Page 79 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

It feels like someone punched me with a metal fist.

I let out a pained grunt as a bullet lodges in my upper arm, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in the air. It hurts like a motherfucker, and I stagger a little, shock and pain filling me.

My head swims, and I can’t tell where the shot came from. Did Atlas or Killian shoot me to keep me from taking out Nico? It would make sense. That’s their job, after all, and since we’re apparently giving up the facade that this means anything anymore, maybe they took the shot.

But then I hear Atlas’s voice call out, “Fuck! There’s a shooter. Get to cover!”

“Shit!” Nico curses hotly.

All four of us scramble for cover as more shots ring out. My heart is thudding in my chest, my adrenaline high—which is good, because for the moment it’s dulling the pain in my arm.

I crouch low, peering into the darkness as I press my hand over my wounded arm to stanch the bleeding.

I dropped my gun when I was shot, so I’m weaponless, which makes me feel like a sitting duck.

The clubhouse is still on fire, and there’s not much in the way of cover without getting too close to the blazing building.

A bullet whizzes by me, and I whip my head toward the source, trying to see who the fuck is shooting at us. I can hear the Princes calling out to each other, but I can’t see them. My night vision is fucked from the light of the burning clubhouse nearby.

“Behind you!” someone shouts—Nico, I think.

“Motherfucker,” Killian grunts.

There are more gunshots, and then the sound of return fire and more shouting.

My ears are ringing from it, but even still, my breathing is loud in my head as I move away from the blaze and the chaos in the dark, staying low. The fire is so bright that it makes it almost impossible for my eyes to adjust to the inky blackness away from it.

I hear another round of gunshots, and then all of a sudden, things get quieter.

My heart thuds as I glance over my shoulder, but I still can’t see shit.

I keep picking my way through the darkness away from the blaze, trying to find something to duck behind so I can get my bearings and figure out my next move.

There’s a wooded area not far from the Carnage clubhouse, and as I dart toward the tree line, someone slams into me, wrapping their arms around me.

“Shit!” I hiss.

At first, I think it’s Killian, but the grip is all wrong, and I don’t recognize his scent.

It’s not him or either of the other Princes.

Ignoring the pain in my arm, I buck against the tight hold, snapping my head back.

I connect with some part of my captor’s face, and he grunts and releases me—but as I slip out of his grasp, he grabs for my hair, wrenching me backward.

“Ahh!” I hiss out a breath as pain spreads across my scalp.

Instead of pulling against his hold on my hair, I twist and duck under his arm, doubling back toward him. I jab an elbow into his solar plexus, eliciting another rough grunt from him. He stumbles back half a step, and as I break his hold on my hair, the light of the fire flickers across his face.

We’re far enough away from the building that his features are half cast in shadow, but I can make out buzzed blond hair and a scar across his cheek.

It’s Silas.

“Mother fucker ,” I spit, just in time for him to lunge at me again.

I’m more prepared for it this time, fighting him off as best as I can.

Raw adrenaline is carrying me, making it easy to block out everything else and focus on evading Silas’s jabs and hits.

He gets his arm around me again and tries to put me in a headlock, but I’m faster, slipping out of his grasp and punching him in the face.

“Bitch,” he snarls, advancing on me again.

I duck, trying to sweep his legs out from under him, but he moves too quickly. When I pop back up, he’s on me, grabbing me around the middle and digging his fingers into my arm.

He finds the spot where I was shot, working his fingers into the hole where the bullet is still lodged, and pain lances up my arm, burning through the haze of adrenaline that kept me from really feeling the wound before now. I cry out in agony, stumbling as the pain takes over.

That’s all the opening Silas needs. He punches me hard in the back of the head, and I reel from it, dazed. Stars burst in the darkness, and for a sickening moment, I think I might throw up.

Silas pins my arms behind me, shoving the barrel of a gun against my ribs.

“Fucking move ,” he orders, pushing me forward. “Come on.”

He manhandles me to a car that’s parked a short distance from the clubhouse and opens the trunk, shoving me toward it so he can lock me inside.

But before he gets the chance, a shout rings out in the distance, making him glance sharply toward the sound. He lets me go for a split second, and I don’t waste the opportunity.

I spin around, going for the weapon in his hand. He grunts, shoving me with his shoulder as we both grab the gun, wrestling for control of it. My hands are slick with blood and sweat, making it difficult to get a good grip, but I bare my teeth and try anyway, knowing my life fucking depends on it.

Silas shoves me backward, using his bodyweight against me, but I don’t let go of the weapon, twisting his wrist as I try to break his grip. He pulls the trigger, firing off a shot that barely misses my foot, the bullet burying itself in the ground.

“Shit,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

“Give it up,” Silas hisses. “I don’t want to kill you.”

