Page 86 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

“Why the fuck not?” he demands, his voice tight. “You just told me the wound wasn’t all that bad. So if she’s doing alright, then she can stand to have a visitor. The Quinn I know wouldn’t be sidelined by a gunshot, no matter how bad it was.”

I narrow my eyes, moving closer so that the difference in our heights is even more pronounced.

“The Quinn you used to know didn’t have anyone to look out for her the way she does now,” I growl.

“She’s my wife . It’s my job to make sure she’s taken care of while she heals, and that means getting rest. So I don’t give a fuck if you think she needs to bounce back faster, I’m going to make sure she takes care of herself until she’s back on her feet.

And that includes not being distracted by whatever bullshit you came here to talk to her about.

If it’s something truly important to Enigma, tell me and I’ll deal with it.

But you’re not fucking talking to Quinn today. Got it?”

Emmett blinks, settling back on his heels a bit as if he’s surprised by the forcefulness of my tone.

Honestly, I’m a little surprised myself.

I only said all of that because I need him to back the hell off and stop trying to get inside the house, but a flicker of guilt curls in my stomach at the knowledge that Quinn isn’t actually upstairs resting, but down below in the bowels of her home, tied up and tortured.

She asked for it when she burned down the clubhouse, I remind myself, steeling my resolve. Focus.

Emmett hesitates for another moment, glancing up at the house again like he’s hoping to catch a glimpse of Quinn standing by a window like some sort of Victorian invalid. Then he blows out a breath, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Just… tell her I dropped by, alright? And if she needs anything, she’s got me and the rest of Enigma ready to have her back.” Something like jealousy flashes across his face as he adds, “You’re not the only one who cares about her.”

His words make the knot in my gut twist even tighter, but I make sure not to let it show on my face. Instead, I give him a curt nod.

“I’ll tell her. You can let the rest of your gang know what happened, and that she’ll be back on her feet soon.”

“I will.”

He stays rooted in place for a moment, looking like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. After a few more heartbeats, he finally turns and heads back to his car, sliding inside and starting the engine.

I stay right where I am as I watch him pull away, not moving until his car has disappeared around the corner at the end of the block.

Then I blow out a breath, an unaccountable feeling of irritation roiling beneath my skin.

I don’t know what exactly pissed me off so much about that interaction—whether it was the fact that Emmett was so obviously concerned for Quinn, or the fact that every lie I spoke about taking care of her felt like acid on my tongue—but I’m in an even worse mood now than I was when I got home.

Spinning on my heel, I head toward the house and shove open the front door. Once inside, I head straight for the basement.

As soon as I open the door that leads to the basement stairs, I clap my hands over my ears. The most god-awful, bone-piercing noise invades my skull, like thousands of nails on a chalkboard.

Jesus fuck .

I damn near run down the stairs. Quinn is right where I left her this morning, chained up against the wall, thrashing. Meanwhile, Killian stands beside a strange black box that seems to be emitting the sound. He looks entirely unfazed, and I shove his shoulder to get his attention.

“What the fuck?” I demand, raising my voice over the sound.

He looks over, blinking for a moment before flicking a switch on the device to turn it off. When he pulls out a squishy pair of plugs from his ears, I realize that’s why he was so damn calm.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Was trying out a new toy.”

“What the fuck is that thing?” I frown, not knowing if I should be impressed or concerned.

“White noise emitter,” he explains simply. “Volume cranked up real high.”

My eyebrows rise, and he shrugs, turning his attention back to Quinn. My eyes follow too.

She’s got dark circles under her eyes—not like she’s getting anything that resembles beauty sleep down here—and there’s a slightly wild look in her gray irises, as if the sound has been driving her a bit mad.

We’ve given her chances to lie down at night, binding both her hands and feet, but she spends her days cuffed to the same pipe on the wall overhead that we chained her to when we first brought her back here.

Unbidden, my gaze drops to the stitches Killian put in her arm, which are healing up fairly well.

She’s barefoot now, still in just a bra and pants, her tattooed shoulders and stomach on full display.

