Page 233 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

KILLIAN

I stomp to the back room of the safe house, my hands clenching and unclenching as I try to contain the fury building inside me. The walls feel too fucking close, and there’s not enough air in here. But even if this house was twice as big, there wouldn’t be enough space to let this rage out.

Ever since we got to this place, I’ve been laser-focused on keeping Quinn alive.

On making sure her wounds heal properly, that infection doesn’t set in, and that she doesn’t tear her stitches when she and Atlas can’t keep their hands off each other.

But beneath all of that, eating away at me, is the thought of that little cat, Princess, alone in Imogen’s penthouse.

We left enough food and water out. The cat should be fine. But knowing that Imogen has been there, looking around and doing god-knows-what else makes my jaw clench so hard it hurts.

Imogen was right there, ready and willing to do her part when it was time for them to kill Quinn.

She stabbed her with a fucking knife right in front of us.

And now she’s been back to that penthouse, where Princess is completely defenseless.

What if she found her? What if she decided to hurt her, just out of spite?

The image of Princess’s lifeless body hits me like a punch to the gut, and I have to stop pacing. I have to breathe through the red haze of murderous rage that threatens to overtake me.

Most people think I don’t feel things—that I’m just cold and empty inside.

And maybe they’re right. Mostly right, at least. I’ve never felt emotions the way other people seem to.

But that’s with other people . This little fucking cat has brought out a protective instinct that makes me want to tear apart anyone who would hurt it.

That cat is innocent and completely on its own, with nobody else to turn to and nobody else who cares enough to help her.

And goddammit, I understand that feeling right down to my core. I’ve been there and done that, and it’s a fucking shitty feeling.

My hands itch to crush something. To wrap around Imogen’s throat and squeeze until I feel her windpipe collapse beneath my fingers. To make her suffer the way she was willing to make Quinn suffer. The way she might have already made Princess suffer.

Fuck. I need to know if the cat is okay, but I can’t risk going back there. I can’t risk leading the Syndicate straight to us.

I know that. Logically, I fucking know that.

But logic doesn’t stop the images from coming. Princess waiting by her food bowl. Princess hiding under furniture as strangers invade her space. Princess trusting Imogen because she doesn’t know any better.

A growl tears from my throat, and I slam my fist into the wall. The impact sends a quick jolt of pain up my arm, but I barely feel it. Physical pain has never bothered me much. It’s just information, just the body’s way of saying something is wrong.

This other feeling, though? This helpless fucking rage? That bothers me.

I hear footsteps approaching, lighter than Nico’s or Atlas’s. My siren. Of course she followed me. She’s always had a talent for noticing when something is actually affecting me.

Part of me wants to tell her to leave. I’ll be perfectly capable of dealing with this shit on my own once I can get myself together and calm the fuck down. But I know she won’t. She’s as stubborn as I am. Fuck, maybe even more so.

I turn toward the door and pull my fist out of the wall, already knowing what I’ll see. Quinn will be standing there, those sharp gray eyes taking in every detail. Reading me like a book even though most people think I’m impossible to read.

She’s the only person who’s ever understood this part of me. She’s the only one who’s ever really gotten that I don’t feel nothing.

I just feel differently.

She’s there, watching me from the doorway, just like I knew she would be. But instead of flinching at the sight of a fist-sized hole in the wall, she just raises a brow.

“Planning on doing some renovations?” Her lips quirk up on one side. “Because I’ve gotta say, this place could really use some work.”

I shoot her a dark look that would send most people running, but Quinn isn’t like most people. She just meets my stare, seemingly unfazed by the violence radiating off me in waves.

Her presence usually calms me, but right now all I can think about is how ready Imogen was to kill her.

How she didn’t even hesitate to drive that blade into Quinn’s body.

And if she was willing to do that to a person who had been an ally just a few minutes before, what would stop her from hurting a defenseless animal?

My hands clench again, making me conscious of the blood trickling from my scraped knuckles. “I’m really not in the fucking mood, siren.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” She steps into the room, closing the door behind her. “What’s wrong?”

I start pacing again, unable to stay still with all this fucking anger and frustration coursing through my system. “Princess.”

“The cat?” Her brow furrows. “What about her?”

“We left her there.” The words come out like they’re being ripped from my throat.

“She relied on us, and we just fucking left her. Yeah, we put out food and water, but that’s not…

” I take a deep breath and then slowly exhale, but it doesn’t do much good.

“Imogen has been there. Three fucking times.”

Understanding dawns in Quinn’s eyes. “You think she might have hurt Princess?”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t she? She was ready to gut you like a fish.

Do you really think she’d have any problem killing a cat out of spite?

” My fist clenches so hard that my knuckles go white.

“Princess wouldn’t even know to run from her.

She’d probably just walk right up to her, expecting to be petted, and Imogen would… ”

I can’t finish the sentence and give voice to the images that are tormenting me. Instead, I slam my already bloody hand against the wall again, leaving a dark red smear on the dirty plaster.

“We were supposed to protect her.” The words come out rough. “She was innocent. Helpless. And we left her there.”

I don’t even try to stop myself from pacing again. It’s better than putting more holes in the wall, at least. “If she hurts her, if she touches one fucking hair on that cat’s head, I’ll peel the skin from her bones. I’ll make her beg for death before I’m done with her.”