“Fuck you.” I spit in his face, making him jerk back a little.

But it’s not enough. I’m running on fumes at this point, nausea still roiling my stomach and my injured arm weak and nearly useless with a bullet lodged in it.

He shoves me up against the car, hard enough that it nearly knocks the wind out of me, and I lose my grip on the gun. He raises it to my temple, his other hand wrapping around my throat?—

Bang!

Another shot rings out, and I flinch hard, my heart skipping a beat.

Silas’s body jerks forward before he crumples to the ground.

I lean against the car, sucking ragged breaths into my burning lungs, not sure what the fuck just happened as I stare down at him.

Then the Princes walk out of the shadows of the trees.

For a split second, I’m relieved to see them, but then I remember what brought me to the clubhouse in the first place tonight. They’re not my saviors right now. They’re not my anything .

None of them acknowledge me, focusing instead on Silas.

Killian comes over and shoves Silas’s body away from the car with his foot, turning him over so he’s face up on the ground.

The mercenary’s chest heaves with each labored breath, and his eyes are glassy. Blood bubbles from his lips and then dribbles down his chin. He’s clearly dying.

Nico steps forward, staring down at him. “We know who hired you,” he says, his voice hard. “What were you doing for The Saint?”

I flinch in surprise, glancing between Nico and Silas. What?

Silas chuckles, a weak, wet sound. “You haven’t figured it out yet?” he asks between wheezing breaths. “He paid me to organize attacks… on you both. To drive you two together. Making it easy for you to… get close to her.”

My heart lurches as I take in his words. All this time we were chasing down a threat to our territories, and it was all a ruse? People were hurt. People fucking died . And it was just a means to an end?

Nico frowns, surprise and anger contorting his angular features.

“Who is The Saint?” he grits out. “Tell me.”

“I don’t know.” Silas grimaces, twisting the scar on his cheek.

“It was all… anonymous. Never saw who paid me. Probably the same for you.” His gaze flicks between the three men.

Then he laughs hoarsely again. He has to turn his head to cough, spitting blood off to the side.

“Whoever the fuck The Saint is, he was underpaying us both.” His bloodstained lips curve into a smirk as he glances at me.

“You have no idea how valuable she is, do you?”

All three of the Princes’ gazes snap to me, surprise on their faces. I swallow thickly, staring down at Silas in confusion.

“What the fuck does that mean?” I whisper.

How am I so valuable? This whole thing was centered around me, apparently. Around giving the Princes access to me. But why? What is it that Silas and The Saint know that I don’t?

Nico starts to lean down, getting in closer to ask another question or demand that Silas tell him what the fuck he’s talking about. But Silas moves faster than I would’ve expected, his arm darting out to one side as he reaches for the gun that fell nearby when he got shot.

My stomach drops, ice surging through my veins.

Silas raises the weapon in a flash—but before he can pull the trigger, Atlas shoots him in the chest, killing him instantly. The gun slips back to the ground as Silas goes limp, and everything falls silent as the sound of the gunshot fades.

The world seems oddly quiet, except for the crackling roar of the clubhouse that’s still burning not too far away. Suddenly, it feels like such a long time ago that I started that fire. So much shit has happened since then.

I glance at the three Princes of Carnage as they look down at Silas’s body. As if drawn by my gaze, Nico’s eyes lift to meet mine. For just a second, his focus drops down to my arm, scanning the wound as an expression I can’t read in the dim light passes over his face.

But I don’t waste time trying to guess what he’s thinking. I don’t have the luxury of that anymore.

Instead, I lunge forward, going for the gun that Silas dropped.

Nico realizes what I’m doing and moves at almost the same time I do, grabbing my good arm and yanking me away. Holding me at a distance, he trains his weapon on me, and I stop short. I glare at him, my jaw tight, and I can see the same level of anger that I feel burning back at me from his eyes.

“Not so fast, mia cara,” he says, his voice just as hard as when he was talking to Silas. “You just destroyed what I spent years building. But luckily, it seems I’ve got something even more valuable than that. You.”

My stomach twists, and I shake my head. “I don’t know what the hell he was talking about. I don’t know how I’m supposed to be valuable.”

Something flashes in Nico’s eyes, a momentary flicker of warmth. It makes me think of the way he used to look at me sometimes before everything fell apart—back when things were good between us, and he thought I was valuable for other reasons.

But whatever I thought I saw on his face, it’s smothered just as quickly by anger.

He steps closer, looming over me, and Atlas and Killian move in to flank him on either side. When I glance at them, their faces are hard too, no trace of affection or fondness anywhere.

“I don’t know either,” Nico admits. “But you’re not leaving my side until we find out.” He smiles grimly. “After all, you said it best. What’s yours is mine, wife .”