Page 278 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

The sun is just starting to set when the cab drops me off at Blood and Ink. My nerves are already strung tight, and every unfamiliar sound is making me flinch. But this is it. This is the night everything changes.

I unlock the front door of the tattoo parlor and walk in as nonchalant as ever, just in case Malcolm is still having me followed. The place is empty, with every available member of Carnage and the Princes out scouring the city for Ronan.

With only a little over an hour until his planned meeting with Malcolm, I have to trust that they’ll find him soon. Otherwise, this is going to be a bad fucking night.

Really bad.

Moving quickly, I head for the basement and the hidden tunnel that connects to the basement of Mickey’s bar. I’ve been back and forth through the narrow passage so many times that I almost don’t need any light at all to navigate the damp, dark space.

I’ve paid Mickey to close the bar tonight, just to ensure there are no extra headaches for me to deal with—and he was all too happy to take my money in exchange for a night off. I’m not quite prepared for how quiet it is when I come upstairs from the basement though.

There’s no jukebox playing, no glasses clinking, no hum of conversation from the regulars who show up night after night. The only sounds I can pick up are the steady hum of the beer coolers and my own beating heart.

In the dim light near the bar, I can see three familiar silhouettes waiting for me—my men, my husbands in every way that matters. The sight of them loosens something in my chest, like I can finally take a full breath.

“Siren.” Killian reaches me first, pulling me against his chest in a hug so tight it’s almost painful. “Tonight’s the night.”

“Damn right.” I cling to him for a few more moments, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent, before giving him a quick, desperate kiss and moving on to Atlas.

By the time I make it to Nico, I’m feeling reassured and thankful for their presence, even if I’m not sure how to find the words to express it all.

Nico holds my gaze longer than the others, his mismatched eyes searching my face. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” I say automatically, the lie slipping out from habit.

He raises an eyebrow, calling my bullshit without saying a word. It’s one of the things I love and hate about him at the same time—he always sees right through me.

“No,” I admit with a sigh. “It’s not fine. None of this is fine.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration bubbling up. “Living with Malcolm, pretending I don’t want to slit his throat every time he touches me. Playing his dutiful wife while plotting his murder. It’s fucked up.”

“Completely fucked up,” he nods. “And it ends tonight.”

“I know.” I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “It will be fine once we pull this off. Once Malcolm is dead, and I’m free, and we never have to be apart again.”

“Then let’s make sure we pull it off.”

We gather around a table in the back corner, where Atlas has spread out a map of the city.

“We’ve had every available member of both crews searching for Kane,” Atlas says, his finger tapping a spot on the east side. “Damon finally spotted him at The Fourth Quarter about two hours ago.”

“That shithole?” I grimace. “Doesn’t seem like the kind of place a New York crime boss would hang out.”

“Maybe that’s why,” Killian suggests. “He could be keeping a low profile, knowing nobody would expect to find him there.”

“Either way, he’s there,” Nico says. “Hudson is keeping eyes on him in case he moves, but he’s been there for a while and it looks like he’s settling in.”

“Is he alone?” I ask.

“Completely,” Atlas answers. “We should be able to handle him pretty easily if things go sideways.”

“It won’t go sideways,” I say, silently praying I’m right.

“So what’s the plan?” Atlas asks. “We grab Kane and stash him somewhere until it’s over?”

I shake my head. “That’s too risky. If he gets free somehow, or if someone finds him tied up, the whole plan falls apart. We need something with a little more finesse.”

Nico reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small vial of clear liquid. “This will put him out for at least a few hours. It’s tasteless and odorless. He won’t even know what hit him.”

“I’ll approach him at the bar,” I say, taking the vial and carefully tucking it into my bra. “I’ll walk up next to him and order a drink. Maybe I’ll say hi to him or whatever. When he’s distracted, I’ll slip it in his glass.”

“No,” Killian says immediately, shaking his head. “That’s too dangerous. Let one of us do it.”

“A strange man approaching him is going to raise red flags,” I argue. “But a woman at a bar? That’s just another night for him. He won’t suspect anything.”

