Bonds of Obsession (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #3)

9. Quinn

9

QUINN

My panic attack from earlier has left some tension in my chest, but I’ve been able—with the help of my two men—to shove it back down where it belongs for now.

The three of us are still in my office at the tattoo parlor, and I’m trying to channel some of the restless energy I have left into something productive.

Like figuring out how the hell we’re going to get in front of Malcolm Mercer.

“Okay,” I look across my desk at Killian and Nico. “Let’s go over what we know and figure this shit out.”

Killian nods. “Malcolm’s going to be a tough nut to crack.”

“He’s right.” Nico’s eyes flick from me to Killian and back again. “We can’t just call him up and ask for a meeting. As secretive as the Syndicate is, he’s probably going to wonder how we even know his name.” His brow furrows. “You think he knows you have the marker?”

“I don’t know. But if he doesn’t… I don’t wanna lay all our cards on the table before we even get in the same room with the guy.”

Nico looks thoughtful for a moment. “Seems like paying a visit to his spa is the logical next step, no matter what we decide to do after that.”

“Pretty much what I was just thinking,” I nod, remembering what we learned about Noctura—the lavish spa run by Malcolm as a front for the Syndicate’s operations. “We need to go to Noctura first. And it might be easier if I go alone for the initial meeting.”

The words are barely out of my mouth before both my men are shaking their heads. Killian is the first to speak up.

“Absolutely not. The three of us go together or not at all.”

“Yeah,” Nico nods. “We’re in this together now. We operate as a unit.”

The corner of my mouth quirks up as I raise my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. You’re right—we’re a team. But when we get there, we need to play this smart. No bursting in there like we own the place.”

“What’s your plan?” Killian leans forward in his chair.

“I figure we go in as customers first. Get a feel for the layout, maybe book some services.” I drum my fingers on my desk. “The marker stays hidden for now. We need to make contact without tipping our whole hand.”

Nico nods. “Smart. Malcolm will have eyes everywhere in that place. Better to scope it out before making any moves.”

“Exactly.” I push back from my desk and stand. “And hey, maybe we’ll even get some actual relaxation out of it before shit hits the fan.”

Killian snorts. “When has anything ever been that easy for us?”

“First time for everything.” I grab my leather jacket off the hook. “You two ready to roll?”

They both stand, and I love the surge of excitement that I feel watching them fall into step with me as we move toward the door. We really are a team now. Thinking as a team, moving as a team. The difference is subtle, but it’s there.

“Race you there?” Nico’s already making a beeline for his bike.

“Children, both of you.” But I’m grinning as I pull on my helmet. The familiar rumble of my bike beneath me helps steady my nerves as we pull out onto the street, falling into formation.

I just hope this shit doesn’t go sideways.

A too-quick ride across town later, and there’s no mistaking the place as we pull up. Even from the outside, everything about it screams money—from the uniformed valet waiting at attention to the subtle gold accents framing the entrance.

“Damn,” Nico whispers as we dismount our bikes. “Place looks like it costs a month’s rent just to breathe the air inside.”

He’s not wrong. I’ve seen fancy spas before, but this is next level. The kind of place where they probably serve champagne infused with actual gold flakes.

We push through the heavy glass doors into a lobby that makes my jaw drop. The ceiling soars two stories up, dominated by a chandelier that looks like cascading black diamonds. The walls are covered in what appears to be actual gold leaf, creating patterns that seem to shift and move in the dim lighting. Everything gleams—the marble floors, the gold fixtures, the mirrored surfaces that make the relatively small space feel like it stretches out forever.

“Good afternoon.” A willowy woman in a fitted black dress appears at my elbow. “Welcome to Noctura. Do you have a reservation?”

“Not yet.” I keep my voice casual, although my heart’s racing. “We were hoping to book some services for today, if possible?”

Her perfectly made-up face doesn’t betray any emotion as she glides behind a sleek black reception desk. The screen of her computer reflects in her glasses as she types.

“We do have a few openings this afternoon. Would you like our signature package?”

I have no idea what that includes, and I’m not about to ask.

“That sounds perfect. Three, please.”

She names a price that makes my stomach tie itself into a knot, but Nico steps up and pulls a handful of bills from his wallet like it’s pocket change.

I have to remind myself that this is about getting inside and getting close to Malcolm. Whatever it takes.

