12. Quinn
12
QUINN
I stare at my reflection, fingers trailing over the simple black tank top and dark jeans I’ve chosen. The little black dress hanging in my closet caught my eye earlier—it would fit right in with the Syndicate’s upscale aesthetic. But tonight isn’t about looking pretty. It’s about being ready for anything.
My hands are calm and steady as I braid my hair back tight against my scalp. Can’t have anything for someone to grab onto. The woman in the mirror looks collected and in charge. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
I feel almost as confident as I look, after the hours and hours we’ve spent planning and strategizing over the past couple of days.
Nico had maps and blueprints spread across the kitchen table while Killian ran through every possible scenario he could think of. We stayed up until dawn, two nights in a row, gaming out each potential situation. What if Ambrose shows up? What if he doesn’t? What if the Syndicate tries to double-cross us? What if Atlas isn’t even there?
I strap the gun under the waistband of my jeans, making sure it’s accessible but hidden. Another at my ankle. A garrote wire tucked into my belt. As long as I don’t have to strip naked again, everything should stay out of sight.
“Be ready for anything,” Killian told me, demonstrating different holds and breaks until my muscles ached. “But remember—best case scenario, we walk in, we make the trade, we walk out with Atlas.”
“And worst case?” I’d asked.
His eyes went hard. “Worst case, we take out as many of those fuckers as we can and burn the place to the ground.”
I know there’s a potential scenario that’s even worse than that one, but none of us have mentioned it out loud. Best not to put those thoughts out into the universe. But I know—just like Nico and Killian have to know—that we’re either coming home with Atlas tonight, or we’re not coming home at all.
I check my phone—two hours until the scheduled meeting time. My stomach churns but I force it down. No time for last-minute jitters now.
I sit on the edge of my bed and absently reach back to touch the tattoo on my shoulder. “What were you thinking, Dad?” The words come out as a whisper. “Was this your plan all along?”
The silence in my bedroom offers no help. Even now, I still have more questions than answers about this fucking marker. I thought I knew all of Dad’s secrets—the ones that were relevant to me, at least. What are the chances that he just forgot to mention this one? That he didn’t deliberately leave me in the dark before he died?
Yeah, no.
Everything about this has been intentional since day one. That’s why I need to be absolutely certain I know what the fuck I’m doing tonight. Once we step foot out onto the meeting spot, there’s no going back and no room for mistakes.
My fingers trace the outline of the hidden design. I know it so well by now that it might as well be visible. Such a small thing to carry so much weight. Such a tiny piece of myself that I never knew existed until it nearly got me killed.
“Did you know what kind of danger you were dragging me into?” I try desperately to keep the bitterness out of my tone as I talk to him. I might not understand his reasoning, but I still love him and respect him just as much as I did when he was alive. “Or did you just figure I’d never find out about any of it unless I needed it?”
Then again, when I think about the hell I would’ve raised if he’d told me about his involvement with guys like Ambrose or Malcolm, I can almost understand his decision to leave me in the dark.
Almost.
I swallow hard, biting back the feelings that are never too far from the surface. “I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me.” The words taste bitter. “I wish you’d given me a choice.”
But he didn’t. And now I’ll never know if he meant this marker as a gift or a curse. Protection or punishment. If he was trying to keep me safe or just using me as one of his backup plans.
At least it’s worth something now. Worth enough to trade for Atlas’s life. Maybe that’s all that matters—that Dad left me with one last card to play when I needed it most.
I drop my hand from the marker. “I hope you knew what you were doing, Dad. Because I’m playing this fucking hand tonight.”
I take a deep breath, squaring my shoulders before heading downstairs. Nico and Killian are waiting for me in the living room. Killian’s arms are crossed, muscles tense beneath his shirt. Nico leans against the wall, but his usual easy posture is nowhere to be seen. They both look as serious and on-edge as I feel, but they’re keeping any possible second-thoughts well-hidden from me.
Good.
This has to work. There’s no other option. No backup plan.
I pull out my phone, fingers hovering over Ambrose’s number for just a second before hitting dial. He picks up on the second ring.
“Everything is set for tonight?” I keep my voice steady and get right to business. That’s the only way to deal with this fucker without letting him weasel his way into my head.
“Of course.” The smug sound of his voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard. “Nothing on my end has changed. Tonight’s outcome will be—and always has been—dependent on your actions.”
