Page 266 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

I watch Imogen’s face carefully, looking for any sign of what she’s thinking. If she reports this conversation to Malcolm, I’m dead. My men are dead. Everything is over.

But something in her expression tells me I’ve struck a chord.

I try to shove down the flicker of hope that’s starting to build inside me. I’ve been let down too many times to get ahead of myself now.

“Do you really think that could be possible?” I ask. “Do you think we could actually take him down?”

Imogen doesn’t answer right away. She taps her manicured nails together slowly, methodically, as if she’s mentally working through every angle and potential outcome. Her eyes narrow as she studies me.

“Are you truly serious about this, Quinn?” she finally asks. “You understand what you’re asking? This isn’t some game where you can change your mind halfway through.”

I nod, but she keeps going.

“If Malcolm catches even a whiff of this, it won’t just be you who suffers. He’ll make an example of everyone involved.” Her voice drops lower. “You know this could get you killed, right? There’s no middle ground here. We either succeed or we all end up dead.”

The weight of what I’m suggesting settles more heavily on my shoulders, but it doesn’t change my mind. If anything, it makes me dig in harder.

“I know exactly what I’m risking.”

“Do you?” She leans forward. “Really?”

“Yes.” I meet her gaze without flinching. “But staying married to Malcolm, being forced into his bed as his ‘dutiful wife,’ remaining part of the Syndicate under his control—that would be worse than death.”

I swallow hard, fighting to keep my voice steady. “So yes, I’m serious. No matter the risk.”

A small smile forms at the corners of Imogen’s lips, and something that looks surprisingly like respect flashes in her eyes.

It dawns on me that beneath Imogen’s ruthless, pragmatic exterior, we might be more kindred spirits than I initially thought. Both of us shaped by loss, both of us trapped in Malcolm’s web, both of us willing to burn it all down to be free.

“Malcolm underestimated you,” she says, and it sounds like a compliment. “He always does that with women. And yes, it could be possible. But we’ll have to be careful. Methodical.”

My heart starts to beat faster. She’s really considering it.

“We’d need to work our way from the most likely candidates to the least,” she continues, shifting into a more analytical tone. “Start with who we know is already dissatisfied with Malcolm and build from there.”

“Who would be first?” I ask.

“Cassandra,” she says without hesitation. “She and Malcolm have… history. A rocky history.”

“What kind of history?”

Imogen shakes her head. “That’s not my story to tell. But trust me when I say she has more reason than most to want him gone.”

Unlike me, Imogen has been part of this inner circle for years. She knows their pasts, their grievances, the private complaints they’ve shared in moments of weakness or drunkenness. And unlike Malcolm, she’s actually been paying attention.

“After Cassandra?”

“Rafael would be next. He’s been chafing under Malcolm’s leadership for a while now. He’s ambitious, and Malcolm keeps him on a shorter leash because of that ambition.”

She ticks them off on her fingers as she goes. “Owen is pragmatic enough to follow whoever offers the better deal. And Elliot…” She hesitates. “Elliot will be the hardest.”

“Because of his loyalty to Malcolm?”

She nods. “That, and he’s the most unpredictable. I can’t say for sure what he’ll do, even if the rest of us are on board.”

“So we save him for last,” I suggest.

“Exactly.” Imogen seems pleased that I’m following her logic. “The more members we can bring to our side, the more pressure it puts on the holdouts. The members of the Syndicate can be ruthless, but they’re also survivors. They know how to move with the current to stay on the winning side.”

She narrows her eyes in cold calculation. “If it seems like Malcolm is going to lose his hold—if they believe he’s going to be killed—they won’t stand by him. Not even Elliot, once the writing is on the wall.”

“They’ll abandon a sinking ship.”

“Like rats, every time. That’s the nature of our world. Loyalty extends exactly as far as it’s profitable and not one inch further.”

Relief washes through me as the reality of what’s happening sinks in. I’m not alone in this fight anymore.

“So we’re really doing this?” I can’t quite keep the disbelief from my voice.

“We’re really doing this. Malcolm Mercer’s days are numbered.”

We talk a bit more about approach and timing, along with who knows what about whom.

“I should be the one to approach Cassandra,” Imogen says as our conversation begins to wind down. “She trusts me. We’ve worked together plenty of times. Even a few things Malcolm doesn’t know about.”

I raise an eyebrow at that, but she doesn’t elaborate.

“She’ll be more receptive if we speak alone,” Imogen continues. “Without you there.”

