Bonds of Obsession (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #3)

8. Quinn

8

QUINN

I shove my phone back into my pocket, my hands shaking with barely contained rage. It feels like there’s a swarm of angry bees buzzing under my skin, stinging and crawling and making it impossible to stay still. I want to scream, to punch something, to tear this whole damn parking lot apart with my bare hands.

Nico’s voice cuts through the chaos in my head, low and steady. “Breathe, mia cara. Remember, this is all part of our plan. We’re one step closer to getting Atlas back.”

I clench my fists, trying to focus on his words instead of the echoes of Atlas’s scream still ringing in my ears. Nico is right. I know he is. But it doesn’t make this any easier.

“Ambrose guaranteed he’ll stay alive for now,” Nico continues, his hand still on my arm. “That means something. We’ve bought him some time.”

I nod and take a deep breath, then another, forcing the air in and out of my lungs until the buzzing under my skin starts to die down. It doesn’t go away completely, but it dulls enough that I can think straight again.

I straighten my back, pushing down the pain and letting a cold determination take its place. There’s no time for weakness now. Atlas needs me to be strong, to be the leader I’ve always been.

“I need to deal with things at the tattoo parlor,” I say, feeling steadier with each word. “My crew is probably wondering where the hell I’ve been.”

A hint of something I can’t quite place flashes across Nico’s face. “About that… I stopped by there yesterday. Did some damage control.”

I blink, surprised. “You what?”

“It was like you said—your crew was getting restless,” he explains, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I figured you had enough on your plate without worrying about a few trigger-happy guys taking matters into their own hands.”

For a moment, I’m speechless. Nico went out of his way—knowing how he would probably be received at the shop—to reassure my gang and help keep them in line? It’s… unexpected, to say the least. And kinda touching, if I’m being completely honest.

“Thank you,” I manage, finally finding my words again. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He looks away, suddenly fascinated by a crack in the asphalt. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. I have a reputation to maintain.”

I snort as the hint of a smile tugs at my lips. “Wouldn’t want everyone thinking you’ve gone soft over a woman, huh?”

“Exactly.” He meets my eyes again, and his expression turns serious. “But Quinn, your people are loyal. There’s no doubt about that. They were worried about you when I checked in.”

I know he’s only reporting what he saw firsthand, and I can only imagine the thoughts that have been running through my crew’s minds since I’ve been gone. It’ll be good for all of us if I can get the gang back to business as usual.

“Thanks again, Nico. Really. But I still need to go to the shop. They deserve to hear from me directly.”

“Of course. Want some company?”

I glance over at Killian, who only has to nod once.

“Yeah, actually. That’d be good.”

We get back on our bikes and pull out of the parking lot. As we get near the shop, my stomach starts to knot with anticipation, but there’s nothing that can prepare me for what I see when we turn onto the familiar street where I’ve made my home away from home for so long.

The sight of my beloved tattoo parlor knocks the air out of my lungs. Boarded-up windows stare back at me like accusing eyes that have been beaten shut. The glass has been cleaned up, but bullet holes still pepper the walls like open wounds.

My legs feel like lead as I approach the battered front entrance. It’s clear that the worst of the damage has been patched up, but there’s no denying the fact that it looks like a bomb went off—especially now that I’m up close and standing in the middle of it all.

I push open the door, wincing at the creak of damaged hinges. Half a dozen pairs of eyes snap to me as I walk in—half a dozen hard-ass expressions change from guarded and wary to relieved and smiling in an instant.

Damian steps forward first. “Thank fuck you’re back. We were starting to wonder?—”

I cut him off with a raised hand. “I know. I’m sorry I’ve been MIA. Things have been… complicated.”

Jasper materializes at my side, his voice low. “Understatement of the year. We’ve been keeping our heads down, but shit’s been rough. Tensions have been high. None of us have seen Emmett since the attack.”

My stomach twists at the mention of Emmett’s name, but I force myself to focus. “Any other threats?”

