Page 246 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

NICO

I watch as Kendrick and the others file out of the makeshift meeting room, their heavy footsteps echoing through this abandoned warehouse we’re using as a temporary base.

The roof leaks in at least a dozen places and everything is covered in a layer of dust and grime.

It’s a far fucking cry from the clubhouse we used to have back in the day, but considering how many times we’ve cheated death over the past few months?

Yeah, it’s a goddamn miracle that we’re here at all. But we are still here.

The Princes of Carnage are rebuilding, slowly but surely, and this dirty, run down warehouse looks like a fucking palace when we put it into perspective.

Atlas lingers by the door, his protective instincts probably screaming at him not to leave me alone, but I wave him off.

“I’m good,” I tell him, even though we both know it’s bullshit.

Nothing has been good since she walked away from us. Since she cut through our marks like they meant fucking nothing and went off to be Malcolm’s wife.

A week. It’s been a goddamn week, and I still can’t wrap my head around it. I can’t even begin to process how quickly everything went to shit.

At least we’re making progress rebuilding Carnage.

Kendrick came through for us, bringing in a few other guys who realized what a mistake it was to follow Zoey and never fully bought into her bullshit.

It’s not much—still barely over half a dozen reliable, trustworthy brothers in total now—but it’s a foundation we can build on, and that counts for a hell of a lot.

Assuming Malcolm doesn’t change his mind and decide to wipe us off the map just for existing.

Atlas slumps down into a chair but doesn’t say anything, and I’m pretty sure this mind-numbing quiet is the thing that’s going to drive us all fucking insane.

I lean back in my chair and force myself to stop working my jaw.

It’s already so tight it aches. I know Atlas is thinking about Quinn just like I am.

There was a time when I would have told him to suck it up and focus on the problems that are right in front of our faces.

We have too many fucking enemies to spend so much time sitting around and wallowing.

But how can I lecture him when I’m doing the same fucking thing?

It’s just that every time I close my eyes, I see her standing there in that safe house, telling us it wasn’t worth dying for. That we weren’t worth dying for.

I slam my fist down on the table hard enough to make the metal legs rattle. Atlas looks over at me, but I wave him off again.

Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to shut him down though. At least he fucking cares about what happens to me, to us, to the Princes. The fact that he’s barely said two words in the week since she’s left is the only barometer I need to see just how bad things are around here.

The door bangs open and Killian walks in, practically vibrating with energy. The change in atmosphere is immediate, like someone cranked up the voltage in the room. His usual unnerving calmness is gone, and instead I’m looking at something wild and barely contained.

“What?” I ask, already on edge from the way he’s acting.

He doesn’t answer right away, just paces back and forth in front of the door like a caged animal. I’m about to lose what’s left of my temper when he finally speaks up.

“One of my informants picked up a message.” His voice is low, almost a primal growl. “From Quinn.”

Atlas’s head snaps up so fast I hear his neck crack. “What kind of message?”

“She wants to meet. At Mickey’s bar.” Killian looks from me to Atlas and back again. “She left instructions for a specific time, but no specific date.”

“Fuck.” My mind is already racing through the possibilities, most of them ending with us dead in an alley somewhere. “It could be a trap.”

“Maybe she’s reaching out,” Atlas counters, and there’s a desperate edge of hope in his voice that makes my chest ache. “She should know by now that she can’t get rid of us that easily.”

“Does she?” I scrub a hand over my face.

“Or is Malcolm using her to draw us out? Maybe he wants to fuck with us a little before he finally pulls the trigger. If he can make it look like we’re trying to come after her, he’ll have the perfect excuse to kill us and then tell her it was in self-defense. ”

And yeah, maybe I’m being paranoid, but my theory is at least as plausible as some of the other crazy shit that’s actually happened to us over the past few weeks.

Killian shakes his head. “If Malcolm wanted us dead, we’d be dead. He might not know where we are, but he found us once and he could do it again if he wanted to. This is Quinn. It feels like her. It has to be her.”