“She’s right,” Nico reluctantly agrees. “Kane will be more relaxed with her.”

Atlas frowns. “I don’t like it. What if he recognizes you? You’re Malcolm’s wife. If word gets back to him?—”

“He won’t recognize me,” I say firmly. “I haven’t been part of the Syndicate long enough that someone like Kane would know who I am.”

The truth is that I don’t want any of them anywhere near Ronan Kane. If something goes wrong—if Malcolm somehow discovers our plan—I don’t want my men implicated. This way, if I get caught, I can say I acted alone.

“Besides,” I add, “I’ll be disguised.”

I see the argument forming on Killian’s lips, but Nico cuts him off with a sharp look. “We’ll compromise. You approach Kane alone, but all three of us will be in the bar, keeping watch. If anything seems off, we intervene.”

It’s not ideal—I’d rather keep them completely separated from this part of the plan—but I know there’s no way they’ll let me walk into that bar alone.

“Fine,” I agree. “But the three of you have to stay in the background. I don’t want anyone connecting us.”

Fifteen minutes later, I’m staring at my reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror, barely recognizing myself.

The dark wig I’m wearing is a far cry from my usual teal hair, styled in loose waves that fall just past my shoulders.

I’ve done my makeup differently too—heavier around the eyes, with a darker shade of lipstick than I’d normally wear.

“Do you have to wear that shirt?” Nico asks, shooting a pointed look at my exposed cleavage.

It’s tighter and lower-cut than anything I’d normally pick out for myself, but this isn’t about me. Or my men.

“If it got your attention, it’ll get Ronan’s,” I answer. “I asked Damon to stash a wig and a sexy top for me to wear tonight, so I think he did a good job with such short notice.”

He grimaces, but takes another look at my tits anyway. “Just be careful.”

“Always.” I nod, turning to face him. “Remember the plan. If I tug my right ear, that means trouble. If I touch my hair, everything’s fine and you can leave.”

“And if Kane tries anything, I’ll break every bone in his body,” he says simply.

I rise up on my toes to kiss him. “I know you would. But let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

We exit the bathroom and rejoin Atlas and Killian at the back door of the bar. The sun has fully set now, and the alley is dark except for a single flickering street lamp.

“The Fourth Quarter is three miles east,” Atlas says. “We should go separately so we’re less noticeable.”

I nod, pulling a compact from my purse to check my disguise one last time. “I’ll give you guys a head start while I wait for my cab. Just… please don’t approach him under any circumstances. We can’t afford to fuck this up.”

Killian catches my arm before I can leave, turning me to face him. “Be careful,” he says gruffly. “We’ll be right there with you and we’ll always have your back, but this guy is fucking dangerous.”

“So am I,” I remind him with a small smile. “This isn’t my first time using what I have to get what I want.”

“Just don’t let him touch you, okay?”

“What?” I frown. “There won’t be any touching. I’m not even going to flirt with the guy. I only want him to be distracted while I put the drugs in his drink. That’s it.”

“I know that’s the plan, and I’m good with that.

I trust you with my life. With my soul. But…

” He pauses, inhaling and then slowly exhaling, and I can tell he’s wrestling with a lot of unfamiliar emotions right now.

“I’m barely hanging on by a thread here, siren.

We all are. Even thinking about someone else touching you makes me want to chop some motherfucking hands off. ”

I realize this isn’t about trust issues or watching me flirt with someone else, or any sort of bullshit like that. This is about my men wanting to protect me. This is about how hard it’s been for them to sit by quietly while I’ve been going through hell with Malcolm.

I can’t blame them for needing to draw a line somewhere.

“There won’t be any touching,” I say again as he pulls me in for a quick, hard kiss.

I kiss Atlas too, then Nico again, drawing strength from each of them. Then I call a cab to pick me up and wave as I watch my men leave without me.

With any luck, this will be the last time we ever have to be separated.

The cab drops me off a block from The Fourth Quarter. I pay the driver and step out into the night, checking the street for any sign of Malcolm’s men before walking the remaining distance.