Cabby shakes his head. “A couple of minor raids to test our defenses, but nothing we couldn’t handle, even with all of this going on. Everyone’s jumpy as hell though.”

I nod, taking in the information. “Okay, listen up. I know you’re all worried, and you have every right to be. But I need you to understand something. The man who came after me? This isn’t about the gang. It’s personal.”

Damian’s eyebrows shoot up. “Personal? Quinn, he shot up our shop!”

“I know, I know. But he’s not interested in taking over territory or muscling in on our business. He’s after me, specifically.”

Jasper leans against the wall, arms crossed. “Why? What’d you do to piss off someone that badly?”

I hesitate, weighing how much to reveal. “It’s… complicated. Family stuff. But the important thing is, the gang isn’t his target.”

Cabby’s eyes narrow. “And what about you? Are you safe?”

I take a second to try to find the right words to reassure everyone without revealing too much. “I’m as safe as I can be, given the circumstances. I’ve got?—”

My voice trails off as my eyes catch on a bullet hole in the far wall. It’s not particularly large or noticeable, just one of many scars left on the shop. But something about it snags in my mind, tugging at a memory that’s been just out of reach.

Suddenly, the hazy fog of that night starts to clear. I remember Atlas’s arms around me and the words he spoke directly into my ear. “I’m doing what I’ll always do. Protecting you.” Then the press of his lips against my temple, gentle and full of emotion even though the whole world seemed to be blowing up around us.

The memory shifts, and I see Atlas’s face as if he’s right here in front of me. His eyes are locked on mine with an intensity that makes me reach out for the back of a nearby chair to steady myself.

“Nico, get her out of here!” Atlas’s voice rings out through the chaos, sharp and commanding. I remember the way he looked at Nico in that moment, the silent communication that passed between them.

I blink, forcing myself back to the here and now. Everyone is staring at me with varying degrees of concern showing on their faces. I realize I’ve been quiet for too long, lost in the flood of memories.

“Quinn?” Damian’s voice is hesitant, and it sounds like he’s a mile away. “You okay?”

I nod, but Atlas’s face keeps reappearing right in front of me. My heart is beating faster and faster, and suddenly the air in the room feels too thin.

“I’m… I’m fine,” I manage to choke out, but even I can hear how unconvincing it sounds.

Damian takes a step closer, concern etched across his face. “You don’t look fine. Maybe you should sit down.”

I wave him off, desperate to regain control. The last fucking thing I need is for my people to see me falling apart. “No, really, I just need a minute.”

But the memories keep coming, relentless and overwhelming. Atlas’s voice echoes in my head, mixing with the sound of gunfire and shattering glass. I can almost feel his arms around me again, can almost hear him crying out in pain.

My vision starts to blur at the edges, and I stumble back, nearly knocking over the chair I’ve been using to keep myself upright. The room spins, and I can’t seem to catch my breath no matter how hard I try.

“Quinn?” Jasper’s voice sounds far away and distorted. “What’s going on?”

I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. My throat feels tight, like I’m being strangled.

Nico’s voice cuts through from somewhere to my left. “Everyone out. Now.”

There’s a flurry of movement and murmured protests, but I can’t focus on any of it. My vision narrows to pinpricks, and I feel myself swaying on my feet.

Strong hands grip my arms, steadying me. “I’ve got you,” Killian’s deep voice rumbles close to my ear. “Let’s get you downstairs.”

I try to nod, but my head feels too heavy. My legs move mechanically as they guide me toward the back of the shop.

Cool, musty air hits my face, and my brain registers that we’ve made it downstairs to the basement, but the tightness in my chest isn’t letting up. I gasp for breath, each inhale more shallow and frantic than the last.

It’s like I’m back in that alley when the Bullets attacked me, pinned down and helpless, or trapped in that warehouse with the Young Killers closing in.

