Page 226 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

NICO

I didn’t expect the gun I stole from that Dark Lotus guard to come in handy so soon after we made it out of the sewers, but here we are—and my finger is already nice and comfortable on the trigger when Killian hits the lights.

The best case scenario is that we’ve just startled an old squatter or someone who was just passing by and needed a roof over their head for a while. We can send him on his way, no harm, no foul.

Then I see who it is, and my jaw clenches as my finger curls a little closer to the trigger.

“Kendrick,” I growl. The former Prince-turned-Tyrant is backed up against the opposite wall like a deer caught in fucking headlights. “You picked a bad fucking time for a reunion.”

The big bastard looks exactly the same as the last time I saw him. He’s still built like a brick wall, still carrying himself like he’s ready to knock heads, and still—thank fuck—with reflexes slightly slower than mine.

I can’t let him leave. Not now that he’s seen us, and definitely not now that he’s seen Quinn bleeding through her clothes. The second he gets back to Zoey, she’ll know exactly where we are. And then we might as well paint a fucking target on the front door.

“What are you doing here?” Kendrick’s eyes flick down to my trigger finger and back again as he asks.

“I could ask you the same thing.” My gun doesn’t waver.

“I wasn’t sure anyone from the Princes of Carnage even remembered this place existed.

” I catch the way his shoulders tense at that, and I flash him a bitter, humorless smile.

“Sorry. The Twisted Tyrants. That’s what you’re calling yourselves these days, right? ”

Seeing him here is a reminder of how much has changed, of how many brothers turned their backs on us. But at least the name fits—twisted is exactly what they became when they chose to follow Zoey.

Something flickers across Kendrick’s face. “No one from the Tyrants remembers this place. And they won’t find out about it, because I’m not a fucking Tyrant anymore.”

My finger eases off the trigger, but just barely. “What are you talking about?”

“I left.” He spits the words out. “I sure as hell wasn’t gonna stick around and watch that bitch Zoey run everything into the ground. Her and Stefan, acting like they know what brotherhood means when they’ve never lived it. They’ve never bled for it.”

I study his face, looking for even the smallest hint that he’s lying. A trap like this would be exactly Zoey’s style—to send someone we used to trust and get us to lower our guard. But there’s something raw in Kendrick’s voice that makes me think he hates Zoey and Stefan almost as much as we do.

“I had to go underground after I walked away,” he continues, his hands still raised. “You know how it works. Nobody leaves, not unless it’s in a body bag. I’ve been moving from place to place trying to stay off their radar. I remembered this old dump and figured it was my best bet.”

I want to believe him. Fuck, part of me already does. But blindly trusting someone who has already betrayed us once is the fastest way I know of to end up with a knife in my back.

“And we’re just supposed to trust that?” Atlas’s voice is cold behind me. “To take your word that you’re not still Zoey’s lapdog?”

Kendrick’s jaw tightens. “I’d rather eat a bullet than take orders from that snake again.”

The sound of Quinn’s boots scuffing against the floor catches my attention. Her legs have finally given out after everything she’s been through. She catches herself between Atlas and Killian, masking the moment of weakness by making it look like she’s just shifting her weight.

But the painful truth is etched on her face in the way she winces and in the way her face has gone paper-white. She’s tough as hell, but she needs help.

Now.

“Don’t fucking move,” I tell Kendrick. “Keep those hands where I can see them.”

He nods once, staying perfectly still. At least he’s smart enough not to test my patience—or my fucking loyalties. He’d lose either way.

“Atlas. Killian. Get her on the couch.” I don’t take my eyes off Kendrick as they move.

Quinn makes a small sound of protest as they help her over to the ratty couch, but she doesn’t fight them. That, more than anything, tells me how much pain she’s in—my girl never goes down without an argument unless she’s truly fucked up.

Killian is already pulling out the veterinary supplies he stole, his hands steady as he starts cutting away the makeshift bandages.

“We’re gonna get you fixed up,” he tells her quietly. “But it’s gonna hurt like hell.”

“What else is new?” Her voice is weak, but that familiar thread of steel is still there. Always.

My eyes are on Kendrick, and his gaze keeps flicking from me to Quinn and back again. I’m not sure if he’s trying to show some concern for her or if he’s just looking for an opening to exploit, but it doesn’t matter. One wrong move, and his brains will be decorating the wall behind him.

Then I hear Killian curse under his breath.

