Page 37 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

ATLAS

Over the next few days, I throw myself into work.

Nico and Quinn came up with a plan to keep our gangs from tearing at each other’s throats, and Carnage business and Enigma business are suddenly overlapping.

As soon as Nico told me what they’d decided, I threw myself into the task of finding alternate routes for deliveries of goods, new drop points, the whole nine yards.

My duty is to be the protector, the bodyguard, and I take that shit seriously—not just protecting Nico and Killian, but our entire crew.

Now that Carnage members will be pairing up with Enigma members for jobs, and vice versa, I’ve needed to learn more about Enigma territory as well.

Which, unfortunately, has meant I’ve had to spend a fair amount of time with Quinn.

I hate it.

I went from disliking her to grudgingly respecting her, and lately, that respect has started to turn into something else entirely. Something I shouldn’t fucking feel.

I hate that every time we bend over a map together, piecing together safe routes that cross over from our territory to hers, her sweet jasmine scent invades my nose.

I hate that when she looks up at me, I can’t help but search for that spark I sometimes see in her silvery gray eyes.

I hate how it reminds me of that night we sat on the couch together, and how fucking… easy it was to be with her.

Because I’m not with her.

She’s not mine.

So I keep our discussions as short and curt as possible, my tone always cool and my shoulder muscles aching from how stiff they are. And anytime we don’t absolutely have to be talking, I avoid her as much as I can—which is a lot easier said than done, when we live in the same goddamn house.

In my free time, I pore over every bit of information we have about the attacks on both Carnage and Enigma, searching for any clue that will lead us closer to finding out who’s been working against us.

I want to find this fucker, whoever the hell he is.

I want to end this. All of it.

Nico seems to think that we can navigate this alliance and come out in a position that benefits Carnage.

He has at least two ways in mind that we can stand to gain here, but I don’t like any of it.

I didn’t like it from the start, and I made that known, but arguing with my brother when he’s got his mind made up is a waste of time.

He’s stubborn and headstrong, and I owe him too much not to stand by his side.

Even when it’s probably a bad idea.

The best I can do now is work as hard as I can to make this be over as soon as possible.

It’s late in the afternoon about a week after the brawl when I take a break from staring at maps and grainy security footage that we’ve managed to get our hands on, putting aside the notes I’ve been compiling and going downstairs.

I need to get a snack or at least stretch for a bit, since I’ve been hunched over the desk in my room for the last few hours.

But as I reach the last step and glance into the living room, I catch sight of Quinn, bent over in tight fitting clothes, doing yoga in the middle of the floor.

I stop in my tracks for a moment, staring at her.

She has good form, her body moving through the motions with ease and confidence, holding the poses gracefully.

Her form-fitting clothes show off the fact that she’s got some muscle on her willowy build, and that even if she’s shorter than us and more slight, there’s power in her.

I already knew that from watching her fight, and from seeing her naked in the dressing room that day, but it’s a different thing to see it up close like this.

Fuck, she’s gorgeous .

That thought rises up in my mind before I can stop it, my entire body reacting to the sight of her.

I’ve been rooted to the spot for too long, because Quinn notices me standing there. She turns her head and raises an eyebrow, not breaking her pose. Her arms don’t even wobble.

“Do you need something?” she asks, a smirk pulling at her full lips.

I rip my gaze away from her, glaring at the wall instead.

“I don’t need anything,” I mutter under my breath, then stalk away before she can reply.

I head into the kitchen and yank open the fridge, but just being in here reminds me of a week ago, when she was in here cooking, moving around the kitchen with confidence as she put a meal together.

It makes me think of the way she licked her lips as she gazed up at me, our bodies only inches apart. And then the sound of her fucking Nico.

The noises she made were so fucking distracting that I started cooking, finishing the meal she had started, just to give myself something to do.

I don’t know why I felt the need to make sure she had something to eat, since it was none of my business.

I don’t know why I felt a strange sort of satisfaction as I watched her devour the pasta I made for her later that night.

I don’t know why I wanted to pull her closer to me on the couch, to bury my face in her hair and inhale deeply.

