Page 244 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

Every cell in my body rejects Malcolm’s words as he announces that I’m his wife. Even hearing him say it makes me want to cringe or vomit or both. Instead, I manage to force a tight smile as the other Syndicate members scrutinize me like I’m some kind of fucking circus exhibit.

Malcolm’s fingers dig into my hip, and when I glance up at him, the look in his eyes sends a chill down my back. I’ve seen that same possessive gleam before, but it’s deeper and darker and more unsettling now.

No, not just unsettling. It’s fucking terrifying. I can tell by that look that he isn’t going to be content with controlling me—or even owning me.

He wants to break me.

I take a small step back, breaking contact with him as smoothly as I can manage.

Not enough to make it obvious that I can barely stand his touch, but enough to put a sliver of space between us.

His eyes narrow slightly, and for a second, I think for sure that I’ve fucked up, and now he’s going to call me out in front of everyone.

But he just smiles that empty smile of his and turns back to address the others. Thank fuck. I can’t afford to piss him off when his protection is the only thing keeping me alive in the world’s most exclusive dungeon.

Malcolm motions for Elliot to come over, and I tense for what could easily turn into an awkward, possibly violent confrontation. He’s the one whose votum I refused to honor, after all.

He doesn’t seem to want revenge at the moment, though—even Elliot isn’t stupid enough to go up against Malcolm on his home turf—so I get off the hook pretty lightly with just a harsh glare in my direction.

For now.

“You understand the necessity of this,” Malcolm says, his voice barely more than a murmur.

If I wasn’t standing a foot away, there’s no way I’d be able to hear this conversation.

As it is, I have to strain a little while still doing my best to seem uninterested.

“The Syndicate could benefit from her connections and her?—”

“The Syndicate needs people who honor their vows.” Elliot interrupts, and now I can plainly hear the barely contained rage. “She made a complete fucking joke out of me, you, and everything we stand for.”

“And she’ll pay for that transgression.” Malcolm’s eyes glitter with something dark. “In fact, she’s already started to pay. Just in a different way than we originally planned.”

While they continue their hushed argument, Imogen slides up next to me, so quiet and unobtrusively that I don’t even notice her until she’s almost in my ear.

“Well, well,” she breathes in, her lips barely moving. “Looks like you found a way to cheat death after all. By marrying the grim reaper himself.”

“Like I had a fucking choice,” I whisper back, watching Malcolm gesture emphatically at Elliot.

“No, I suppose you didn’t. None of us ever really do when it comes to him.”

There’s a bitter edge in her tone that catches my attention. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means Malcolm makes the rules, and Malcolm changes them whenever it suits him.” She’s speaking so quietly now that I have to hold my own breath just to hear her. “The rest of us just have to fall in line and pretend we don’t notice how the game is rigged.”

I turn my head slightly, studying her from the corner of my eye. This is the first crack I’ve seen in the Syndicate’s united front. It’s the first hint that maybe not everyone is as devoted to Malcolm’s leadership as they appear.

“Careful now,” she murmurs, apparently noticing my interest. “Those kinds of thoughts are dangerous around here.” She gives me a knowing look. “But I’m sure you’ve already figured that out.”

On the other side of me, Malcolm’s voice rises slightly. “It’s done, Elliot. Unless you’d care to challenge my decision?”

Elliot says something in a lower, more grudgingly respectful tone that I can’t quite catch. Whatever it is seems to satisfy Malcolm though, because his posture relaxes slightly.

I want to ask Imogen more about what she meant—about Malcolm changing rules and the game being rigged. But I can’t risk drawing attention to our whispered conversation. Instead, I ask the question that’s been in the front of my mind since I saw her earlier. “The cat… is it okay?”

She blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What?”

“The cat we had to leave in your penthouse. When you went there…” I trail off, not wanting to reveal how much I know about her visits.

“Oh.” Her expression softens, but only a little. “Yes. It seemed cruel to leave it there alone, so I took it home with me.”

Relief floods through me. “Thank you for taking care of her. That means a lot.”

She gives me a stiff nod, and I catch a flicker of something in her eyes. Maybe recognition that I’m not quite the heartless bitch they all thought I was.