“Fuck. This is bad.” I look over to see his hands covered in Quinn’s blood as he peels back the gauze. “That asshole Elliot went deeper than I thought.”

“How bad?” I bark the question as I shift my attention back to Kendrick. As much as I want to be over there with Quinn right now, I know I’m more useful exactly where I am.

“The blade must’ve nicked something inside.” Killian’s voice has that edge to it, the one that means we’re about to have a serious problem. “I can try to stitch it, but…” He trails off, and my stomach drops. If Killian doesn’t want to say the rest out loud, it’s already really fucking bad.

Quinn lets out a small sound—more exhaustion than pain—and I hear Atlas murmur something that seems to calm her.

“I need more light,” Killian says. “And actual supplies. Not this veterinary bullshit. She needs?—”

“Let me help.” Kendrick interrupts. He nods in Quinn’s direction. “I’ve got experience with this shit.”

I know he’s not lying. He’s ex-military from back in the day, and I’ve seen him patch people up before. But it’s been a while since we’ve had someone hurt as badly as Quinn is right now, and even then we had a full stash of medical supplies on hand.

“You’re sure you can help her?” I search his face for even a hint of a lie. “Because if you suddenly forget how to stitch up a wound and try to make a break for it…”

“I spent two tours as a combat medic before I joined the club. You don’t forget that shit.” His jaw tightens. “You’ve seen me help our guys before. You know I can help her now if you’ll just fucking let me.”

I’m still not sure I can trust him, but honestly? I don’t have a choice.

“I owe you anyway,” he adds, clearing his throat. “I should’ve had your backs when Zoey started stirring up shit. But I didn’t know what to believe back then.” He swallows hard. “Now I do. And I want to make it right.”

Quinn makes another small sound—all pain this time—and Killian curses again. “Whatever we’re gonna do, we need to do it fast. This bleeding isn’t stopping.”

“Fuck.” I keep the gun steady, pointed right at Kendrick’s face. “One wrong move and I put you down. Got it?”

He nods once. “Got it.”

I jerk my head toward the couch. “Go. Help her.”

Kendrick moves slowly, keeping his hands visible as he approaches Quinn. I follow right behind him, close enough to blow his brains out if he tries anything stupid.

“Jesus,” he mutters when he sees the wound. “Who did this? Never mind—that doesn’t matter right now.” He glances at Killian. “You got any more gauze? And something to sterilize with?”

“Everything we have is in that bag over there. I stole it from a vet’s office.”

“It’ll work. Atlas, I need you to hold this.” He guides Atlas’s hands to the right spot, showing him how to apply pressure. “Perfect. Just like that. Killian, help me get a better look at what we’re dealing with.”

I watch them work together like they never stopped being brothers, as if the betrayal and bad blood never happened.

But my gun stays trained on Kendrick’s head.

He’s saying the right things and making the right moves, but he’s already stabbed us in the back once.

I want a little more time to think about it before I decide whether I can fully trust him again.

If he can get Quinn patched up, that’ll be a big fucking mark in his favor.

Killian and Kendrick work in near-silence, their hands moving with the kind of precision that only comes from doing something a thousand times.

I watch every movement, my trigger finger itching each time Kendrick reaches for a new tool or piece of gauze.

But his movements are clean and efficient.

There’s no wasted motion, and not even a moment of hesitation.

“Thread,” Kendrick murmurs, and Killian hands it over without missing a beat. The needle flashes in the dim light as Kendrick makes another perfect stitch.

“Damn,” Killian mutters, watching him work. “I thought my sutures were good, but that’s some of the cleanest work I’ve ever seen up close.”

“It comes from lots of practice. Too much practice.” Kendrick’s voice is distant, like he’s somewhere else. “Hold this.” He guides Killian’s fingers to the right spot, then makes another stitch. “When you’re elbow-deep in someone’s gut while mortars are falling, you learn to work fast and clean.”

Quinn doesn’t make a sound as they finish patching her up. The pain meds from Killian’s veterinary bag finally kick in, dragging her under. Her breathing is steady now, and her face is peaceful for the first time since Elliot stuck that blade in her.

When they’re done, Kendrick steps back and wipes the blood off his hands. “She’ll heal clean. You won’t see any infection if you keep the wounds dressed right.”

I study him for a long moment, then lower the gun. Not all the way—just enough to show I’m willing to listen. “Good. Now talk. You’ve only got a few minutes to convince me not to kill you, so make them count.”