Page 214 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

I jerk up, already knowing I’ve lost the element of surprise, but refusing to let that stop me. My finger squeezes the trigger just as Ambrose throws himself to the side, the bullet missing him by a fucking hair.

“You son of a bitch,” I snarl, partly at Emmett for his betrayal and partly at Ambrose for dodging my shot. I launch my boot at the car door, slamming it into Ambrose’s body as he tries to regain his balance. The impact sends him stumbling back, and I squeeze off another round.

But he’s already moving, diving out of the way with the kind of reflexes you develop when you spend time in prison. My bullet embeds itself in the pavement where he was standing a split second ago.

Rage and frustration surge through me. I was so fucking close to ending this—to putting a bullet in the head of the man who tortured Atlas, who burned down my home and my tattoo shop, who has been systematically trying to destroy everything I care about.

But I don’t have time to dwell on the missed opportunity. Movement catches my eye as Ambrose rolls to his feet, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

“You should’ve given me what I wanted, Quinn,” he says, shaking his head as he dusts himself off. “The marker was mine. And now you’ll pay for taking it from me.”

My grip tightens on my gun, but before I can line up another shot, Emmett lunges for me from the driver’s seat.

His hand wraps around my wrist, trying to wrestle the weapon away.

I twist against the fake bindings Killian put on me, feeling them give way exactly like we planned.

It’s too bad that’s the only part of this plan that’s working out like it was supposed to.

Emmett’s fingers dig into my wrist hard enough to bruise as he tries to pry the gun from my grip. My blood boils—this asshole has betrayed me for the last fucking time.

“Let go,” I growl, but he just yanks harder, trying to twist the weapon toward my face. His other hand comes up to grab my hair, pulling my head back sharply.

“You brought this on yourself,” he spits, his face twisted with bitterness. “You could’ve had me, but you chose those fucking animals instead.”

I force out a laugh through the pain as he pulls my hair tighter. “Oh, I’m sorry, is that what this is about? Your hurt feelings?” I slam my elbow back into his face, feeling his nose crunch under the impact. “You were never half the man any of them are.”

He cries out and blood streams from his nose, but he doesn’t let go.

For all my shit-talking, he’s still a fully grown man and has a man’s strength on his side.

For a moment the gun wavers between us as we struggle.

His eyes burn with hatred and something else—the pathetic desperation of a man who knows he’s chosen the wrong side but is too much of a coward to change course.

“They’ll never love you like I would have,” he pants, coming up out of his seat to loom over me as he tries to wrestle the gun away. “You’re just a piece of ass to them.”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snarl, driving my knee up into his groin. His grip loosens just enough for me to wrench one hand free. I throw my elbow back again, catching him in the throat this time. He chokes and gags, but his other hand is still locked around my gun arm.

I can hear shouts outside the car—Ambrose’s voice giving orders. We’re running out of time. I twist hard in Emmett’s grip, using my body weight to slam him back against the driver’s side door. His head knocks against the window, but he still won’t let go of my fucking arm.

Fine. If this is how he wants to play it, I’ll show him exactly what kind of woman I am. The kind who does whatever it takes to protect what’s hers.

I bring my knee up again, harder this time, and Emmett’s grip finally loosens enough for me to tear my gun arm free.

His eyes widen as I swing the barrel toward him, but there’s no time for second thoughts.

No time to think about how he used to be one of my most trusted people, or how different things could’ve been if he’d just had my back the way I once had his.

The gun roars, and blood blooms across his chest. His mouth opens in surprise, like he never really believed I’d do it. Like he thought his betrayal wouldn’t have consequences.

“Quinn—” he chokes out, reaching for me with bloody fingers. I squeeze the trigger again, putting a second round through him. His body jerks, then goes still.

I push his body back into the driver’s seat and let him slump against the steering wheel as I hear the crunch of boots on pavement outside, and adrenaline drowns out everything else.

Ambrose’s backup has arrived. Because of-fucking-course he was suspicious of Emmett’s call. The sick bastard probably expected something like this, which is why he brought his mercenaries with him.

I look down at Emmett’s body, at the blood pooling beneath him. “You did this to yourself,” I mutter, even though he can’t hear me anymore. “You picked the wrong side, you fucking coward.”

More footsteps approach the car, and I know I need to move.

