as he talks, probably lying about how important he is with the Tyrants these days.

He probably used to do the same fucking thing when he was with Enigma.

I slide through the crowd until I find a shadowy corner where I can watch him. This is what I do best. It’s what I was made for.

The blonde is already looking for an escape, and her eyes keep darting toward the bathroom. Perfect. Once she makes her move, I’ll make mine. And then Emmett’s going to learn what happens to rats who bite the hand that once fed them.

A cruel smile tugs at my lips as I settle deeper into my corner. I can be patient for now. Pretty soon, it’ll be time to show this fucker exactly why Quinn chose us over him.

Watching Emmett try to work his game makes my stomach turn.

He’s got his elbows on the bar, leaning into the blonde’s space like he thinks he’s some kind of player.

It’s the same way he used to hover around Quinn, always finding excuses to be near her or touch her arm.

Any fucking thing to try to prove he was worthy of her attention.

“You should see how the Tyrants run things now,” he says, his voice carrying over the shitty music. “Not like before. We’re making real moves.”

Fucking traitorous rat.

The blonde, to her credit, isn’t buying the shit he’s selling. She keeps checking her phone, probably counting the minutes until she can bail. Emmett orders another drink, trying to keep her there, and I can see his desperation growing. Fucking weak little bitch of a man.

My hands clench. It would be so easy to walk up behind him and slam his face into the bar. Fuck, I could actually get off on watching his teeth scatter across the sticky floor.

That’s a fantasy I might have to indulge sometime. Maybe another night.

For now, I have my orders not to take things too far. Not until he can lead us to Ambrose.

The blonde finally stands and mumbles something about the bathroom. Emmett’s shoulders slump as she walks away. He’s so fucking pathetic. He signals the bartender for another drink, no doubt planning to drown his rejection in cheap whiskey.

I wait until the blonde is halfway down the hall before I move. The crowd parts around me like they can sense the violence I’m planning. Good. They should.

She’s pulling out her phone when I catch up to her. Years of hunting practice keep my footsteps nearly silent in spite of the fact that I take up most of the room in the narrow hallway.

“Hey.” I keep my voice low so she’s the only one who can hear me. She jumps, but doesn’t scream. Another good sign. “Want to make some quick cash?”

Her eyes narrow, assessing me. She’s smart and professional. I like that. “Depends on what you’re asking.”

“Nothing you can’t handle.” I pull out five twenties, crisp and new. “Get that guy at the bar to follow you out back. That’s it.”

She glances at the money, then back at me. “The chatty one? With the shitty pickup lines?”

“That’s him.”

A small smile plays at her lips as she takes the cash with no other questions asked. This isn’t her first rodeo. “Give me two minutes. There’s a door by the dumpsters.”

I nod, already moving toward the back exit. This is why I love working alone. No messy explanations. No hesitation. Just the clean efficiency of the hunt.

I push open the back door and step into the dark alley. There’s plenty of garbage and piss and a few rats, but no other witnesses. Nobody comes back here except to score some drugs or to have a quick, drunken fuck.

Or maybe to die.

I position myself so I’ll be hidden behind the door when it opens.

My body is already fucking thrumming with anticipation, the way it always does before I get the chance to fuck somebody’s whole world up.

I just wish I could indulge every dark impulse I have and give the bastard the slow, painful death he deserves.

Someday.

I can already taste Emmett’s fear on my tongue. It’s been too fucking long since I made someone scream or watched the light fade from their eyes as they realized just how fucked they were.

The sound of the blonde’s voice on the other side of the door makes me smile.

It’s show time.

Emmett stumbles out into the alley with his hands all over the blonde, trying to get under her shirt before they’re even fully outside. Stupid, drunken idiot. The stink of cheap whiskey rolls off him in waves.

The door bangs shut behind them, the sound covering my footsteps as I move into place behind him.

I wait, following on his heels as he guides her across the alley and presses her against the brick wall.

Her eyes meet mine over his shoulder and I give her a quick nod, just enough time to let her twist away as I strike.

Not many things in this world feel quite as satisfying as slamming my fist into the base of his skull. The hit is clean and precise, meant to drop a man without killing him. Emmett crumples like the sack of shit he is, his face bouncing off the pavement with a wet, satisfying smack.

Blood spreads in a small pool beneath his nose. The sight of it stirs something in me, and I’m sorely tempted to do so much more damage. I could happily make him suffer for every bit of pain he’s caused Quinn.

My boot hovers over his head. One stomp. That’s all it would take to end him. To crush his skull like the worthless thing it is. To feel bone give way beneath my heel.

The rage in my gut takes me right back to the way I felt when I was eight years old, watching my mother’s face disappear beneath the water. When I learned how good it feels to end someone who deserves it.

But Quinn needs him alive. We all do. The thought of her is enough to make me step back and chain down the monster that wants to paint this alley with Emmett’s blood and brain matter.

Still, I allow myself one swift kick to his ribs. The crack is deeply satisfying. Just a little down payment for Atlas. I’ll make more payments—with interest—later.

The blonde doesn’t even flinch as I pull out more cash. Yeah, my instincts were spot on this time. “Extra for keeping your mouth shut,” I tell her, holding out the bills. Five of them, all hundreds. And one hundred percent worth it to keep things quiet.

She takes the money with an easy nod. “I never saw a thing.” Her eyes drift to Emmett’s unconscious body. “The scumbag was getting a little too handsy anyway.”

I grunt in agreement. She heads back inside without another word or a backward glance. Perfect.

I can appreciate anyone who has seen enough shit to know when to walk away and keep on walking.

The alley falls quiet again except for the distant hum of traffic and Emmett’s shallow wheezing. I hope I punctured a fucking lung.

My hands itch to do more damage. I’d give anything to carve into him until he’s screaming and begging. Until he knows exactly what it felt like for Atlas, being tortured while the rest of us could only listen.

The image of Quinn’s face when she heard Atlas’s screams flashes through my mind. The way she broke down afterward. The emptiness in her eyes. Yeah, I should take this motherfucker apart until all that’s left is a pile of dog meat and regret.