Page 293 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

I think about my father, about how his death left a hole in the heart of Enigma that I’ve been trying to fill ever since.

How his men still talk about him with respect.

How they followed me not just because I was his daughter, but because he earned their loyalty in a way Malcolm never could have done.

“Their mistake,” I say softly. “Building empires on fear instead of respect.”

I’m glad we’re building something different, something based on choice and sacrifice and a bone-deep understanding of each other.

“So we’re clear?” Atlas asks, probably because we’re each having a hard time wrapping our heads around the concept. “No targets on our backs? No vendettas to worry about?”

“Nope.” Hudson shakes his head. “You’re all free and clear, as far as anyone can tell.”

Free. The word echoes in my head. Free to choose the lives we want. Free to build. Free to live.

I wake up from a nap one evening to an empty bed. The house is quiet, but I can hear low voices from the living room. I pull on one of Nico’s shirts—it hangs off me like a dress—and pad down the hallway, following the sound.

I stop in the doorway, and a smile tugs at my lips as I take in the scene that’s playing out in the living room.

Killian is sitting cross-legged on the floor with his injured arm in a sling, dangling a string for the cat who is watching it with predatory focus.

“Pounce,” Killian commands, his voice low and serious. “Target. Attack.”

The cat stares at him, tail twitching, completely ignoring his commands.

Atlas is sprawled on the couch, watching the whole thing with undisguised amusement. “She’s a cat, not a fucking Navy SEAL,” he points out. “You can’t train her to take down enemy combatants.”

“I’m not trying to turn her into a weapon,” Killian says with exaggerated patience. “I’m enriching her environment through structured play. It’s good for her cognitive development.”

Atlas snorts. “You read that in a cat book, didn’t you? You actually went and found a fucking book about cats.”

Killian doesn’t deny it, which is as good as an admission. Princess finally pounces, batting at the string with surprising accuracy.

“Good,” Killian says approvingly. “Again.”

I bite my lip to keep from laughing. This man—this dangerous, deadly man who once cut off the hands of men who hurt me without a second thought—is teaching a cat to pounce on command. And he’s deadly serious about it.

Warm arms slide around my waist from behind, and I lean back instinctively, recognizing Nico’s touch without having to look. His chin rests on my shoulder as we watch the scene together.

“How long has this been going on?” I ask quietly.

“About an hour.” Nico’s voice is warm with amusement. “Atlas has been giving him shit the whole time.”

I smile and look up at my husband’s face.

His eye is still black, but the swelling has gone down, and he can see out of it again.

The cut on his temple is healing, a thin red line that will fade to a silver scar with time.

We’re all healing and getting stronger every day, but it’ll still be weeks before we’re back to full strength.

But standing here with Nico, watching Atlas and Killian and Princess, I feel something deeper healing inside me. Something I didn’t even realize was broken until these men helped me put it back together.

I could stay here forever, I realize. Just like this. Just us.

“You’re free now,” Nico says, repeating that word that’s been bouncing around in my head for days.

It’s good to hear it out loud again. I’ve spent so long focused on surviving, on keeping us all alive, that I haven’t fully processed what it means to be truly free.

“You can do whatever you want,” he continues. “Be whoever you want to be.”

I turn in his arms, looking up at him. “What about you? What do you want?”

His eyes search mine. “I want you. I want them.” He nods toward Atlas and Killian. “I want us to figure out what comes next together.”

The simplicity of it, the honesty, makes my throat tight. I press my forehead against his chest, breathing in the scent of him as I process his words.

What do I want? The question rattles around in my head, demanding an answer.

I think about the past weeks, about all the pain and fear and violence.

But I also think about the moments in between—the four of us in bed, limbs tangled together.

The way they each fill a different need in me.

The way we fit together, broken edges lining up to create something stronger than any of us could be alone.

I think about my father, about what he wanted for me. Safety. Power. Family. I’ve found all three with these men, just not in the way either of us expected.

I lift my head, meeting Nico’s gaze. “I want this,” I tell him, my voice raw with emotion. “I want you. All of you.”

He smiles, understanding what I’m saying. What I’m offering. “You have us, mia cara. Always.”

I kiss him, hard and quick, then pull away. “Wait here,” I say as an idea forms. “I’ll be right back.”

I duck into the bedroom, rummaging through the nightstand until I find what I’m looking for—a small blade, sharp and clean. I carry it back to the living room, and Killian and Atlas look up as I enter.

“Vicious?” Atlas asks, straightening on the couch. “What’s going on?”

Instead of answering, I set the knife on the coffee table and peel off my shirt. The cool air of the room raises goosebumps on my skin as I stand there in just my bra.

I trace my fingers over the tattoos on my breast—marked through with the lines I carved the night Malcolm took me.

“You owe me,” I say. “New marks for this new beginning.”