Page 92 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

ATLAS

I don’t know why I insist on torturing myself. There was no mistaking the moans of pleasure I heard coming from Quinn’s bathroom. Moans I didn’t need to hear—didn’t want to hear—ever again. So why am I still sitting in the next room, straining to hear a little more?

Killian was with her, but I hadn’t given it much thought until I followed him upstairs and then heard that damn moan.

I thought we were finished. I thought we’d decided she couldn’t be trusted after she burned our fucking clubhouse to the ground.

I guess I missed the memo that we were all going to take turns fucking her again for old time’s sake.

I’m also not sure whether I should be pissed or relieved that I haven’t been offered a turn.

The lines are too damn blurry right now, and that’s the biggest problem of all. Nothing good can come from blurred lines and fucked up priorities.

I hear her moan again and have to grab the door frame to keep myself from walking down the hallway and kicking in that fucking door. When I hear some shuffling and Killian’s heavy footsteps in the hallway a few minutes later, it takes every ounce of self-control I have left not to confront him.

I know it won’t do any good though. Not right now in the heat of the moment when he’s just finished doing… whatever the fuck they were just doing together.

I grip the door frame tighter as Killian’s footsteps fade down the hallway. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as I fight the urge to punch something. I’m so goddamn sick of this shit.

Yeah, Quinn betrayed us in the worst way. Burned our goddamn clubhouse to the ground after everything we did for her. But we lied to her too, and I hated doing that.

I never agreed with that approach from the start, but did I speak up? No, I just went along with the program like a good little soldier. We’re supposed to have codes we live by, lines we don’t cross, but it’s all bullshit if we only apply it selectively.

I hate how conflicted I feel about her now.

Part of me wants to grab her by the throat and demand to know why she did it, if any part of what we had actually meant anything to her.

But another part… that stupid, traitorous part…

still wants her. Still craves her touch, her taste, the soft sounds of pleasure she makes when I’m buried deep inside her.

Growling, I shove away from the door frame and start pacing the room, raking my hands through my hair. I can’t keep doing this. Can’t keep letting her fuck with my head like this. She made her choice when she lit that fire, no matter how shitty we’d treated her.

I wish we’d never taken that fucking job from The Saint in the first place. That was the beginning of this whole goddamn mess. If we’d just been upfront with Quinn from the start instead of lying to her face day after day, things might have turned out different.

My pacing halts as I realize I’m being a hypocritical asshole.

If we’d told her the truth earlier, before she got in too deep with us, she would’ve been furious.

Hell, she probably would’ve tried to kill us all herself.

We kept lying because we let our dicks do the thinking instead of using our heads.

But maybe… maybe if we’d somehow found a way to tell her the truth after a while, once she was already invested in us, she would’ve understood.

Maybe she would’ve given us a chance to explain ourselves instead of feeling so betrayed that she went nuclear.

We could’ve told her we chose her over the job.

My hands clench into fists at my sides as I realize none of it matters now. It’s too fucking late. That window of opportunity slammed shut the second she torched our clubhouse.

The memory of her face as the flames licked higher, reflecting in those gray eyes I’ve gotten lost in more times than I can count, is burned into my brain. There was no fear, no remorse. Just a cold, dead look I’ve never seen from her before.

That’s the Quinn I need to remember. Not the fierce, sexy, passionate woman I used to know intimately. Because that Quinn is gone, and she took whatever future we might’ve had with her when she burned it all down.

The day slowly passes, and I’m agitated as hell no matter what I try to do to distract myself. Working out doesn’t help. Cleaning my weapons has the opposite effect, putting me even more on edge as I inspect each piece with meticulous care.

My mind always wanders right back to her.

This shit is driving me insane. The constant push and pull, the inability to fully let her go or fully embrace whatever fucked up desire keeps pulling me back to her against my better judgment.

When night comes, I don’t even bother trying to sleep. I know it’ll be fucking useless with my mind racing like this, caught in an endless spiral of memories and what-ifs and the desperate need to make some sense out of a senseless situation.

Instead, I find myself slowly walking down the hallway toward her room, so lost in my own maddening thoughts that I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I’m standing right outside her door, hand hovering over the handle as I take a deep, shuddering breath.

