Page 263 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

I’m back in that alley, my back pressed against brick, surrounded by Bullets members. Their hands are everywhere, tearing at my clothes, pinning me down. I try to fight but there are too many of them. I scream but no sound comes out.

Then the faces change. It’s not the Bullets anymore—it’s Ambrose, with his twisted smile and intelligent, scheming eyes. “You’re mine now,” he whispers. “You’ve always been mine.”

But when I look again, it’s Malcolm looming over me, his cold, dead eyes peering out at me from the darkness. “Everything about you is mine,” he says, using the same words from his office. “Your name. Your body. Your future.”

I try to run, but my legs won’t move. I try to scream again, but his hand clamps over my mouth. Behind him, I see my mother’s face, her eyes sad and haunted as she watches me struggle.

“You can’t escape,” Malcolm tells me as his features start to blur. “No one escapes me.”

I jerk awake with a gasp, and my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Sweat has flattened my hair to my forehead, and my body trembles like I’m coming down from a bad high. It takes me a second to remember where I am, and when I do, the reality is almost as bad as the nightmare.

Malcolm’s house. Malcolm’s bedroom. Malcolm’s bed.

And now that I’m fully awake, I can feel his eyes on me. Without saying anything, I turn my head slowly to look at him. He’s propped up on one elbow beside me, watching me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.

Fuck, he’s creepy. How long has he been watching me?

“You were having a bad dream.” He isn’t asking, and I feel way too exposed like this—in his bed and at his mercy.

I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing. “I’m fine. It was just a dream.”

His eyes move across my face with an unsettling look that’s almost like… hunger. “You look like her when you sleep.”

He reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from my face, and I flinch before I can stop myself. “Like who?”

“Your mother. You have her features. Her spirit.”

For all the horrible shit he’s done to me, I’ve never wanted him dead more than I do right this instant.

I move back slightly, putting a few more inches between us. My mind is racing, trying to make sense of the way he’s looking at me. “Did you know her?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I want the answer.

“Not as well as I would have liked to.” He shrugs, and there’s something in his tone that makes me want to shower for the next ten hours straight. “But I can tell you have a lot of her in you.”

Suddenly, I understand with sickening clarity that Malcolm’s interest in me isn’t just about power or control. It isn’t even about sex. It’s twisted up with whatever fucked up feelings he had for my mother.

I need to get out of this bed. Out of this room. Out of this house.

Time for another acting lesson.

I slide my legs off the edge of the mattress, doing my best to make sure my movements don’t look hurried or panicked. “I should get ready.” I force a sense of calm I don’t feel into my voice. “I’m meeting a friend today for lunch. Someone who can help me rebuild Enigma.”

Malcolm watches me, his expression calculating. “A friend?” The way he says it makes the word sound like it’s something foreign. Hell, it probably is to him.

“An ally,” I try instead, knowing that’s a concept he understands better. “Someone with connections who can help strengthen my position.” I hate myself for what I’m about to add, but I know it’ll play into his ego. “Our position.”

He nods slowly, apparently satisfied with my explanation. “Fine. Just remember where your true alliance lies now.”

I nod back, already heading for the bathroom. “I won’t forget.”

The door is barely closed behind me before I’m leaning over the sink and fighting the urge to vomit. The way he looked at me and talked about my mother? Jesus, what a sick fuck.

I turn the shower on as hot as it will go and step under the scalding water to start scrubbing at my skin until it’s raw.

Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and out the door, still moving as quickly as I can without looking like I’m running away. Even without turning back to look until I’m safely inside the waiting SUV, I can feel Malcolm watching me from the upstairs window the whole time.

And I can still feel his eyes burning into my back even after we’re miles away from that palatial prison.

A little while later, and I’m walking to the familiar exterior of what looks like an old warehouse but in fact is one of the warmest, coziest homes I’ve ever been lucky enough to visit.

Willow looks surprised when she opens her door and finds me standing here. Her eyebrows rise even higher as she looks over my shoulder and sees that I’m here alone.

“Hey, Quinn. Where are the guys?”

I try to force a smile but a grimace is the best I can muster. “They’re not here. Can we talk inside? Please?”

Her expression immediately shifts from surprise to concern as she steps to the side and waves me in. “Of course. Come in. Are you okay?”

As soon as she closes the door behind us, I feel a little bit of the tension leave my shoulders. I never fully realize how tense and anxious I get around Malcolm until I get a glimpse of what my life used to be like.

My way of living might not have ever met anyone’s definition of normal, but it was mine. It was the life I chose, and nowhere reminds me of that life more than this place—even if there are a few stark differences.