The lobby might be gorgeous, but there’s something off about it too—like a beautiful mask covering something darker. I can feel it in the way the woman’s eyes track every movement we make. There’s also something else that I can’t quite put my finger on at first. Something that sets this place apart from any other luxurious spa in the city.

It hits me as I take another quick glance around the lobby. There isn’t anyone else here. Nobody we can see, anyway. Nobody hanging out on one of the plush couches. Nobody leafing through the trendy coffee table books or sipping some sort of restorative cocktail from the fully stocked bar.

Just us and the receptionist.

A different attendant—this one in flowing black silk robes—appears to escort us to the changing areas. As we follow her down a hallway lined with black marble and gold accents, she pauses at a junction where the corridor splits in two directions.

“Gentlemen, you’ll be going to the left. Madam, please follow me to the right.”

Killian’s hand finds the small of my back. “We’d prefer to stay together.”

The attendant’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rise a fraction. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. Our facilities are separated by gender for the comfort and privacy of all our guests.”

“That won’t work for us.” Nico’s voice has that edge to it—the one that usually makes people back down real quick.

But the attendant just blinks, her professional mask slipping enough to reveal a flash of suspicion. “I assure you, this is part of the package you’ve paid for. It’s standard practice.”

I turn to face my men, keeping my voice low and deceptively nonchalant for anyone else who might be listening. “Hey, it’s okay. This is normal—and we have to play by the rules, remember?” I give them both a meaningful look. “I’ll be fine.”

Killian’s jaw tightens. “Quinn?—”

“Really.” I squeeze his arm, trying to convey without words that making a scene will only draw more attention. “Go enjoy your massages. I’ll see you after.”

Nico looks like he wants to argue more, but he catches my subtle head shake and backs down. “We’ll go. But if you need anything…”

“I’m sure I’ll be able to find you easily enough.” I flash them both a reassuring smile before turning back to the attendant. “Lead the way.”

As I follow her down the right-hand corridor, I can feel their eyes burning into my back until we turn a corner and they’re out of sight. I get it—I don’t like being separated from them either. But we need to play this cool if we want any shot at getting close to Malcolm.

The attendant leads me down a series of twisting corridors, each with subtle differences but just as opulent as the ones before. The walls shimmer with gold leaf patterns that seem to move in my peripheral vision. I’m doing my best to memorize the route, but I get the feeling that it’s purposely meandering.

She leads me to a changing room, where another attendant takes over and escorts me to a private cubicle. “Please remove all clothing and jewelry. You’ll find everything you need inside.”

The cubicle door clicks shut behind me. As I strip off my clothes, my skin pebbles in the cool air. Without my leather jacket, my boots, or my clothes, I feel exposed in a way that goes beyond physical nakedness. No phone. No weapons. No way to signal Killian or Nico if something goes wrong.

And by “everything,” she apparently meant I’d find an assortment of perfumes and lotions, but nothing even remotely resembling a towel or robe to cover myself with.

I step out through a different door than the one I entered, emerging into a vast chamber that takes my breath away. The space stretches out before me, filled with what look like natural hot springs carved from black stone. Steam rises from the dark water, creating an almost dream-like haze in the dim lighting. The ceiling disappears into shadows above, and carefully hidden lights shimmer like moonlight across the water’s surface.

It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever been allowed into, without a doubt.

The pools are arranged in organic shapes, flowing into one another like they were formed by nature rather than human hands. The stone—or whatever material it actually is—has been sculpted to look like natural rock formations, complete with rough textures and crystalline formations that catch the light.

I hover at the edge of the nearest pool, making a show of testing the water with my toes while scanning the space. The steam provides convenient cover as I drift along the perimeter, noting the positions of at least some of the security cameras.

No doubt there are others I can’t see, disguised as crystals or concealed within the lighting fixtures.

A pair of women lounge in one of the smaller pools, their voices carrying across the water.

“—told him the shipment needs to move through a different port. Seattle’s too hot right now.”

“Mmm. Smart. What did he say?”

“You know Lucky. He just smiled that smile of his and said he’d handle it.”

Their voices drop lower, but I’ve heard enough. I continue my casual circuit, pausing here and there as if deciding which pool to choose.

Near a waterfall feature, another woman speaks in hushed tones into what looks like a crystal pendant around her neck. “Tell them the price just doubled. If they don’t like it, they can find another supplier.” She catches me looking and her hand closes around the pendant.

