Page 243 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

Malcolm leads me through the main lobby, past the spa areas where rich people pamper themselves, completely unaware that the nerve center of the Dark Lotus Syndicate is right beneath their feet.

We skip the stairs this time, taking Malcolm’s private elevator down, and my heart starts beating faster with each passing second.

The underground meeting room looks exactly the same. Same stone walls. Same oppressive air. Same hooks on the wall where they chained me, where Elliot and then Imogen twisted that knife into me while my men were forced to watch.

The blood is gone now, of course, but it’s easy enough to remember the spray of red when I broke Owen’s nose and the chaos that followed.

“Quite different circumstances this time, wouldn’t you say?

” Malcolm’s voice is a little louder than normal as he guides me toward the long table where the rest of the Syndicate members are already waiting.

Not surprising that he’d put on a show for their benefit.

Especially since I made him look like a weak leader who was barely in charge the last time we were here.

His hand tightens possessively on my back.

“Amazing how quickly things can change.”

Every part of me wants to cause a scene, to tell him to go fuck himself.

To remind him that the only reason I’m here is because he’s a manipulative bastard who can only manage to get a wife at gunpoint.

But I keep all that shit inside and my expression carefully blank as I take the seat he pulls out for me.

I survived this room once. I can do it again.

As soon as I sit down, chairs scrape against stone as several Syndicate members leap to their feet.

Elliot’s hand goes straight for the gun at his belt while Rafael and Owen both grip the edge of the table.

Owen’s nose has been expertly set, so it’s hard to tell that I even broke it—although the wariness in his gaze makes it clear he hasn’t forgotten that moment.

“What the hell is going on here, Malcolm?” Cassandra’s voice cuts through the tension. Her platinum hair gleams under the harsh lighting as she stares at him. “Her life is forfeit. You know the rules. You said it yourself.”

“Her life was forfeit, that is true.” Malcolm’s words are calm but the look he flashes around the table carries a not-so-subtle threat. “But today Quinn is here as not only my guest, but… my future wife.”

An immediate silence falls over the room. I can feel their stares burning into me, some confused, others furious. Imogen’s face is the only one that’s mostly unreadable, although even her brow is slightly furrowed.

“Is this a goddamn joke?” Elliot is practically trembling with rage. “She betrayed us. She made a mockery of our vows, and then she broke Owen’s fucking?—”

“I said,” Malcolm cuts him off, each word sharp and precise, “I’m claiming her. She will be my wife and under my protection. Unless you’d like to challenge my decision?”

The threat in his voice is unmistakable. Even Elliot, with all his self-righteous anger, isn’t stupid enough to go up against Malcolm directly. His jaw works as he glares at me, probably imagining all the ways he’d like to make me suffer, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“I can’t blame you for feeling betrayed by Quinn,” Malcolm continues, his hand settling possessively on my shoulder. “But I’m convinced that she’s seen the error of her ways, and I’ve decided to bring her back into the fold. That makes her one of us again. Her previous… indiscretions are forgiven.”

None of them look happy about it, but thankfully, no one else speaks up.

After everything they’ve already put me through, I’m not particularly scared of anyone in this room. But a little break from worrying that at any moment someone might leap across the table and try to kill me would be nice.

Malcolm offers me his hand and I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. The other Syndicate members stand and form a loose circle around us, and my skin prickles at being surrounded by people who wanted me dead just minutes ago.

“Before these witnesses, I claim this woman as my own.” His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up to his. “Do you surrender yourself willingly to me? To be bound to me until death separates us?”

If only he knew how quickly I’d like that to happen. Preferably with his death first.

The words catch in my throat, but I force them out. “I surrender myself willingly.”

“We witness,” the others intone after a quick, side-eyed glance from Malcolm.

He turns his full attention back to me, that little smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as if this is all some kind of hilarious joke he’s pulled off. “Do you swear to keep our secrets, to honor our ways, to be loyal only to me above all others?”

I’m only doing this for them, for my men, I remind myself as I say, “I swear it.”

“We witness.”

“Then seal your vows,” Malcolm says, “and become my wife.”

He slips a ring on my finger and then pulls me against him, his mouth descending on mine before I have time to brace myself.

His lips are cold and possessive, and I barely resist the reflexive impulse to jerk away. His tongue invades my mouth, and my stomach heaves, but I endure it. I let him stake his claim in front of everyone, let him brand me as his property.

When he finally pulls back, there’s a clear look of satisfaction on his face.

“My wife,” he announces to the room, but he’s absolutely wrong. Because this isn’t a marriage. Not a real one, anyway.

It’s a prison sentence.