Like her sweet baby babbling in the background. The house smells like coffee and baby powder, and it’s all so normal that it makes my throat tight.

“I’m fine,” I lie to answer her question because… fuck, where do I even begin?

Willow gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me for a second, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she leads me into the living room where I see her baby smiling up from her crib.

“She just went down for her nap,” Willow says softly, a smile softening her face as she looks at her daughter. “Which means she’ll talk to herself for about ten minutes, and then we’ll have about an hour before all hell breaks loose again.”

She gestures for me to sit on the couch, then disappears into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two mugs of coffee. She hands one to me before sitting down at the other end of the couch and tucking her feet up under her.

“So,” she says, wrapping her hands around her mug. “Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?”

I take a long sip of coffee, using the moment to gather my thoughts. “It’s complicated.”

She offers a wry smile at what’s got to be the understatement of the fucking century. “When isn’t it?”

I start talking, but I’m careful to leave out the most dangerous details.

I tell her about Malcolm—just that we’re married now, not the circumstances that led to it.

I talk about trying to rebuild Enigma, and how much guilt I still carry for not being able to protect my members when shit hit the fan.

Willow listens without interrupting, nodding along and flashing knowing looks at some of the details. She’s been in this world long enough to fill in at least some of the blanks for herself.

“And your men?” she asks when I finally run out of things to say. “Where do they fit into all this?”

I look down at my coffee, unsure of how much I should tell her. I trust Willow with my life, but some things aren’t mine to share. “They’re safe. As safe as they can be, anyway. We’re keeping our distance for now. It’s better that way.”

Willow studies me for a long moment. “That’s bullshit.” There’s no accusation or heat in her voice, just concern. “But I understand that there are things you can’t tell me. Things that would put me and my men and the baby at risk if I knew.”

I nod, grateful that she really does understand. “I didn’t want to drag you into this. I just needed…” I trail off, not sure how to finish that sentence without sounding pathetic.

“A friendly face?” Willow suggests. “Someone to lean on?”

“Yeah.” I nod and swallow hard. “Something like that.”

The baby stirs in her crib, making small snuffling noises before settling back into sleep. Willow watches her for a moment, and her face softens again.

“You know,” she says quietly, “there was a time when I thought I’d never have this. A home. A family. Safety.” She looks back at me. “I wouldn’t have any of it if it weren’t for you.”

I shake my head. “You don’t owe me anything, Willow.”

“This isn’t about owing,” she insists. “It’s about caring. And whatever is going on with you right now, I care. We care. We’re here for you, however you need us to be.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, cracking open something in my chest that I’ve been trying to keep sealed shut. I blink to fight back the sudden rush of emotion.

“Thank you,” I manage to say, then take a deep breath to get myself back together. I’ll be damned if I’m going to start crying now—mainly because I’m not sure I’d be able to stop.

We talk a while longer, about lighter things like her baby, her plans for the future, stories about her men that make me laugh. It’s only a short break from the nightmare my life has become, but god, it’s a necessary one.

Eventually, though, I know I need to leave soon. Malcolm’s men are waiting for me, and I can’t stay in one place for too long without raising suspicion. Especially after how late I stayed out with my men just yesterday.

As I stand to leave, Willow catches my arm. “Wait,” she says. “I have an idea.”

She disappears into another room, then comes back a minute later with Victor. He nods to me, friendly enough but still serious as always.

“Willow filled me in,” he says, pulling something small from his pocket. “Not with a lot of details, just that you might need a lifeline.”

He holds out an old school, basic burner phone. One of the tiny ones that flip open. “It’s programmed with our numbers,” he explains. “But there’s also a panic button on the side. Press it three times quickly, and it’ll send an SOS ping to our phones with your GPS location.”

I stare at the phone, then at Victor and Willow, not sure what to say.

“It’s not fancy,” he continues, placing the phone in my hand. “But if you’re ever in real trouble and can’t call or text, this gives you another option. A lifeline.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, genuinely confused. “Any debt you might have owed me was paid a long time ago. Why would you do this?”

Willow steps forward and pulls me into a tight hug. “It’s not about debt,” she says against my ear. “This is what friends do for each other.”

I stand frozen for a moment, clutching the phone in my hand. Then, slowly, I hug her back.

“I don’t have many friends,” I admit when she finally pulls away.

Willow smiles. “Well, you have us, whether you like it or not.”

I slip the phone into my pocket, grateful for how tiny and unobtrusive it is. “Thank you.” This time the words come easier.

As I leave their house, I feel a strange mixture of emotions. There’s the normal fear and dread at returning to Malcolm. Then there’s the always-present longing for my men. But also something I haven’t felt in a long time—the simple comfort of knowing someone has my back, no strings attached.