Page 275 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

NICO

I lean forward in my chair and look at each of the men gathered around the kitchen table. “We move on the west side warehouses by the end of the week. Tanner and his crew will handle security. Kendrick, you’re in charge of logistics.”

Kendrick nods, his massive shoulders shifting under his leather cut. “I’ve already got three trucks lined up. My cousin’s place is perfect for storage until we get things moving again.”

I study the map of Detroit spread out between us—the city is carved up like a fucking carcass, with red marks showing what used to be our territory and blue showing what we’ve reclaimed in the past week. It’s not enough. Not by a long shot.

“Hudson, what about the docks?” I ask, tapping a spot on the eastern edge.

“Zoey’s people are still there, but they’re sloppy,” Hudson replies, scratching at his beard. “Half of them are just kids playing gangster. It wouldn’t take much to push them out.”

“Good.” I circle the area with a marker. “That’s our next target after the warehouses. I want our pipeline reestablished by the end of the month.”

Shit is getting serious now, and more urgent by the minute. Every day we waste is another day I can’t protect Quinn properly. Another day she has to spend with that fucking monster while I have to wonder if this is the day he decides his patience has run out.

“What about Stefan?” Tanner asks, his eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard word that he’s been out there recruiting.”

“Stefan is a fucking lapdog,” Kendrick snorts. “He might pick up a few recruits here and there, but he still depends on Zoey to call the shots. Without her, he’ll fold like cheap cardboard.”

“Don’t underestimate desperate men,” I warn, remembering too many times I’ve seen cornered rats turn deadly.

“We’ll deal with Zoey and Stefan and whoever is left of the Tyrants when we can do it on our terms. Right now, we focus on rebuilding and getting our business back up and running.

Priority number one is making sure we have the resources for whatever comes next. ”

The men nod, understanding what I’m not saying outright—that “whatever comes next” involves getting Quinn away from Malcolm Mercer permanently. And likely burying the bastard somewhere no one will ever find him.

“That’s it for today,” I say, rolling up the map. “Keep your heads down and your eyes open. I want daily reports.”

They file out one by one, each with their assignments. Kendrick lingers, his massive frame filling the doorway as the others leave.

“We’re making progress,” he says. “Faster than I expected.”

“Not fast enough,” I mutter.

His eyes—surprisingly perceptive for a man who looks like he solves most problems with his fists—study me carefully. “We’ll get her back, Nico. I don’t have any doubts about it.”

I don’t ask how he knows what’s eating at me. It’s probably written all over my face, just like it probably has been since the day Malcolm took her.

“Yeah,” I say, standing up so I can clap him on the shoulder. “We will. Now get going. Check in tomorrow.”

After the door closes behind him, I sit back down at the table and stare at nothing in particular.

The house is too fucking quiet with Atlas and Killian gone, but they’re out checking on a lead, and the quiet gives me too much time to think.

To remember Quinn’s face the last time I saw her and how fucking much I miss her.

I slam my fist on the table, frustrated that I can’t do more right this fucking second. I need to make sure that when this is all over, I can keep her safe. That I have the means, the men, and the fucking firepower to make sure no one ever threatens her again.

A knock at the door—Quinn’s knock—pulls me from my thoughts. Is she really here? Have I thought about her so damn much that my mind is playing tricks on me? This is too much of a coincidence to be real… right?

I grab my gun from where it’s tucked into the waistband of my pants and move silently to the door. I look through the peephole, and as soon as I see who’s on the other side, a smile splits my face.

It really is her.

I tuck my gun away, then unlock the door and yank it open. I pull her close to me, checking over her shoulder up and down the street at the same time before slamming the door closed again.

“Mia cara.” I breathe her in like fucking oxygen.

Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, teal strands mixed with the dark brown of her roots. She’s wearing a simple black tank top and jeans, nothing special, but still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“You’re really here.”

“You know I’ll always come back.”

My mouth finds hers in a desperate kiss that I trust to say everything I can’t put into words. I palm the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as I breathe her in again.

The familiar scent of honey and jasmine fills my lungs, but beneath it is something else—a man’s cologne, expensive and subtle—that has to be Malcolm’s scent on her skin.

Something dark and violent surges through me, nearly cracking my control. The thought of his hands and mouth on her makes me want to burn this fucking city to the ground until I find him.