She still smelled like sex when she came downstairs .

The fridge door slams shut as I let it go. Suddenly, I’m not hungry anymore.

From the living room, I hear Quinn exhale slowly, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see her shifting into another position through the open doorway.

The image of her in downward dog fills my head, and I know I can’t be here for this.

I’m aware of all the reasons Nico wanted us to move in with her, to share her space, but right now it feels too confining.

I grab my keys and stride toward the front door, cutting through the living room again.

“Where are you?—”

Quinn’s voice cuts off as I let the front door bang closed behind me.

My feet take me to my bike, and I get on it, revving for a second before I take off down the driveway. I head straight for the Carnage clubhouse, parking my bike and walking in once I arrive.

As usual, there are people hanging out, milling around and shooting the shit. It’s a gathering place when there’s no official business going on, and it already feels more relaxing to be here with other members of Carnage than being back at Quinn’s place.

“Atlas!”

As soon as I enter the large space, a few of our crew greet me with wide smiles. I nod to them all, letting people draw me into various conversations.

“Damn, you’ve been gone for a while,” Hudson says, clapping me on the back. “We thought you forgot where your headquarters were.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Nah, just a lot to do.”

“Nico’s been working you to death?”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” I advise and laugh with him.

“Is that Atlas?” someone else asks, coming over. “It’s good to see you, man.”

Gradually, I start to relax. It’s easier to breathe here, easier to let myself forget about all the shit waiting for me back ‘home.’

I chat for a while with some of the guys shooting pool at the table in the corner, chuckling at Jeremiah’s form as he fucks up his shot.

“Could’ve told you that’s what was going to happen if you aimed like that,” I say, shrugging.

He scowls at me good-naturedly. “Then why didn’t you?” he complains. “You coulda done me a solid.”

“But then how would you learn from your mistakes?” I ask him. “It’s all in the wrist.”

“Yeah, Jer,” one of the others cackles. “It’s all in the wrist.”

He makes a motion like he’s jacking off, and Jeremiah flips him off before grabbing a cup and downing whatever is in it.

“Fuck all of you,” he mutters.

“Damn, you can’t talk to Atlas like that,” someone else chimes in. “Insubordination. That’s the word, right?”

Jeremiah rolls his eyes.

Someone else approaches and has a report from one of the smuggling drops we did recently, and I take it, nodding as he fills me in on what happened.

“Smooth as we could’ve hoped for,” he says. “Thank fuck for that.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “The more smooth operations we have, the better. We’re working on making sure that’s the norm going forward.”

I get a little salute in response before he shuffles away.

On the other side of the room, a few people drag a table over and gather some chairs, laying out a deck of cards.

“Poker, Atlas?” Stefan offers, and I shrug, figuring why the hell not.

They set up with the cards and a bottle of whiskey and some glasses, and I take a seat, motioning for them to deal me in. I grab the bottle and pour myself a couple fingers, watching as the amber liquid splashes into the glass.

I’ve been working my ass of lately, trying to make sure our people are protected no matter what shit comes our way.

I deserve an evening off—although I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince with that thought.

Nico’s not here, and he’d probably be the first one to tell me not to work myself to death.

So I settle back in my seat and look at my cards, waiting for the flop to be dealt.

A few hands later, there’s a buzz in my veins from the whiskey, and I push some money across the table, increasing my bet. All I need is a lucky draw to take the whole pot.

“You’re sticking around for tonight, right?” Tanner asks me.

I lift an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“We’re letting loose a little,” he says, shrugging. “Music, some food, good booze. You know. Just to unwind after everything.”

Everything is said with significance, and I can understand what he means. It’s been rough lately, with the attacks and the alliance and the brawl and everyone having to come to terms with shit. Makes sense that people would want to blow off some steam.

And it’s definitely not unheard of for our crew to throw parties every once in a while. Usually after a good haul from smuggling or something else going well.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “I’ll probably stick around.”

That seems to put them in good spirits, and more whiskey is splashed into my glass. I lift the glass and down it in one long swallow before smirking when the card I need gets dropped.