Sweat beads on my forehead, and my hands shake uncontrollably. I press my back against the cool concrete wall, trying to ground myself, but it’s not working. The memories of that night in the alley, of being abused by that fucking gang, keep flooding in. And now it’s all mixing with the fresh trauma of Atlas’s kidnapping.

I start to slide down the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible. Maybe if I curl up tight enough, I can disappear completely.

Nico and Killian’s voices float around me, but their words are muffled and distorted, like I’m underwater. I catch snippets here and there—“breathe,” “safe,” “got you”—but I can’t piece them together into anything coherent.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I flinch violently, a strangled cry escaping my lips. The hand withdraws immediately, and I hear Nico’s voice, sounding clearer for just a moment.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have—Quinn, mia cara, can you hear me? You’re safe. We’re here.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the panic to subside, but it only seems to intensify. Then I feel a strong hand in my hair, fingers tangling in the strands before giving a sharp tug.

The sting cuts through the fog of panic, forcing me to focus on something real and immediate. I open my eyes again and blink, my vision clearing enough to see Killian crouched in front of me, his intense gaze locked on to mine.

“Breathe,” he says, simply. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Nice and slow.”

I try to follow his instructions, but my lungs feel like they’ve collapsed, like they’re unable to take in even the smallest amount of air. That’s when I feel Nico behind me, his chest pressed against my back.

“Feel me breathe,” he says, his voice rumbling through me. “Try to match it.”

I lean back against him, letting the steady rise and fall of his chest guide me. Slowly, painfully, I start to regain control of my breathing.

Killian’s hand is still in my hair, the slight pressure grounding me in the present. “That’s it,” he encourages. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”

“You’re safe,” Nico adds, his arms loosely encircling me. “We’ve got you.”

I slowly become aware of my surroundings again, my breathing evening out as the panic recedes. My body feels heavy, like I’ve just run a marathon, and a slight tremor is running through my arms and legs, but at least I can breathe again. I’m still sandwiched between Nico and Killian, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be right this second.

Still, I gently push away from them as a wave of embarrassment washes over me. I’m supposed to be strong, a leader. And here I am, falling apart in front of everyone. I clear my throat, trying to find my voice.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” I manage to croak out.

Killian’s hand slides from my hair to my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t apologize. You’ve been through hell.”

I shake my head, frustrated with myself. “I can’t afford to be weak. Not now. Not with everything that’s going on.”

Nico shifts behind me, his arms loosening but not letting go entirely. “Having a panic attack doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

I turn my head slightly, catching his eye. There’s something in his expression, a hint of understanding that goes beyond simple sympathy.

“When I was a kid,” he continues, “after the men took me away from my father, the first thing I did was have a panic attack.”

This confession catches me off guard. He’s always seemed so unflappable, so in control. Sure, I know how to push his buttons and piss him off, but that’s something completely different.

“Really?” My heart breaks to imagine him as a scared kid, falling apart like I just did.

He nods, his eyes softening. “Yeah, really. I was terrified, confused, angry… all of it hit me at once. But you know what? It didn’t make me weak. It made me human.”

I let out a shaky breath, absorbing his words. “How did you get through it?”

“By realizing that panicking, being scared… it’s not weakness. It’s what you do afterward that matters.” He pauses. “Sometimes you have to fall apart so you can put the pieces back together stronger.”

Killian nods in agreement. “He’s right. You’ve been holding it together for so long, siren. It’s okay to break sometimes.”

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on me. “I’m not sure I can do this,” I whisper, hating how small my voice sounds, hating to even admit my insecurities out loud.

“You can,” Killian says firmly.

Nico’s arms tighten around me. “We know you can. You can do anything.”

For a moment, we just sit there in silence, the three of us tangled together. It’s tender, charged with emotion, and I find myself drawing strength from their silent reassurance.

As my breathing steadies and my heart rate slows, I can finally, honestly say I’m starting to feel like myself again. I may have fallen apart, but now it’s time to put myself back together. Stronger. Just like Nico said.

I take a deep breath and meet their eyes. “We need to go speak to Malcolm Mercer.”