Page 272 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

I can’t even try to hide how surprised I am by the obvious crack in his loyalty. “That wasn’t the deal at the beginning, though, was it? Aren’t we all supposed to be equals?”

“Equals?” Elliot lets out a harsh laugh. “Nothing has been equal since day one. Malcolm made sure of that.”

Imogen shoots me a look that says we’re on the right track. “Remember when Rafael wanted to expand into Chicago last year? How Malcolm shut it down without even a discussion?”

“Or when he vetoed Cassandra’s plan to consolidate her territory in the east,” she adds. “No vote, just Malcolm making decisions. He’s getting more arrogant, more controlling, and consulting the rest of us less and less.”

Elliot’s jaw tightens. “That’s who he is. Malcolm has always done exactly what Malcolm wants.”

“But we don’t have to just accept it,” I press. “The Syndicate was supposed to make us stronger together, not make us his puppets.”

“And what do you suggest?” Elliot asks, his eyes fixed on me. “A strongly worded complaint?”

“I’m suggesting we need to re-evaluate who holds the power,” I say carefully.

“Rules are rules until they’re not,” Elliot says cryptically, watching my reaction. “Depends on who’s making them.”

“Exactly,” Imogen says softly. “Who makes the rules matters more than the rules themselves.”

I exchange a quick glance with her. There’s definitely an opening here.

“What if we changed who makes the rules?” Imogen asks quietly.

The room goes silent as her question hangs in the air between us—treasonous, dangerous, liberating.

Elliot’s eyes narrow. “You’re talking about removing Malcolm?”

“We’re talking about taking back control of our own lives,” I say. “Why should one man have power over all of us?”

“You think the others would go for that?” He leans forward, seemingly interested all of a sudden.

“Cassandra is already in,” Imogen reveals. “She’s had enough of Malcolm’s bullshit.”

“And Rafael? Owen?” Elliot presses.

“That’s our next step,” I say. “But we needed to know where you stand first.”

He snorts. “And I should trust you with this? You couldn’t even carry out a simple votum when it was required. Why would you have the stomach to take out Malcolm?”

If the question was coming from anyone else, I might consider it to be a valid one.

But I’m fucking sick of his attitude, and I’m done letting him run his mouth recklessly in my fucking office.

I step forward, getting right in his face.

“I didn’t kill Celine because she didn’t deserve to die.

Malcolm let me live because it suited him, not out of mercy.

He changed the rules of the Syndicate on a whim.

And you were mad because he made you look weak. ”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” he growls.

“Tell me I’m wrong. He publicly demanded your votum be carried out, then changed his mind when it benefited him, and made your demand look meaningless. Then he wouldn’t even let you take revenge.”

Elliot’s face flushes with anger, and I can tell I’ve hit a nerve. But I’m not fucking finished yet.

“You like being Malcolm’s bitch?” I ask, basically taunting him now. “You enjoy following his orders, doing his dirty work while he reaps the benefits?”

“Quinn,” Imogen warns, but it’s too late.

Elliot stands abruptly, his hands clenched into fists. For a second, I think he might hit me—and I’m ready for it, already calculating my counter-move.

Instead, he laughs. A harsh, ugly laugh that sets my teeth on edge.

“You’ve got balls, lady. I’ll give you that,” he says. “But what’s your plan if we do take him out? What happens to the Syndicate?”

“We all run it together or we disband it,” I say firmly. “We go back to being free agents. No more being bound to decisions we didn’t make. No more votums. No more blood debts.”

“And why would I want to disband it? The Syndicate has been good for business.”

“Has it?” I ask. “Or has it just been good for Malcolm? When was the last time you made a move without his approval? When was the last time you truly operated freely?”

“Every territory expansion, every major decision—they’ve all needed his sign-off,” Imogen adds. “That’s not a partnership. That’s servitude.”

“Being king of your own domain is better than being a soldier in someone else’s army,” I say, holding his gaze. “Do you want to be a king or a fucking foot soldier, Elliot?”

He stares at me for a long moment, then nods slowly. “I’m in. But if this goes sideways…”

“It won’t,” I say with more confidence than I should probably be feeling.

“But if it does?”

“Then we’ll all have bigger problems than who betrayed who,” Imogen cuts in smoothly. “It won’t happen though. Malcolm has been getting careless. He’s too comfortable. He thinks he owns us.”

“It’s time to show him he doesn’t,” I add, exhaling for the first time in what feels like forever.

Imogen smiles, just a quick quirk of her lips, but it’s enough to let me know that we’ve done a damn good job today.

“I’ll set up a meeting with Rafael,” she says, standing up. “He’s been unhappy with Malcolm for a while. I think he’ll be receptive.”

“And once he’s on board?” Elliot asks.

“Then I’ll talk to Owen,” Imogen says. “He’ll be the easiest.”

Elliot’s chuckle rattles deep in his throat. “Owen will fall in line if you ask him, Imogen. He’s been trying to get in your pants for fucking ever.”

Imogen rolls her eyes. “I’m aware.”

“And you’re not above using that,” I say, not a question.

“In this game?” She shrugs. “We all use what weapons we have. Owen is a simple man with simple desires. If flirting gets him to help take down Malcolm, I can flirt.”

“Just don’t promise anything you’re not willing to deliver,” Elliot warns. “Owen can get… fixated.”

“I can handle Owen,” she says dismissively. “Let’s focus on the real threat. Malcolm needs to be dealt with before he figures out what we’re planning.”

“How soon can you talk to Rafael?” I ask.

“Tomorrow,” Imogen says. “I’ll set it up as soon as we leave here.”

“Then we’ll meet back here once I get the word from you,” I decide. “We need to start planning the details.”

Elliot nods, standing up. “We’ll meet here. And Quinn? If you’re playing us, I’ll make what Malcolm would do to you look like a fucking day at the beach.”

“I’m not playing anyone,” I say. “I want out of this marriage and away from him more than you can possibly imagine.”

As I watch them go, a rush of adrenaline hits me. We’re almost there. Two more to convince, and we’ll have the numbers to move against Malcolm.

Soon, I’ll be free. Soon, I’ll have him bleeding out at my feet.

Soon, I’ll be back with my men for good.