“Quinn.” The way Malcolm says my name is like a harsh command.

Imogen’s lips barely move. “Your master calls.” She steps away, but not before adding in a whisper, “Welcome back to hell, sister. I hope it was worth the price of admission.”

I watch her walk away with a million thoughts and questions running through my mind. Could there be more trouble in the ranks than Malcolm realizes? And if there is, how the hell can I use that information to my advantage?

Malcolm’s hand snakes around my waist, and he pulls me against his side as the other Syndicate members begin filing out. My skin burns where he touches me, but I force myself to stay still and accept his possessive grip like a good little wife.

“Congratulations.” Rafael’s smile is all teeth as he clasps Malcolm’s free hand. His eyes flick over to me in a measuring, calculating look. Like he’s trying to figure out exactly how the dynamics have changed with my sudden marriage to Malcolm.

Owen just gives a sharp nod, but keeps his expression completely unreadable. Cassandra murmurs something polite but coolly noncommittal as she breezes past with Imogen right behind her.

Elliot is the last to leave. The look he gives me could strip paint from walls—pure hatred barely contained behind the thinnest veneer of civility. “May you both get exactly what you deserve,” he says, and the threat in his voice is unmistakable.

Malcolm tenses next to me as he flashes his characteristically smug smile. “Thank you, Elliot. I’m sure we will.”

I try my best to memorize every detail as I watch them all leave. Their body language, their subtle glances—I know without a doubt that alliances are forming and reforming around us, but I’m still too new to this group to fully understand the nuances.

One thing is crystal clear though. In this viper pit, Elliot is the one who wants to sink his teeth into me first. Mostly likely followed by my husband as a close second.

The door closes behind the last of them with a heavy thud, leaving me alone with Malcolm and at least a half-dozen security guards who are armed to the teeth.

Malcolm’s hand drops from my hip only long enough for him to guide me toward the private corridor that leads to his elevator.

Fuck me. This is going to be my life now. His hands, his control, his rules.

“Come, my dear.” He’s slipped into his role as my husband with far too much ease for my liking. “You did well today. I think you’ll find I can make your life quite comfortable as long as you uphold your end of the bargain.”

The way he says it makes my stomach turn. I focus on keeping my steps steady, on not showing how badly I want to bolt down this hallway and never look back.

When we finally leave the sleek, dark building and step into the sunlight, he offers his hand to help me into the waiting SUV. I ignore it, climbing in on my own. If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it as he slides in beside me.

I look down my left hand as we pull away from the curb, to the ring that feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.

At least the bastard didn’t tattoo me—small fucking consolation that it is—but the ring is almost as bad.

It’s a constant physical reminder of everything I’ve willingly given up to be with him

I twist it on my finger, watching the diamonds catch the light.

The urge to rip it off and chuck it out the window is so strong my fingers actually twitch.

But I can’t. Just like I can’t do any of the other things I want to do right now, like wrap my hands around Malcolm’s throat and squeeze until the life fades out of those cold eyes.

We both stay silent for the ride back to his big, fancy house, and I ignore his hand again as he offers to help me out of the SUV.

“Stubborn.” He sighs, although there’s a hint of amusement in his tone. “You’ll learn eventually. They always do.”

I’m not sure who or what he means by that, but I’m sure as hell not going to ask. Instead, I turn to him in the foyer and blurt out the idea I’ve been turning over and over in my head on the way back from Noctura.

“I want to re-open Blood and Ink.”

He turns and gives me a look as if I’ve just spoken in a different language. “What? Why?”

“Since we’re married now, I feel like I should be contributing to the Dark Lotus Syndicate.” It’s a line of bullshit, of course, but I’m doing my damnedest to sell it. “I want to rebuild my organization and make it strong again. We both know I could be useful to your ambitions.”

“My ambitions…” A small smile plays at the corners of his mouth before he turns serious again. “Blood and Ink burned to the ground, if you recall. Unless you’re planning to operate out of the ashes?”

Of course the fucker knows about what Ambrose did to the tattoo parlor, even though I never outright told him what had happened that led to me calling in a votum after the fires. He’s probably been digging through every scrap of my life while he was hunting me down.