I pretend to be fascinated by the intricate tile work along the edge of the pool as two more women enter through a hidden door I hadn’t noticed before, their conversation already in progress.

“—biggest deal of the quarter. Cooper is hosting the signing dinner himself tomorrow night.”

“In the private dining room?”

“Where else? You know how he likes to keep the important stuff close.”

As I move farther in, the atmosphere shifts. The pools grow more intimate, private alcoves revealing themselves as I round a corner. I spot a pair of women entwined in each other’s arms, their laughter bubbling over like the water surrounding them. One leans back against the stone edge, her head thrown back in pleasure as her partner kisses a path down her neck.

A realization hits me as I continue past several similar scenes: some of these women aren’t just here for relaxation. They’ve brought paid escorts with them.

It’s as intriguing as it is unsettling—not that I give a shit about how two adults choose to spend their evening. No, I’m more interested in the fact that they don’t seem to care about the law or being seen like this. It speaks to the exclusivity and safety of this place.

I slip past another intimate group, keeping my eyes averted, and spot what looks like a private steam room tucked away in a corner. Perfect. The frosted glass door swings open at my touch, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam. Eucalyptus and something else—something expensive that I can’t identify.

The room is mercifully empty except for one woman who appears to be meditating in the corner. She doesn’t even crack an eye open as I enter. The steam swirls thick around me as I settle onto one of the smooth marble benches, letting my eyes adjust to the diffused lighting.

That’s when I notice it—a massive mirror covering most of one wall, partially fogged up from the steam. My pulse quickens. This could work.

I stretch, making a show of working out tension in my shoulders while checking that the other woman hasn’t moved. She remains still as a statue, her breathing deep and even.

Moving closer to the mirror, I use my palm to wipe away some of the condensation, creating a clear patch. My heart hammers against my ribs as I carefully trace the hidden pattern from my shoulder onto the smooth surface. The steam immediately starts to fog it up again, but that’s fine—better even. It’ll still be there long enough to get noticed by the person who needs to see it, and then it’ll be gone.

The woman in the corner shifts slightly, and I quickly lean back, pretending to be focused on breathing in the therapeutic steam. But she just adjusts her position and continues her meditation.

I close my eyes, counting my breaths to slow my racing pulse. The marker’s symbol is out there now, hidden in plain sight.

I stay in the steam room for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only about ten minutes. The heat seeps into my muscles, making me feel languid and heavy. Perfect cover for anyone watching.

And someone is definitely watching. There’s no visible security in here—can’t have cameras in spaces where wealthy women are naked, after all. That would be a lawsuit waiting to happen. But there are always ways around the rules. Infrared sensors. Motion detectors. Cameras hidden in the smoke alarms or air vents.

The woman in the corner finally unfolds herself from her meditation pose and pads out of the room without a word. I’m alone now, which should make me nervous, but doesn’t. The mark is there on the mirror, the outline still partially visible beneath a fresh layer of steam. Anyone looking for it will find it.

But minutes tick by, and nothing happens. No subtle signal. No mysterious woman appearing with a message. Not even a change in the steam’s temperature or scent.

I stretch again, rolling my shoulders like I’m working out tension. Really, I’m scanning every corner of the room one last time. The mark has to have been seen by now. Someone should have responded.

Unless… I’ve read this whole situation wrong. Unless this really is just an overpriced spa with some illegal side businesses, and Malcolm has nothing to do with the day-to-day shit.

I push myself up from the marble bench and begin retracing my steps back through the cavernous spa. Time to cut my losses and get back to Killian and Nico. Maybe they’ve learned something over on the other side of the building.

As I pass one of the larger pools, two women in black uniforms—no-nonsense jumpsuits this time, rather than the silky robes and skirts I’ve seen on the other employees—appear in front of me, blocking my path. Their stances are casual, but there’s nothing relaxed about the way they’re watching me.

“Ladies, we need the room cleared.” The taller one’s voice carries across the water, firm but professional. “Please exit through the main doors.”

Murmurs of protest rise from the pools. A woman with elaborate tattoos covering her back shoots us an annoyed look as she climbs out of the water.

“Is this really necessary? I just got comfortable.”

“Management’s orders, ma’am. We apologize for the inconvenience.”

One by one, the other guests emerge from the water and begin filing out. The sounds of splashing and conversation fade until only the gentle burble of the fountains remains.

The shorter woman turns to me, her dark eyes unblinking and intense. “Mr. Mercer would like a word with you.”