Page 94 of Pretty Ruthless Monsters: Complete Series

QUINN

I wake up to the sound of a chair scraping against the floor outside my room. Groaning, I roll over and squint at the clock on the nightstand.

Dammit. It’s barely past six in the morning.

I throw off the covers and stumble to the door, yanking it open to find Atlas sprawled in a chair, his eyes closed and head tilted back against the wall. He looks like he’s been there all night.

“What the hell are you doing?” I snap, my voice still raspy from sleep.

He startles awake, blinking up at me with bleary eyes. “Morning, vicious.” There’s no warmth in his tone, only exhaustion. “Just making sure you don’t try to sneak out in the middle of the night.”

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. “You know I could’ve left a dozen times by now if I wanted to, right?”

“Yeah, well, something kept you here,” Atlas retorts, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m just gonna assume that something was me. So until I’m sure we can trust you, I’ll be sleeping here every night.”

“You should get some actual sleep.” I huff a breath. “In a bed. You’re starting to sound delusional.”

“Trusting you right now would be the definition of delusional.” His expression is unreadable, but there’s no mistaking the hurt and anger behind those cold words.

“I don’t know what the hell you might try to do, vicious.

” He gives me a quick up-and-down look. “Not anymore. But I’m not taking any chances. ”

I shake my head and turn back to my room, slamming the door shut behind me. I can hear Atlas settling back into his chair outside, and I resist the urge to throw something at the door.

The rational part of my brain—the part that’s still doing its best to fully wake up—knows he has a point. That same part of my brain knows I’d almost certainly do the same thing if our roles were reversed.

But that sort of rational thinking is taking a back seat to the other voice in my head right now. The one that’s telling me to march back out there and make it known, loud and clear, that I won’t be treated like a prisoner in my own fucking house anymore.

They might have all had their fun acting like tough guys and hard-asses while I was chained up in the basement, but that’s not how we’re doing things now.

I throw on a t-shirt and jeans, then open my bedroom door again with every intention of putting Atlas in his place. And then I smell bacon. And coffee. And… pancakes?

Oh, hell yes.

My stomach rumbles loudly, reminding me that I haven’t eaten anything since… well, I can’t even remember the last time I had a decent meal.

Atlas looks up with an exasperated expression as I enter the hallway. “Back for round two already?”

But I barely acknowledge him. Instead, I follow my nose downstairs toward the mouthwatering smells wafting from the kitchen. When I reach the doorway, I stop short, taking in the scene in front of me.

Nico is at the stove, nonchalantly flipping pancakes while Killian tends to the sizzling bacon in another pan.

They move around each other with an easy synchronicity that’s obviously been built on years of teamwork.

For a moment, I’m so impressed by the sight that I’ve almost forgotten the tension from upstairs.

Then they both look over at me and freeze, and I’m instantly reminded of all the reasons why I can’t let my guard down. Not even for a minute. Not even for breakfast… no matter how delicious it might smell.

Nico looks away first, turning his attention back to the pancakes. “Hungry? I think we have a little extra.”

The tone of his voice sets my teeth on edge. It’s not even that he’s necessarily being rude, but the fact that he’s standing here in my kitchen and making it sound like he’d be doing me some kind of favor to let me eat with them?

No.

Hell no.

Fuck that.

“I’m not very hungry,” I lie, walking past him and Killian to grab a piece of toast off a plate. “But I will take one of these. Thanks.”

Killian’s eyes flick from Nico to me and then to the toast in my hand, and I’m pretty sure I see a quick twitch of his lips that would have probably been a smile--or at least a smirk--under normal circumstances.

Things aren’t normal between us anymore though.

I don’t think they’ll ever be normal again.

Atlas follows me into the kitchen and shoots me a sideways, almost questioning glance when Killian hands him a plate full of food. I hope he’s wondering why I’m only eating toast. I hope it makes him feel guilty.

Once we’re all seated at the table, Nico clears his throat. “We should probably discuss our plans for the day.”

It seems like he’s actually trying to make an effort at being cordial, so I’m willing to play along for now. “Okay, hit me,” I say between bites of toast. “What’s on the agenda?”