I nod, but something must show in my expression—a flicker of uncertainty, maybe, or just natural wariness—because Imogen’s eyes narrow.

“You’re wondering if I’ll sell you out,” she says flatly.

I don’t deny it. “Wouldn’t you wonder the same thing in my position?”

She studies me for a moment, then her lips curve into a small, amused smirk. “Smart girl. That caution will serve you well.”

She leans forward, lowering her voice even though we’re alone in her apartment. “I’m not going to sell you out. If I wanted to do that, I’d have already done it. I wouldn’t be wasting my time with this conversation and some elaborate plan that I didn’t ever intend on bringing to fruition.”

“Couldn’t you just be gathering information? Making sure you understand the full scope of my… disloyalty before reporting back?”

“I could be,” she acknowledges. “And in your position, I’d absolutely consider that possibility. But I’m not.”

“How can I be sure?”

Her expression hardens. “Because I’ve spent years playing Malcolm’s game, following his rules, and watching him manipulate and destroy people. And I’m finally seeing a way out.” Her voice drops even lower. “My sister deserves justice. So does your mother.”

I hold her gaze for a long moment, trying to read the truth in her eyes. Finally, I nod. “Okay.”

“Good,” she says briskly, standing up. “Once we have Cassandra on our side, I think the men will fall in line pretty quickly. We’ll go after Owen or Rafael next, depending on when the opportunity presents itself.”

“And Malcolm never suspects a thing until it’s too late,” I add.

A cold smile spreads across Imogen’s face. “Exactly.”

We spend a little more time strategizing—discussing potential approaches for each Syndicate member, timelines, and contingencies if someone refuses to join us.

Imogen is meticulous, considering angles I wouldn’t have thought of.

It makes me even more confident that she’s the right ally for this fight.

Eventually, though, I know I need to go. I’ve been here longer than I intended, and I still have another couple of stops to make.

“I should be going,” I say, reluctantly standing. “The longer I stay, the more questions it will raise.”

Imogen nods. “We’ll talk more soon.”

Princess has returned to my lap at some point during our conversation, purring contentedly as I stroke her soft fur. I gently set her aside as I stand up, but she immediately winds around my ankles, making a soft mewling sound.

Imogen rolls her eyes. “Take her with you.”

I blink in surprise. “What?”

“The cat. Take her.” Imogen waves a dismissive hand. “She clearly likes you more than me, and I’m tired of finding cat hair on my clothes.”

“Are you sure?”

She huffs, as if annoyed at having to explain herself. “Look at her. She’s practically begging you to take her home. Besides…” She glances toward the window, avoiding my gaze. “She deserves to be somewhere safer than here.”

Despite her effort to sound bored and annoyed with the cat, I can see through the act. She’s softer on the inside than she lets on, and she’s looking out for Princess, making sure she’s cared for if things go sideways with our coup attempt.

“And anyway,” she adds, more practically, “you don’t need an excuse to come visit me anymore. We have actual business to discuss.”

I smile, genuinely touched by the gesture. “Thank you, Imogen.”

“Don’t make it a thing,” she says, but there’s a faint smile on her lips. “It’s just a cat.”

“Still.” I bend down to scoop Princess into my arms. “Thank you.”

She walks me to the door. “I’ll contact you when I’ve spoken with Cassandra. If anyone asks why we’re meeting, we’ll say I’m consulting on the renovation of your tattoo parlor. My casinos have certain aesthetic elements that might interest you.”

I nod, appreciating the solid cover story. “Perfect.”

As I turn to leave, she catches my arm. “Be careful,” she warns. “Malcolm is dangerous on a good day. If he senses any change in you…”

“I know,” I say quietly. “I can handle him.”

She searches my eyes, then nods once. “I believe you can.”

A few minutes later, I’m back in the SUV with Princess cradled in my arms. I catch the driver eyeing me in the rearview mirror, his gaze flickering between my face and the cat.

“Is there a problem?” I ask, keeping just enough of Malcolm’s wife’s entitlement in my tone to make him uncomfortable.

“No, Mrs. Mercer,” he says, eyes snapping back to the road. “I just… the cat…”

“Take me to the tattoo parlor,” I direct, stroking Princess as she kneads my thighs with her paws. “Now.”

He hesitates. “I should inform Mr. Mercer about the cat?—”

“You think Malcolm wants a detailed report about a cat?” I laugh, deliberately trying to sound condescending. “But fine, if you must know, I’m dropping her off at the parlor with one of my members.”

The driver frowns slightly. “You’re not bringing it back to the house?”