The marks and bruises on her body from the night of Silas’s attack are still there, but no new ones have been added, despite the work all three of us have been doing to get her to talk.

She could be much worse off .

It’s a strange thought that hits me. If it were anyone else who had betrayed us the way she did, I’d be reaming into Killian and Atlas for taking it too easy on her. I’ve seen their work. They can both go harder, and Killian especially has never had an issue breaking someone before.

So what’s different about Quinn?

It’s not just that she’s a woman. A traitor is a traitor, and although Carnage would never stoop so low as to traffic women or target them for attacks, just having a set of ovaries and a pair of tits won’t save you from retribution in our world.

Killian, more than anyone, can stomach dishing out the worst on anyone dumb enough to cross us.

But could I stomach what he could really do to Quinn? Could he?

“Nico?”

I tear my gaze away from Quinn’s wan, defiant face and look to Killian. His expression is mostly unreadable, but I wonder if the confusion hidden just behind his eyes is the same as mine—if he’s asking himself, why can’t I hurt her more?

“We’ll give the noise machine a break,” I say, clearing my throat as I shake off that thought. “You can take a break too. I’ll take over down here for a bit.”

Killian nods, saying nothing as he shoots one last sidelong glance at Quinn and then heads up the stairs, his footsteps as surprisingly quiet as always for a man his size.

When the basement door closes behind him, I turn my attention back to Quinn.

If she was anywhere close to breaking with Killian and his white noise machine, she doesn’t show it.

Her eyes are hard as she glares at me, like she’s challenging me to do my worst. I imagine she’s given that exact same look to both Killian and Atlas—a challenge neither of them have been able to rise to for some reason.

Fucking hell.

I grit my teeth, closing my eyes for a moment.

No. It’s not for some reason .

And it’s not just them who can’t seem to bring themselves to truly hurt Quinn. I’m as guilty of that weakness as they are, even though I’ve barely been able to admit it to myself.

But with Emmett already poking around and getting suspicious, we don’t have all the time in the world to try to figure out the mystery of what The Saint wants with Quinn.

So maybe it’s time to change tactics.

Opening my eyes, I step forward to stand in front of her.

“Your friend Emmett just came by,” I tell her, my voice level.

Quinn narrows her eyes. “You planning on tying him up in my basement too?” she asks bitterly.

“Now why would I do that?” I shake my head. “It’s like you don’t even know me. I’m not the one who makes irrational choices, wife.”

She curls her lips at me, her eyes flashing. “I wouldn’t call my current predicament rational, husband.”

I can’t help it. I smirk, just a little.

“I sent Emmett on his way,” I continue. “But he wasn’t all that eager to leave without seeing you, and I doubt it will take long before your people start to get suspicious.

As far as they all know, you and I are on the same side—but that lie won’t hold forever, and you know what will happen if they find out the truth.

Do you really want to spark a war between our crews?

You’ve been a part of this world your whole life.

I’m sure you know what kinds of casualties can amass when two gangs go to war. ”

A flicker of pain and worry flares behind her eyes, and I know I’ve hit the exact target I was aiming for: her duty to her people.

Whatever complicated, fucked-up feelings I may have about Quinn on a personal level, I can’t deny the fact that she’s a good leader.

She cares about each member of her gang, and she does her best to do right by them.

I could see how badly it gutted her when we found those Carnage and Enigma members, murdered and cut up by Silas in that alley.

I recognized the guilt and responsibility she felt in that moment, because I felt it too.

In that way, we’re more alike than I’d care to admit.

“It doesn’t have to come to war,” I tell Quinn, taking a small step closer to her. “We can both protect our people from that fallout.”

She tilts her head back a little, her teal hair glinting in the dim basement light as her brow furrows. “How?”

I hesitate, feeling like the true war is playing out inside my chest as I grapple with what I’m about to say.

But I don’t see another way forward. And I owe it to Killian and Atlas, to all of my people, to try to fix the mistakes I made that got us here.

So I let out a slow breath and hold her gaze as I say, “A truce.”