“We’ll need to head out soon,” Nico says, exchanging a look with Killian. “And I think we should all plan on sticking together until we can figure out what’s going on.”

I tense at that, any hint of goodwill evaporating.

After we got home yesterday, Nico grilled me about what Atlas and I had seen—including every possible detail we could remember about that masked man watching me from the alley.

It was frustrating, like he still thought I was hiding something even though I’d told him everything I knew.

“I don’t need twenty-four-seven protection,” I state flatly. “Or handholding.”

Nico opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “Look, somebody—or more than one somebody—wants me for some reason,” I continue. “I want to find out who it is and why just as much as you do. I just think we can be a little less conspicuous.”

It’s unsettling to be the object of some mysterious person’s focus, to be “valuable” but not know why. It makes me feel out of control of my own life, and I hate that.

“I’m willing to share any information I have,” I continue, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “But you have to compromise too. We’re in this together, whether you like it or not.”

“We’re already compromising,” Nico grinds out through gritted teeth as the other two men stay silent. “That’s why you’re sitting here at the breakfast table instead of hanging around down in the basement. Remember?”

Atlas speaks up before I have a chance to answer.

Probably for the best, since I doubt Nico would’ve liked what I was going to say.

“You agreed yesterday that you and Nico should put in a big appearance somewhere so everyone will calm down. It’ll be easier for you to come and go on your own once everyone chills the fuck out. ”

“And once you prove we can trust you again,” Nico adds, just to be an ass.

I narrow my eyes at him, all my simmering irritation instantly returning to the surface. “After everything you’ve done to me, you’re still insisting I’m the one who needs to prove I can be trusted? Real fucking nice.”

Killian clears his throat. “We called a temporary truce, remember? So we’re on the same side again.”

I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. He’s right, mostly. We’re pretending to be on the same side, at least. Regardless, letting my temper get the best of me won’t help anything. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

“I’ve already called for a meeting,” Nico says, his voice level. “Sent word on your behalf to your people too. It’ll be just like that first gathering when we got married—a big, showy appearance to calm everyone’s nerves and prove you’re still alive and kicking.”

I’m just going to ignore the part where he sent word to my people on my behalf. Fucker. “Nothing more, nothing less, huh? Just a simple photo op?”

“Exactly.” Nico meets my gaze steadily. “We get in, show our faces, and get out. No muss, no fuss.”

I snort at that, unable to stop myself. “Yeah, because things are always that straightforward with us.” Despite my sarcastic tone, I nod in agreement. “But fine, let’s do it. When and where?”

Nico stands, already all business. “Same spot as last time. You all get ready—we move out in thirty.”

An hour later, we pull up to the meeting spot. I’m hit by a flood of memories and more than a little nostalgia, but I push down those thoughts just as quickly as they come up. This isn’t the time for a trip down memory lane.

Instead, I take a deep breath and steel myself for what’s to come. This whole song and dance is going to be an exercise in putting on a show—something I’m far too familiar with these days.

Nico comes around to open my door, offering me his hand. I eye it warily for a moment before taking it, allowing him to help me out of the car. His fingers stiffen in mine, so I’m clearly not the only one uncomfortable with the gesture. I can’t resist a little smirk.

“We need to present a united front, remember?” I remind him sweetly. “You should be good at faking these feelings by now.”

He shoots me a dark glare but doesn’t let go of my hand. And yeah, I guess I take petty satisfaction in making him play the doting husband, the same way he’s made me play the role of obedient wife so many times before.

At the same time, I can’t ignore the jolt of awareness that races through me at the contact, heat blooming everywhere his skin meets mine. Again, I force myself to stoically ignore the feeling. This isn’t real. It’s just another act in our long con.

Nico keeps his grip firm as we make our way inside, the others falling into step behind us. The big open space is already filling up with people—members of both our crews mingling together in a loose crowd. The dull roar of voices dies down as we come into view.

Killian clears his throat, immediately commanding attention.

“Everyone, listen up!” His voice booms out, authority ringing in every syllable. “We’ve got some important shit to go over.”

I tighten my grip on Nico’s hand, forcing him to meet my eyes. He gives me the barest nod of acknowledgment before we turn to face the crowd together, presenting that united front.