What the hell am I doing here? What would I even say to her if I went inside?

The truth is, I don’t have a fucking clue. I’m just drawn to her, like a moth to an irresistible flame. Unable to resist the pull, even though I know getting too close will only get me burned again in the end.

My eyes stay trained on her door. No matter how many times I tell myself to stop thinking about her, to cut off any emotions when it comes to her, to hate her… I can’t.

I can’t shake the flicker of concern I feel for her, even if it is still mostly buried beneath the anger and confusion. She was a part of my life, a part of all our lives, and cutting her out feels like I’m trying to cut off my own damn arm.

Letting out a long sigh, I settle in to keep watch, sitting on the floor opposite from her door and letting my head rest against the wall with a quiet thunk.

I’m not sure if I’m more concerned with keeping her inside or keeping Nico and Killian out, but I intend to sit here and keep watch like I’ve done a thousand times before from different hallways and vehicles and backrooms.

This part—sitting here and putting in the work—is the only thing that can keep me sane. It’s the only thing that hasn’t changed.

I jolt awake at the sound of Quinn’s door creaking open, my neck stiff from falling asleep sitting upright against the wall. Blinking the bleariness from my eyes, I see her step out into the hallway, one eyebrow raised as she takes in my rumpled form.

“Something wrong with your bed?” she asks dryly.

Pushing myself to my feet, I shrug one shoulder. “Just thought I’d keep an eye on things out here.”

Her lips press into a thin line. “I made a deal with Nico. I’m allowed to come and go as I please.”

“I’m not stopping you.” I match her unamused tone and move about half an inch to the side, forcing her to make herself smaller and shimmy past.

She shoots me a murderous look, then skirts past and starts down the hallway with those long legs of hers, forcing me to fall into step behind her whether I want to or not. She looks back over her shoulder at me, clearly annoyed that I’m shadowing every move like some glorified babysitter.

“Is this really necessary?” she bites out. “You gonna follow me around all day like a damn puppy?”

“Maybe. Where you headed?” I ask, not really expecting a straight answer.

She whirls around, her eyes flashing. “None of your fucking business. Don’t you have something better to do than sit around waiting to harass me every time I leave my damn room?”

I cross my arms, unimpressed by her sarcasm. “No, I don’t. Now where are you going?”

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “If you must know, I’m heading to the shop. Need to show my face at Blood and Ink, let everyone know I’m still breathing.”

“I’m coming with you,” I state, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Quinn’s eyes narrow. “Like hell you are. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“It’s not up for debate.” I take a step closer, towering over her. “Nico’s orders. You don’t go anywhere alone.”

“Screw Nico’s orders,” she spits out. “I can take care of myself.”

I lean in, my voice low and firm. “Maybe so, but I’m still coming. Deal with it.”

We stand there, locked in a silent battle of wills. Quinn’s glare could melt steel, but I don’t budge. Finally, she throws up her hands in defeat.

“Fine,” she growls. “But stay out of my way. And don’t you dare try to contradict me in front of my people.”

I nod, satisfied with the small victory. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She stomps off down the hallway, her frustration evident in every step. I follow close behind, keeping a watchful eye on her and our surroundings. She might not like it—hell, I don’t like it, either—but keeping her safe is my job now.

We walk through the front door of the shop, Quinn leading the way with her head held high. Several Enigma members glance our way as we enter, surprise flickering across their expressions when they spot the two of us.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” one of the guys calls out from behind the counter, a grin splitting his face. “If it ain’t our fearless leader, back from the dead.”

A few others offer greetings and nods of acknowledgment as we make our way farther inside. Emmett pokes his head out from a room in the back, his eyes going wide when he sees Quinn. He rushes over, relief etched into his features.

“Quinn! Thank fuck.” He pulls her into a quick hug. “When you didn’t show up, I didn’t know what to think…”

“I’m fine. Just had a little situation to deal with.” Her voice is smooth and even as she speaks. “Silas came after me—the bastard torched the Carnage clubhouse too. Not sure what would’ve happened if Nico and his men hadn’t been there.”

Emmett’s brow furrows in concern. “Silas? But why would he?—”