Page 232 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

The water beats down on my shoulders as I process everything.

Killian is right—running isn’t much better than fighting.

Malcolm isn’t going to just let this go.

Not after we made him look weak in front of the others by escaping when he ordered us to be killed.

That’s not the kind of thing that gets forgotten. Or forgiven.

“They want blood,” I say finally, voicing what I’m sure we’re all thinking. “And they’re not going to stop until they get it.”

“No,” Atlas agrees. “They’re not.”

Nico’s fingers trace one of my wounds with devastating gentleness. “We need more time. Time to think, to plan.”

“Time we don’t fucking have,” I huff. “Every minute we spend here is another minute they could be getting closer.”

His hands tighten slightly on my waist. “I know.”

We all fall silent again, letting the sound of running water fill the small space. Four people against one of the most powerful criminal organizations I’ve ever encountered. The odds are so far from being in our favor that it’s almost laughable.

But there’s nothing funny about the way my heart rate kicks up when I think about Malcolm finding us here. There’s nothing fucking amusing about imagining his cold smile as he orders his people to finish what they started in that room under Noctura.

The conversation dies out as Nico finishes washing me, since none of us have any brilliant solutions to offer.

He helps me out of the shower and the guys pass us towels, but the heavy silence sticks around.

Staying hidden seems to be our only real option right now, but it’s just delaying the inevitable.

Sooner or later, we’ll have to make the choice to either fight or run.

But for now, as I dry off and let them help me put on fresh bandages, I feel safe enough to push that decision off just a little longer. We have a place to rest, some basic medical supplies, and each other. It’ll have to be enough until we can figure out what the fuck to do next.

The days blur together in this safe house, each one bleeding into the next as my wounds start to heal. The stitches still pull when I move too fast, but the stabbing pain has dulled to a persistent ache. Physically, I’m getting stronger. But mentally?

This place is fucking wearing on me.

I pace the small rooms like a caged animal, trying to outrun the growing sense of urgency in the pit of my stomach.

All four of us are stuck here. Trapped here.

Waiting to be found, waiting to make a decision, waiting for something to change.

The walls feel like they’re closing in a little more each day.

My men try to help, of course. Atlas keeps watch by the windows. Killian checks my wounds and makes sure I’m healing properly. Nico brings me water, food, anything I need. But they can’t give me the one thing I really want—a way for the four of us to get the fuck out of this mess.

At night, when I can’t sleep, the memories start creeping in.

Being held down, being trapped, being helpless.

My breath catches in my throat as rough hands pin me down, as voices from my past mix with Malcolm’s, then Ambrose’s.

The gang rape from years ago bleeds into being chained to that wall at Noctura, and suddenly I’m completely helpless again, unable to fight back or to protect myself.

I sit up in bed and force myself to breathe.

This safe house doesn’t feel very fucking safe right now.

It feels like a tomb, like we’re just waiting here to die.

And that waiting, that helplessness, is worse than any physical pain.

At least pain means you’re still fighting. This is just surrender in slow motion.

So when the disquieting stillness of the safe house is broken a day later by a knock on the door, I’m almost relieved, even as my muscles tense in preparation for a fight.

The men and I all freeze, sharing a quick glance as if to be certain that we all heard it. Atlas and Nico pull their weapons while Killian moves to stand between me and the entrance. But then we hear Kendrick’s low whistle—our agreed-upon signal—and some of the tension bleeds out of the room.

Atlas lets him in, checking the hall before securing the door again. Kendrick’s big frame fills the doorway as he steps inside, and his eyes find mine first.

“You’re looking better than last time I saw you,” he says gruffly.

“Kinda hard not to,” I reply with a hint of a smile. “Last time I was bleeding out.”

He grunts in acknowledgment, then turns to Nico. “I’ve got some news. I managed to get a couple other guys I trust on board with us. Trevor and Marcus. They were both feeling pretty fucking done with Zoey’s bullshit.”

“Not surprising, considering the kind of leader she is.” Nico’s voice is sharp. “But are you sure we can trust them?”

“As much as you can trust me.” Kendrick shrugs. “They’re doing recon in different parts of the city, helping keep eyes out for any Syndicate movement.”

Something in Nico’s stance relaxes slightly. If Trevor and Marcus were interested in selling us out, it probably would’ve already happened.

“Speaking of movement,” Kendrick continues. “That woman you described—tall, auburn hair, green eyes? She’s been to her penthouse building three times in the past two days.”

“Imogen.” My stomach clenches. “She must be trying to track us.”

“Fuck,” Atlas mutters. “That means it’s only a matter of time before they start poking around closer to this place.”

I feel the walls start to close in again as that trapped feeling comes back with full force. But I push it back down, focusing on the tactical implications instead of my fear. “If Imogen is still looking for us downtown, that means they don’t know about this place yet.”

“Yet being the operative word,” Nico grumbles.

I notice the way Killian’s jaw tightens at the mention of Imogen. It’s a subtle shift, one that most people wouldn’t catch. But I know him well enough now to see the tension rippling just below that carefully controlled surface.

Kendrick keeps talking, updating us on other areas of the city he’s checked, but my attention stays mostly on Killian. When he suddenly stands and leaves the room without a word, my chest tightens.

I catch Nico’s eye, and he gives me a slight nod. I’m sure he knows as well as I do that something isn’t right.

I follow Killian out as Atlas asks Kendrick about the other Syndicate members, but I let their voices fade behind me.

The safe house isn’t big, so there aren’t many places he could have gone.

But my heart still pounds a little faster as I move from room to room looking for him.

Not from fear, but from something that feels a lot like worry for this dangerous man who rarely shows what he’s actually feeling.

And that’s exactly why I need to find him. Because when Killian does show emotion, it usually means something is already very, very wrong.