Page 225 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

“You mean the good old days?” I know for sure that I’m smirking this time. “When all I had to worry about was one of you three killing me?”

He lets out a harsh laugh, pulling me closer. “We never would have. We couldn’t. Già allora possedevi i nostri cuori.”

I’m not sure what the Italian words mean, but there’s a softness in his voice as he says them. I lean into his solid body as I murmur, “It worked out okay for us in the end, didn’t it?”

Atlas and Killian emerge from the manhole behind us, and Nico’s expression hardens again. “Come on. There’s an alley over there. We need to get off the street before someone spots us looking like murder victims.”

He’s not wrong. Between the blood, the sewer water, and god knows what else, we look like extras from a horror movie. But we’re alive. Beyond all the fucking odds, the four of us are alive and together.

I lean against the alley wall while Atlas and Nico check my wounds. Killian gives me a hard, unreadable look, then leaves to scout the area. The brick is rough against my back, but it’s keeping me upright, so I’ll take it.

“Fuck, vicious,” Atlas mutters, lifting my shirt to look at my side. “This is deep.”

Nico’s hands join his, using a torn strip of his shirt to press hard against the wound. The pain makes black spots dance in my vision.

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

“Sorry.” But Nico doesn’t ease up. “We need to stop the bleeding. Tell me if you taste blood in your mouth.”

“What?”

Atlas cuts in. “That’ll tell us if he hit anything vital.” His voice is tight as he adds, “Like a lung, a kidney, anything like that.”

I try to focus past the pain, cataloging what hurts and how. “No… no blood in my mouth. It just hurts like a motherfucker.”

“Good.” Nico’s shoulders relax slightly. “The chest wound isn’t as deep. Imogen must have held back for some reason.”

I remember thinking the same thing at the time, but I can’t focus clearly enough right now to wonder why she would’ve gone easy on me or what advantage she could’ve hoped to gain.

“Lucky me,” I mutter. The pressure on my side is making me nauseated again, but at least the bleeding seems to be slowing. “Do you guys have any idea where the fuck we are?”

“A few miles from Noctura, maybe?” Atlas glances toward where Killian disappeared. “I ditched our phones in the sewer, so it’s hard to be sure.”

“Smart move,” I say, then immediately regret talking more as pain rips through my side again. “Fuck.”

“Stay still,” Nico orders. “We’ll figure out where we are when Killian gets back. Right now, just focus on not bleeding out in this alley.”

I close my eyes, trying to breathe through the pain while Atlas and Nico keep pressure on the wounds. Time gets weird, and I’m not sure if it’s been minutes or hours before I hear Killian’s footsteps coming back down the alley.

“Hold her still,” he says, and I hear rustling.

My eyes flutter open to see him ripping open packages of gauze and pulling out antiseptic. Nico frowns.

“I didn’t know there was a clinic around here.”

“There isn’t.” Killian starts cleaning the gash in my side, and I bite back a scream. “I broke into a vet’s office three blocks over.”

“What the fuck?” Atlas grabs Killian’s wrist. “You’re using animal shit on her?”

Killian just stares at him until he lets go. “Medical supplies are medical supplies. Sterile is sterile. You want to wait around while I walk to a fucking hospital?”

“He’s right,” I grit out as he goes back to work. “Just do it.”

The antiseptic burns like hell, but Killian’s hands are steady as he cleans both wounds. He works fast, wrapping my side with layers of gauze before moving to the shallower wound near my neck.

“This’ll hold for now,” he says, taping down the last piece. “But we need somewhere safe to stitch you up properly.”

“You’re gonna use dog stitches on her too?” Nico asks, but there’s less heat in his words now.

“Actually, I’m pretty sure these are cat supplies. That’s what was pictured on the box, anyway.” Killian starts shoving the leftover gauze in his pockets. “Smaller animals need more delicate work, right? Could be better quality shit.”

I let out a weak laugh that makes my side scream. “Good to know… I’m getting the fancy pet treatment.”

Killian’s hand is gentle on my shoulder. “Save your strength. We’ve still got to get you somewhere safe, and you’re not exactly in shape for another marathon through the sewers.”

“Speaking of which,” Atlas cuts in, “did you figure out where we are while you were stealing those kitty bandages?”

“Yeah,” Killian nods, checking the gauze one more time. “We’re about six blocks from Greenland.”

My head snaps up, which is a mistake that sends pain shooting through my neck. “From what?”

“Greenland. It’s the code name for an old Carnage safe house,” Nico explains. His eyes are distant, like he’s working through something. “We used it for storage mostly. Nobody ever stayed there long.”

“And now?” I ask.

“Now it should be empty.” His jaw tightens. “I don’t know if Zoey ever even knew the place existed. Now that she’s taken over our old club, I’m sure she has more to worry about than a rundown place way the hell out here.”

“Fucking Zoey,” I mutter, and all three men snort in agreement.

Killian helps me stand straighter. “Anyway, it’s not far. And there are probably still some supplies stashed there. Maybe weapons too, unless she found out about the place and cleaned it out.”

“Definitely worth a shot,” Atlas says. “Not like we’ve got any better options right now.”

He’s not wrong about that. I’m barely standing, we’re all covered in blood and sewer water, and Malcolm’s people are probably already spreading out to search for us. We need somewhere to lay low, and fast.

“Okay.” Nico’s voice has that edge to it, the one that says he’s made up his mind. “Let’s go check out our old hideout.”

We start moving and I grit my teeth, placing one foot in front of the other over and over again while I pray that my legs don’t give out.

Regardless, I know Killian is right behind me, ready to catch me if I fall.

By the time we reach the old safe house, my legs are shaking so bad I can barely stand.

“Fucking finally,” I breathe as Nico picks the lock. The familiar click of the door opening is the best sound I’ve heard all night.

“Home sweet shithole,” Atlas mutters, helping me through the door.

“It’s gotta be better than the sewer,” I say.

“That’s a low bar, siren.” Killian’s voice has that edge of amusement to it, but as we step inside, something in his posture changes.

The darkness inside the safe house feels wrong. Heavy. My men must feel it too because they all go still at once, like predators catching a scent.

Then I hear it—the soft sound of breathing that isn’t ours.

Someone else is here.