Page 83 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

And I don’t know what will happen if she doesn’t.

Taking a deep breath, I turn away from her and head upstairs.

Atlas and Nico are already in the kitchen, and the tension filling the room is almost as thick as it was in the basement.

Nico is leaning over the kitchen table, his palms braced on the smooth wood as he stares into space.

Atlas has his back against the fridge, his tattooed arms folded over his chest.

There’s not a single ounce of satisfaction in this room right now.

But can I really blame my brothers for that?

Between Quinn finding out that we were spying on her for The Saint and exacting her revenge, to learning that Silas was not only working for the bastard too, but that he had his own designs on Quinn—nothing that happened tonight is a cause for celebration.

“We just have to break her,” Nico declares, straightening suddenly. “She knows something. How the fuck can she not? We need to make her talk.”

He doesn’t say it, but we all know what he means. There are plenty of ways to loosen a tight tongue, and not many of them involve asking nicely.

“Well, this is kind of what we get, isn’t it?” Atlas speaks up, his tone tight. He’s pissed.

I glance between him and Nico as our club leader narrows his eyes.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he demands.

“We wouldn’t exactly be in this situation if we hadn’t decided to work for some mysterious client, running around playing a game of double-cross, would we?”

“It was a good enough gig in the beginning,” Nico says stiffly.

“It wasn’t.” Atlas’s lips press into a thin line. “It was shit from the start, and you know it.”

Nico’s fingers curl into fists, and I can practically feel the tension and stress of the night coiling inside him like a spring. “Say that again? I couldn’t hear you.”

“It was a dumb. Fucking. Plan.”

“And you had a better one, did you? You somehow knew how this was all going to play out?”

Atlas shoves away from the fridge. “No! I didn’t know, but it doesn’t take a genius to read the writing on the wall.

You got too attached to her, Nico! We all did.

Fucking her, living with her, getting to know her—and all the while, telling ourselves she was still the ‘enemy.’ How the hell did you think this was going to end?

Did you really think any of us could walk away from this shit unscathed?

It was fucked up from the jump, and it only got worse from there. ”

Nico shakes his head, his expression hard. “I made a judgment call. It was a sound tactical decision with the information I had at the time. It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.”

“No fucking shit.” Atlas slams his fist against the fridge before pacing across the length of the kitchen. “And now we’ve lost more than we ever stood to gain from this deal with The Saint. So tell me how it wasn’t a dumb goddamn plan?”

Nico steps into Atlas’s path, the two of them squaring off as they continue to argue, voices raised and heated.

But their fight turns into white noise in my head as my thoughts drift down to the basement.

I checked it out briefly a few days after we moved into her house, noting that the walls and ceiling were thick and heavily insulated, rendering the room basically sound-proof—one of several signs that made it clear what her father must’ve used it for when he was alive.

I wonder how Quinn is holding up down there. The walls and floor are cement, and although it wasn’t freezing, it was cool in the basement when we left her.

Her wrists are eventually going to lose good circulation being handcuffed like she is.

She’ll probably catch a cold without a shirt on.

Her wounds might reopen if she struggles too much.

A flurry of thoughts pinpointing all of the possible bad things that might happen to her flood my mind, and I’m left wondering once again why the fuck I care so much.

Why a woman with teal hair is taking over my thoughts while my brothers are right in front of me, locked in an argument I should tie-break with a voice of reason.

How is it that the weight of her betrayal hasn’t broken the attachment I was starting to feel toward her?

How is it that I still think about her, worry about her, the same way I did before any of this happened?

How is that possible?

For better or worse, I’m saved from having to confront that question by a phone call.

The sudden sound of Nico’s phone ringing interrupts his argument with Atlas too. They both go silent immediately, although the tension in the air doesn’t go away. With everything that’s going on, who knows what the call is going to be about? What other bad fucking news could we get tonight?

“Talk to me,” Nico says in a clipped voice as he answers, not bothering with any pleasantries.

He listens for a long moment, then nods.

“Right. And the clubhouse?” A pause. “I see.” His jaw works as he listens for another moment.

“Yeah. Thanks, Hudson. Get everyone clear of the area until the cops are done sniffing around.”

He sounds calm enough when he hangs up, but as soon as he presses the button to end the call, he hurls the phone across the kitchen. It explodes in a shower of screen glass and circuits against the wall.

“Fuck!” he shouts, turning to slams his fists against the top of the table.

“Bad news?”

It’s the first thing I’ve said since we all came upstairs, and I half expect him to throw something at me next just for the question. He doesn’t, but I can see the agitation churning inside him as he answers.

“Firefighters finally showed up at the clubhouse. Put the blaze out.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Atlas asks.

“It would be, if there was anything to fucking salvage. The only positive is that our people were able to clear out Silas’s body before the firefighters and cops showed up. Everything else is…”

“Torched,” I finish for him.

“Fucking torched.” Nico concurs savagely.

He drags in a breath, letting it out slowly like he’s trying to find some shred of control inside himself.

Then he glances from me to Atlas. “But that’s alright.

We’ll find a way to rebuild, and we know just where to start.

Like I said, we need to make Quinn talk. ”

At the mention of her name, an image of Quinn locked in the basement flashes through my mind again, making an uncomfortable sensation prickle beneath my skin.

Hear that siren? You’d better make some noise, and soon .