I break the kiss, gritting my teeth as I fight to keep my rage in check. She doesn’t need that from me right now. She needs me steady, focused.

“I didn’t think you’d be able to come back so soon, with everything you have going on,” I say instead. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s time,” she says, offering a faint but hopeful smile as she looks up at me. “We’re making our move against Malcolm.”

The sound of his name coming from her lips almost distracts me from the good news. “Tell me everything.”

“Elliot called in his votum at the meeting today. He’s setting Malcolm up.” The words tumble out of her in a rush. “Malcolm’s going to meet with some crime boss from New York, Ronan Kane. He’ll go alone, no guards. That’s when the rest of the Syndicate will take him down.”

“Thank fuck.” The sense of relief I feel is so intense it makes my knees weak. “When?”

“Soon. Really soon. We still need to work out some details, but it’s happening, Nico.” She grips my arms, her fingers digging into my biceps. “It’s really happening.”

I cup her face in my hands, studying her. There are shadows under her eyes, and tension lines around her mouth that weren’t there before. But she’s still fucking fighting.

“We’re going to put that bastard in the ground,” I promise her. “And then no one’s ever going to separate us again.”

She nods, leaning into my touch like she’s starved for it. “Where are Atlas and Killian?”

“Out checking on something. They’ll be back soon.” I brush my thumb over her cheekbone, frowning when she winces slightly. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. Too quickly.

I tilt her face, examining the spot. There’s a faint bruise there, roughly the size and shape of a finger. A man’s finger.

“Did he fucking do this to you?”

She doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

“I’m going to kill him,” I say simply. Not a threat—a promise. “I’m going to watch the life drain out of his eyes.”

Atlas and Killian walk in a few minutes later, both freezing in place when they see Quinn sitting at the kitchen table with me.

“Siren,” Killian breathes, crossing the room in three long strides to pull her into his arms.

Atlas is right behind him with a rare grin on his face. “Vicious.”

They take turns holding her, kissing her, touching her like they need to reassure themselves she’s real. I know exactly how they feel.

Once everyone settles down, Quinn fills them in on the plan. She goes over the details of Elliot’s votum, Malcolm’s upcoming meeting with Ronan Kane, and the Syndicate’s plot to ambush him there.

“The only problem,” she says, “is that I need to make sure Ronan doesn’t show up for the meeting. If he does, he’ll see it’s a trap, and then shit will really get dicey.”

“You know what this Kane looks like?” Atlas asks.

“I’ve never met him, but Elliot gave us some photos. I just know he’s from New York, and runs a crime family there. He’s supposedly very particular about how he does business.”

“We’ll find him,” I promise. “Between your people and ours, we’ll track him down.”

“But we need to be careful,” Quinn warns. “If Malcolm suspects anything…”

“He won’t,” Killian says firmly. “We’ll make sure this shit goes down without a hitch.”

We spend the next hour mapping out possibilities, discussing how we might track down someone like Kane and intercept him without raising suspicions. It feels good to be working together again, all four of us in sync like we used to be.

Like we were always meant to be.

My burner phone rings, interrupting our planning session with a shrill tone. I check the number—it’s Hayes, one of our newer recruits who’s been proving himself useful.

“Yeah?” I answer, stepping away from the table.

“Sorry to bother you at this number, Nico, but I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important.” His voice is hesitant, uncomfortable. “I, uh… I got a call from Lakeside Care Center. They couldn’t reach you, so they called Blood and Ink asking for you.”

My stomach drops. There’s only one reason Lakeside would be calling. “What happened?”

“It’s your old man.” Hayes clears his throat. “He passed away this morning. Peacefully, they said. In his sleep.”

The world goes quiet around me. No sound but the blood rushing in my ears and Hayes’s voice, suddenly seeming far away.

“They need you to call or come in to… to make arrangements,” he continues. “I said I’d let you know.”

“Thanks,” I manage to say over the deafening roar of my own heartbeat in my head. “I’ll handle it.”

I hang up and stand there, staring at nothing.

My father is dead. The man who raised me—or didn’t raise me, more accurately.

The man who chose the bottle over his son every fucking time.

The man whose gambling debts nearly got me killed.

The man I’ve been paying to keep in a nice facility despite everything, because he was still my blood.