Page 28 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

KILLIAN

It’s easy, following behind Quinn.

I’m used to following in her wake like a shadow… only this time, she actually knows I’m here. I can’t decide if it’s better when she knows or doesn’t know, but at least now I don’t have to focus so much on staying out of her view. That lets me give her my full attention.

She handles the bike like someone who has definitely ridden before, so Atlas’s barbed question from earlier has a clear answer. Quinn weaves through traffic, moving with ease and grace, comfortable and confident.

I keep my gaze locked on her, barely paying attention to the traffic around me. I’m more focused on the lines and curves of her body, the way she moves with the bike. When she leans into a turn, the bike seems like it’s an extension of her, doing what she wants it to do with ease.

It’s like the way she fights, the way she looks when she’s not in her head and is letting her instincts take over.

Like how she looked last night when she was in Nico’s bed.

I let my mind wander to the night before, when I opened Nico’s door and saw Quinn with Nico’s head buried between her legs. Her mouth was open in pleasure, her gray eyes glazed with ecstasy, but there was still so much fire there. Defiant, even while she was overcome with need.

To be honest, I’m still sorting through my feelings about that. I expected jealousy to be the main thing, bubbling up inside me at the sight of my brother touching Quinn, the sight of him making her come undone, drawing all those beautiful sounds out of her.

But that wasn’t what I felt.

At least, it wasn’t all I felt.

There was something about watching her fall apart like that, under another man’s tongue, that made me hard.

If I thought that living under the same roof would diminish my fascination with her, I can already tell I was wrong.

If anything, it’s stronger than ever now, knowing that she’s so close at all times.

I can watch her so easily now, noting little things about her that I missed even during all those months of stalking her.

I can slip into her room to watch her sleep, to count the lashes that fan over her cheeks and track the steady rhythm of her breaths.

I can study her while she draws, listening to the soft scratch of her pencil against the paper as she traps her bottom lip between her teeth the way she does when she’s concentrating.

I won’t have to deny myself any of that, and knowing she’ll be so close makes whatever thing inside me is so obsessed with her purr with satisfaction.

Traffic thins out as we approach the site of the upcoming drop, and soon enough, Quinn is pulling up to a small side street and stopping the motorcycle. I pull up behind her and get off, watching as she dismounts with the same ease she used to get on the bike.

Neither of us speak, and I fall back, taking the rear, letting Quinn do her thing.

She glances around the area, taking in our surroundings with a trained eye.

It’s clear she’s used to scoping out danger, and I watch as she checks all the places I would, starting with scanning the tops of the buildings nearby and then moving to the shadows of the doorways and the alleys between buildings.

Nothing jumps out at her, and she relaxes a bit, but not completely. Her guard is still up. Good .

“We should start there,” she finally says, pointing to a building nearby. “Sweep through the place, find anywhere someone could hide or set up an ambush.”

I just nod, gesturing for her to lead the way.

If she’s surprised that I’m deferring to her, she doesn’t show it, and instead takes point, walking across the sidewalk to the building she wants to check out.

It’s old and run down, like everything else in this area. This part of Detroit has been written off for years now, a crumbling relic of the way things used to be that people tend to ignore or forget about in favor of putting their energy into building shiny new things.

There are abandoned factories and storefronts all up and down this section of the city, and the place we walk to now looks like it used to be a drugstore or something. Now it’s just a shell with windows that have been boarded up and broken into more than once.

Quinn tries the door, and when she finds it locked, she narrows her eyes. She rummages in her pocket for a second and then comes out with a piece of metal that she uses to jimmy the lock open. It goes quickly, as smooth and precise as if she was using a key.

The door doesn’t squeak when it opens, and I follow her inside, making my own investigations as I glance around. It’s more spacious than it looks from the outside, and we both scan the area, looking for vantage points.

“Here,” Quinn says, dropping her voice. “What do you think about this window?” She stands in the window, a small, grimy thing in the corner. It’s a bit higher than a usual window, and she has to crane her neck to see out of it. “I can just make out the drop point from here.”

I stand behind her, hyper aware of the heat from her body and the scent that rises up from her skin. Even over all the dust and dirt in this place, her scent stands out clearly, intoxicating.