The bar is small and run-down, with dingy windows barely letting out light, the brick facade crumbling in places, and a faded neon sign that flickers erratically.

I spot my men waiting in separate locations across the street, keeping to the shadows. Nico nods when he catches my eye, but I don’t acknowledge him back as I push through the heavy door and step inside.

The bar reeks of stale beer and cigarette smoke. A jukebox in the corner plays old blues, and aside from a couple arguing quietly in a corner booth, there are only a few rough-looking locals hunched over their drinks.

And then I see him.

Ronan Kane is sitting alone at the far end of the bar with a glass of whiskey in front of him.

Even without someone pointing him out, I’d have known he was different from the other people here.

It’s not just the quality of his dark jeans and black button-down shirt.

It’s the way he holds himself, seemingly relaxed but still alert to everything happening around him.

I don’t have much time to size him up though. Not if I’m going to make this look completely natural.

I slide onto the stool two down from his, leaving an empty seat between us. Even without making eye contact, I can see why he commands respect.

He’s handsome, but not in any conventional way. His dark hair is slightly messy, like he just ran his fingers through it without looking in a mirror. His face is all sharp angles, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, marred by a thin scar that runs from his left temple to his jaw.

But it’s his eyes that draw my attention—one gray, one dark blue, both startlingly intense as they flick toward me for a split second before returning to his drink.

He doesn’t speak, doesn’t even fully acknowledge my presence, but I know that quick glance was enough for him to take in as many details about me as I noted about him. He reminds me a little of Killian—with that same sort of dangerous energy barely contained beneath a veneer of control.

As I signal the bartender, I hear the door open behind me. I don’t turn around, but I know it’s one of my men. They’ll stagger their entrances and take different spots in the bar to blend in with the other patrons while I keep my focus on the task at hand.

“Whiskey, neat,” I tell the bartender, pitching my voice a little higher and a little sweeter than usual. I lean forward slightly and smile when the bartender glances at my tits.

Now I just need Ronan to do the same.

It’s a delicate balance—making myself available without being completely obvious—but I’m counting on whatever it is in a man’s DNA that makes it physically impossible for him to ignore a little bit of exposed cleavage on a woman.

Or, in this case, quite a bit of exposed cleavage.

The bartender sets my drink down just far enough away that I have to reach for it—no doubt trying to get another eyeful in the process.

I thank him with another sweet smile and shift forward again, making sure Kane can see all the way down my shirt if he’s looking.

And I’m pretty sure he is, even though he hasn’t fully turned his head.

I can feel him watching me from the corner of his eye, his interest piqued in spite of his obvious self-discipline. I take a small sip of my whiskey, letting it burn down my throat, and set the glass back down.

The vial is already open in my palm, hidden from view. I’ve been palming it since I walked in—a trick I learned years ago when I used to run small cons before my father pulled me into Enigma full-time.

I wait for my moment, watching the bartender move to the other end of the bar to serve another customer. Then I let my napkin fall to the floor between us.

“Oh, shit,” I mutter, waiting until he turns toward me for the first time before I bend to retrieve it.

While his eyes are on me for that split-second, my hand passes over his glass and I empty the clear liquid from the vial into his drink without a sound or a ripple. It’s slick and practiced—the kind of move that would’ve made my dad proud.

I sit back up with the napkin, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry about that.”

He doesn’t return the smile, just nods once and looks away. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I have to stay completely calm as I take another sip of my own drink.

Slowly, silently, I count to ten before I let a sense of relief flood through me. He didn’t notice. He’ll take another drink and the drugs will kick in within minutes. By the time he figures out something’s wrong, it’ll be too late.

I finish my whiskey and get ready to make my exit. I leave cash on the bar, more than enough to cover my drink, and slide off my stool.

I haven’t even taken a full step away when I feel it—a tug on my jacket, so subtle it could be mistaken for my clothing catching on something. But I know better.

Ronan’s fingers are tangled in my leather jacket, not obviously restraining me, but still effective enough to stop me in my tracks.

His voice is low, almost a whisper, but there’s no mistaking the danger in it.

“What the fuck did you just put in my drink?”