Now. But as I start to shift away from Emmett’s corpse, something catches my eye—he still has that look of genuine surprise frozen on his face, like he never expected to die this way.

Like he really thought he could betray me again and walk away from it.

I guess he learned his last lesson the hard way.

The sound of multiple car doors slamming makes my heart stutter. Boots crunch on pavement, and I catch glimpses of dark figures through the windows—way too many of them. And none of them are my men.

“Looks like your plan went to shit,” Ambrose calls out in that smug fucking voice of his. “Did you really think I’d trust anything that came from that waste of space?”

I grip my gun tighter, trying to count the footsteps so I can figure out how many men he brought. Six? Eight? More? Fuck, this is bad.

“Come on out, Quinn.” Ambrose’s voice gets closer. “Let’s talk about how you’re going to make this up to me. I’ve got some ideas that involve a lot more screaming than what I put your boy Atlas through.”

Rage burns in my chest at the mention of Atlas, at the memory of hearing him scream while Ambrose tortured him. But I force it down. I can’t let anger cloud my judgment. Not when I’m this badly outnumbered.

A bullet punches through the back window, sending glass raining down over me. I duck down instinctively, using Emmett’s slumped body as a shield. Another shot follows, then another. They’re trying to flush me out.

“You know what your problem is, Quinn?” Ambrose sounds closer now. “You think you’re so fucking clever. Joining the Dark Lotus Syndicate instead of giving me what I wanted? That was a mistake. And burning down your house, your shop? That was just the beginning of what I’m going to take from you.”

I hear the distinctive sound of weapons being chambered. Christ. How long had Ambrose been planning this? How many men has he gathered, just waiting for a chance like this?

My heart pounds against my ribs as I realize just how thoroughly my plan has gone sideways. I’m trapped in a car with a corpse, surrounded by killers, and my men are too far back to help without getting gunned down themselves.

It’s time to get creative.

I take a deep breath, then move fast. Shoving Emmett’s body aside, I scramble across the blood-slick seats and throw myself out his door. The moment my boots hit the pavement, I drop and roll, using the car for cover as bullets pepper the ground where I just was.

The acrid smell of gunpowder fills my nose as I press my back against the car’s frame. My hands are sticky with Emmett’s blood, but I keep my grip tight on my weapon. Through the gap under the car, I can see boots moving, trying to circle around to my position.

Fuck that. I lean out just far enough to squeeze off two shots at the closest pair of legs. Someone curses and stumbles back. I didn’t kill them, but at least they know I’m not going down without a fight.

“You’re only making this worse for yourself,” Ambrose calls out. He sounds amused, the sadistic prick. “Although I have to admit, watching you kill Emmett was entertaining. I honestly didn’t think you had it in you.”

I check my ammo. Not enough. Not nearly fucking enough for the number of men he brought.

A bullet strikes the car door inches from my head, making me flinch. They’re getting closer, tightening the circle. Soon they’ll have angles on both sides of the car, and then I’m screwed.

I peek around the bumper, trying to spot a way out. There’s some cover about twenty feet away—a stack of old shipping containers or something. If I can make it there…

More gunfire forces me to pull back. A ricochet sparks off the pavement near my feet. They’re trying to keep me pinned while they move into position.

I grip my gun tighter, my heart pounding. I need to move. Now. Before they cut off all my escape routes.

The roar of motorcycle engines cuts through the gunfire, and my heart leaps. I know that sound—I’d recognize it anywhere. My men.

“There she is!” Atlas’s voice carries over the chaos, and I’ve never been so fucking glad to hear anything in my life.

Tires screech as three bikes tear around the corner. Ambrose’s men pivot, opening fire on the new threat. The sound of engines mingles with gunshots as my men weave between bullets, like the horsemen of the fucking apocalypse.

Nico’s bike skids to a stop closest to me, and he reaches out a hand. “Come on, wife!”

The raw urgency in his voice gives me the shot of adrenaline I need. I launch myself from behind the car, sprinting toward him as bullets kick up concrete around my feet. One of Ambrose’s men steps into my path, but Killian’s bike roars past, close enough to clip the bastard and send him sprawling.

“Move your ass!” Atlas shouts, laying down covering fire that forces the other mercenaries to dive for cover.