Jasmine and honey, with just a hint of something darker.

When I don’t respond, she whips her head around to look at me. “Do you have any input? Or are you just here to hover?”

I grunt in response, not giving her more than that.

Her beautiful face twists into a scowl, and she folds her arms, glaring up at me. “So you have nothing to say? You don’t talk much, do you?”

I lift one shoulder in a shrug.

Quinn huffs a breath, her lips parting just slightly. “Great. You’re all so helpful to Nico, but not to me, apparently. Atlas wouldn’t tell me anything worthwhile when we were dress shopping, and now I’m stuck with a guy who doesn’t say anything. Wonderful.”

This time, she doesn’t wait for a response. She just turns back to the window, her brow furrowed.

“There’s a good enough view from here, but it’s a bad angle. Anyone hiding in here would have to run around to the front of the building and then be right in front of the runner. Not good for stealth. Let’s move on.”

We comb the whole building, with Quinn offering insight into why she thinks any given spot would be good or bad for someone trying to hide. Her assessments are thoughtful and impressive, proof that she’s a competent strategist.

Once the drugstore is thoroughly checked, we move on, working our way around the whole area to make sure it’s secure.

I split my focus between doing the actual job—making sure nothing gets past us or goes unchecked—and watching Quinn. I’m hyper aware of her the whole time, taking in every minute detail about the way she moves and the way she works.

There’s a little line that appears between her brows when she’s concentrating hard, trying to make sure she hasn’t missed anything, and it’s amusing to realize that it’s the same furrow she gets when she’s about to come. I’ve seen it every time I’ve watched her fall apart.

I can also sense the agitation building in her as we go. Her shoulders climb higher and higher toward her ears, her body a tense line. Sometimes she looks over her shoulder as if to check that I’m still there with her, but she doesn’t seem reassured when she sees me lurking behind her.

If anything, it seems to agitate her more, and I know it’s because she doesn’t like the silence. Some people find quiet unnerving, and she’s clearly one of those people.

Finally, she turns around again, and there’s something blazing in her eyes when she does.

“I saw you last night, you know,” she says, lifting her chin. “You were watching.”

My entire body reacts to that, going tense and alert. My muscles feel coiled, ready for action, but I keep that reaction off my face, letting it stay neutral and impassive.

Quinn arches a brow when I don’t respond to her words. Then she huffs a breath and shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter one way or another,” she mutters. “It’s not going to happen again. It was a fucking mistake, and I won’t be making it twice.”

She turns away, murmuring something else under her breath as she walks on. Her voice is so quiet that if I wasn’t used to keeping my ears open to listen for her, I might have missed it. “Even if it was some of the best sex I’ve ever had. It’s not fucking worth it.”

The words weren’t meant for me—she was speaking to herself, like a reminder or a mantra—but they hit me hard all the same.

Now jealousy rises up inside me in an almost overwhelming wave.

I curl my fingers into fists at my side, fighting against the urge to pull her against my body.

To show her what the best sex she’s ever had would actually feel like.

To show her that those little toys she uses when she’s all alone are only ever going to be a pale facsimile of what she should feel. Of what she deserves to feel.

I clench my jaw, drawing in a deep breath, and Quinn looks over her shoulder at me, giving me an annoyed look.

“Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there?”

I let some of the tension bleed out of me and follow after her.

She talks more after that, as we keep inspecting the surroundings. It’s as if my silence gives space for all of her words, and she’s no longer holding them back as much.

We stop in front of an abandoned and crumbling cargo bay, and Quinn peers inside. It’s an open, echoey space, and she takes one step in and listens to the way her footsteps ring off the concrete.

“Not subtle enough,” she declares, but she still goes inside to check it out. Just to be sure. I follow along, keeping my eyes peeled for danger.

There’s nothing, and when we step back outside, she sighs a little.

“I used to love old, abandoned spaces like this when I was a kid,” she says. “My dad taught me how to ride a bike in places like these, where there was no one around to see if I fell. They’ve got a different meaning now.”

Quinn glances over at me, and I look back, not saying anything.