Quinn steps directly into my path, her hands coming up to grip my arms. Anyone else who tried to stop me right now would lose their fucking hands, but with her… I let her hold me still, although my jaw stays clenched so tight it aches.

“Look at me,” she says firmly. When I do, her eyes are steady and full of understanding. Not judgment. Not dismissal. “I get why you’re worried. I wish we’d had time to find Princess a permanent home instead of leaving her there. But I honestly don’t think Imogen is going to kill her.”

A growl builds in my chest. “But you don’t know for sure.”

“Okay, I might not be able to give you a hundred percent guarantee.” Her fingers squeeze my biceps.

“But think about it. What would be the point? Imogen might be a lot of things, but I’ve never gotten the vibe from her that she might be the type to hurt an animal just because she can.

Everything she does is calculated and purposeful.

” She shakes her head. “Even when she stabbed me, she didn’t go deep enough to hit anything vital.

She’s smart, methodical. Killing Princess would just be senseless, horrible cruelty, and that’s not her style. ”

“She was ready to watch you die. She might not have stabbed you deep enough to kill you herself, but she did fucking stab you.”

“Yeah, because Malcolm ordered it. Because the rules of the Syndicate demanded it.” Quinn’s voice stays calm, reasonable. “But she’s not going to go out of her way to murder a cat. That doesn’t gain her anything, and it’s just… it’s not who she is.”

I want to argue, and my jaw works as I struggle to put the feeling into words. “She was counting on us. Something that small and innocent… when it relies on you, you don’t just fucking abandon it. You don’t turn your back and leave it to fend for itself.”

Quinn’s brows furrow, and then a flash of understanding passes through her eyes.

“Like your mother was supposed to take care of you?” she murmurs.

Her voice is soft, but the words hit like bullets. I jerk away from her, feeling so tight and tense that I seriously might shatter into a million pieces if I don’t let some of this pent-up anger out of my system.

“She was my fucking mother. She was supposed to protect me. Instead, she—” The memory of dark water closing over my head as my mother tried to drown me makes my chest constrict. “And now I’m no better. That cat sees me as just another person who promised protection and then disappeared.”

“Stop.” Quinn’s voice is hard without being harsh.

“You are nothing like your mother. Nothing.” She moves closer again and doesn’t let me pull away this time.

“Your mother tried to kill you because she was sick and twisted. You were forced to leave Princess behind because we never made it back to that penthouse to get her. We were all about to be murdered, Killian. There’s a difference. A big fucking difference.”

I swallow hard, but the knot in my throat won’t budge. The rage is still there, but it’s twisting into something else. Something that feels too much like guilt.

“You’ve been an amazing protector for that cat,” she continues without taking her eyes off mine. “You fed her and played with her. You made sure she was safe. The only reason we left her is because we had no choice. We had every intention of going back to that penthouse after we killed Ambrose.”

She reaches up, her fingers brushing my jaw. “Your mother chose to hurt you. You didn’t choose to leave Princess. You were forced to. And I know that if there had been a way to safely bring her here with us, you would have.”

I swallow hard. Every muscle in my body is still coiled tight with barely contained violence. She studies me for a long moment, then steps closer. She takes my hand, the one that’s not bleeding, and wraps it around her throat.

My fingers tighten on instinct, and I can feel her pulse throb against my palm. A rush of arousal hits me so hard that I’m momentarily thrown off as my brain struggles to make sense of what’s going on. “What are you doing?”

“When I start to spiral, you always know exactly what I need.” Her voice is steady even though I’ve still got a firm grip on her throat.

“You pin me down and fuck me until I can’t think anymore.

Until all the darkness goes quiet.” Her hand covers mine where it rests against her neck.

“Let me do the same for you. Use me. Take out all that anger on me instead of the wall.”

My fingers flex against her skin, and my cock starts to harden as her pulse speeds up beneath my touch. The temptation to shove her against the wall and fuck her until neither of us can remember our own names is almost overwhelming.

The fact that she wants it as badly as I do is just the cherry on top.

But then I catch sight of the bandages beneath her shirt—the ones covering wounds that have only just started to heal—and I force myself to let go and take a step back.

“No.” I shake my head. “You’re still healing. I just gave Atlas shit the other day for fucking you when you were hurt. I’m not going to do the same damn thing.”

“Killian—”

“I said no.” My hands clench at my sides. I hate denying her anything, ever. But this is different. This is for her own good, not mine. “I won’t risk making your injuries worse.”

“They’re healed up enough.” She touches her side gently. “I can feel it. I’m strong enough to take whatever you need to give me.”

“ No ,” I rasp, my jaw tight. “I won’t argue with you about this, siren.”

She shrugs and turns away. For a second, pure panic flashes through me at the thought of her walking out and leaving me to my own devices with all this darkness churning inside me.

But she doesn’t leave. Instead, she walks to the bed, pulling her shirt over her head as she goes. The sight of so much of her bare skin all at once makes my mouth go dry.

“What…” I have to stop and clear my throat, because fuck, she’s too damn tempting for her own good. “What are you doing?”

“Your hand on my throat got me wet.” She climbs onto the bed, slowly and carefully, and I’ll be damned if each movement isn’t exaggerated just enough to make my cock throb hungrily.

“If you won’t fuck me, I’ll have to handle it myself.

” Her fingers trail down her stomach, and I nearly lose my mind.

“Since you won’t touch me, you can just watch. ”