The certainty in his voice hits me hard. He’s probably right—we haven’t seen Malcolm play games before. Not when it comes to killing, anyway. The fact that we’re all still breathing means something.

“I’m going.” Now that the decision has been made, I’m more than ready to take some fucking action. “Tonight.”

Atlas stands up to join me, and Killian is already halfway out the door again before I hold up my hand to stop both of them. “I’m going alone this time.”

“Like hell,” Atlas snorts, and for the first time in days, there’s fire in his eyes instead of that hollow emptiness. “We’re not letting you walk in there by yourself.”

“I’m not letting you come.” This isn’t an argument I want to have right now, but I’m sure as hell not backing down. “I already fucked up once, and both of you got caught in Malcolm’s crosshairs because I wasn’t thinking straight. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“That’s not your call to make,” Killian says. His tone is even and his voice is quiet, and that makes it all the more powerful. “We’re brothers.”

“Exactly.” I meet his gaze, then Atlas’s. “You’re my fucking brothers. And I’d rather die than watch either of you get hurt again because of my choices.”

Several long seconds of silence stretch out between us, and I wonder for a moment if they’re going to push the issue further.

There’s not a doubt in my mind that these two would follow me to the end of the earth and back if I asked.

They’d both take a bullet for me without blinking twice, just like I would for them.

But that doesn’t mean we can afford to be reckless with our lives. If I have a choice of walking into a trap by myself or dragging my brothers down with me, I’m going alone every damn time.

Finally, Atlas’s shoulders slump. “You’d better come back alive. Seriously. Or I swear to god, I’ll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you myself.”

A surprised laugh escapes me. “Noted.”

Killian just stares at me for another long moment, then gives a single nod. He doesn’t need to say anything, because I can read it all in his eyes. The warning to be careful. The threat of what he’ll do if I’m not. These are my brothers, and our bond is stronger than family, stronger than blood.

So when the time comes, I grab my jacket and the scrap of paper with Quinn’s note, and peel away from the warehouse on my bike.

Alone.

The ride through Detroit’s streets gives me too much time to think.

The last thing I need right now is to second-guess whether I’m walking into a trap, or whether Quinn will even show up at all.

I grip the handlebars tighter, trying to focus on the familiar rumble of my bike instead of the churning in my gut as block after block and mile after mile speeds by.

By the time I make it to my destination, I don’t feel any better or worse about being here—just more determined than ever to see this through.

I haven’t had many reasons to come this far into what used to be Enigma territory, but I’ve still known about Mickey’s bar for years. It’s not exactly on safe or neutral ground, but it’s probably as close as any of us can get these days.

And from what I can remember of the handful of times I’ve walked through the door here, this place hasn’t changed a bit. The lighting is still dim as fuck, the floor is still sticky, and the whole place smells like stale beer and cigarettes.

I keep my hood up as I slip through the door, keeping my face hidden for as long as I can while I scan the room. At first, I don’t see her. Then a flash of teal hair catches my eye, and my heart damn near stops.

Before I can think too hard about what I’m doing, I’m already moving. My fingers wrap around her arm, and I drag her toward the bathroom, barely registering the little gasp of surprise that escapes her lips on the way.

She doesn’t resist as I pull her inside and kick the door shut behind us. The space is so fucking small that the scent of her—honey and jasmine—drowns out everything else. Jesus, it takes everything I have not to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in after this terrible fucking week apart.

Instead, I slam her back against the door, blocking her in with my body. “Is this a trap?” The question comes out almost like an accusation, but I don’t fucking care.

“No.” She doesn’t flinch as her eyes lock on to mine. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Are you sure about that?” A bitter laugh escapes my throat. “Then what the fuck was that little show about, huh? All that bullshit about how we weren’t worth dying for?”

“It wasn’t true. But you know I didn’t have a choice.”

I slam my palm against the door beside her head. “Bullshit! There’s always another choice. We could have figured something out together if you’d just?—”

“The only other choice ended with the three of you dead.” Her voice cracks, but she pulls herself right back together. “And I wasn’t okay with that. I’ll never accept that choice.”