The temptation to tell him just exactly how to go fuck himself is strong. Real strong. Nico must see it in my eyes, because he gives me a tiny, almost imperceptible head shake.
Fine. I’ll be good. For now. But someday I’m going to make Ambrose pay for every second of this.
“I just want to make sure Atlas will be there and that you’ll hand him over without any extra bullshit.”
“Naturally. I’m no fan of bullshit either.” Also bullshit, but I let him continue. “As soon as I receive what I want, we can proceed with the exchange, and everyone can leave happy.”
“You better not have hurt him.” The words slip out before I can stop them, raw with emotions I can’t quite contain. Nico’s hand finds my lower back, a silent reminder to stay strong, stay focused.
He chuckles, the sound making my stomach twist. “You know, I thought I’d made a terrible mistake when those three guys became so… attached to you. But it’s worked out beautifully for me. Who knew they’d give me such perfect leverage over you?”
“You son of a bitch. Enjoy your fucking leverage while it lasts.”
My jaw clenches so hard it hurts. Killian’s eyes flash dangerously, and I can feel the tension radiating in waves off both men.
“Now, now.” Ambrose’s tone turns sharp. “Be nice, or I might need to send Atlas back with a few more mementos of his time with me. He’s already collected quite a few, thanks to his own reckless mouth.”
My fingernails dig into my palm, and I bite back every vicious response that springs to mind, although my whole body trembles from the effort. Nico’s fingers press harder, more insistently against my back, and I lean into his touch, drawing strength from it.
“That’s better,” Ambrose says after a beat of silence. “Can’t wait to see you tonight.”
I end the call, barely resisting the urge to hurl my phone across the room. The screen lights up again almost immediately with a call from Blood and Ink.
I hit speaker and set the phone on the coffee table. “This is Quinn. Go ahead.”
“Hey, Quinn. Damon here. Just wanted to give you a quick update. Still no sign of Emmett anywhere—he’s gone completely dark. We’ve had people watching all his usual spots, checked with his contacts. Nothing.”
“Fuck.” I rake my hand through my hair. “Keep looking.”
“There’s something else.” Damon clears his throat. “Something I’m pretty sure you’ll want to know. Word on the street is the Princes of Carnage went through a rebrand. They’re calling themselves the Twisted Tyrants now that Zoey and Stefan are running things.”
I catch the change in Nico’s expression—his face contorts like he’s been stabbed in the gut. Without a word, he turns and stalks out of the room. My own stomach twists into knots watching him go.
“Thanks for the update,” I say, my eyes still fixed on the doorway Nico just disappeared through. “Let me know if anything else comes up.”
“Will do.”
The call ends, leaving the room in silence except for Nico’s heavy footsteps fading down the hallway.
The news about the Princes hits harder than I expected. Sure, Enigma is going through a rough patch right now too—my second in command is a traitor and half my people still look at me sideways, wondering if I’m really cut out for this. But at least I still have a club to lead.
Nico and Killian? They lost everything. Their brothers turned on them, kicked them out, and now they’re rubbing salt in the wound by changing the damn name. Erasing any trace of what the club used to be under Nico’s leadership.
The Twisted Tyrants. Jesus. Even the name sounds like a direct fuck-you to everything Nico, Killian, and Atlas built.
My eyes meet Killian’s across the room. His jaw is clenched tight, but he gives me a small nod toward the hallway. Go after him.
Thankfully, he hasn’t gone far. I find him in the kitchen, hands braced against the counter and head bowed low. His knuckles are white from gripping the edge.
“You okay?” It’s a stupid question, but I have to start somewhere.
“Twisted Tyrants.” He spits the words like they taste bad. “Zoey always did have a flair for the dramatic. Bet she came up with that herself.”
I step closer, close enough to touch his shoulder, but I don’t. Not yet. “I’m sorry.”
“You know what the worst part is?” His voice is raw. “I took those two under my wing when they first joined. Taught Stefan everything he knows about bikes. About loyalty.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Guess that lesson didn’t stick.”
“I’m so sorry, Nico.” I move closer, letting my hand rest on his arm. The muscle beneath my fingers is tight with tension. “For all of it.”
His eyes meet mine in the reflection of the kitchen window. The fading light outside turns the glass into a mirror, showing me the raw pain etched across his features.
“You know, that night we talked about leadership?” I continue, partially to fill the silence but also to let him know that my apology is truly sincere. “About the weight of it all? That was the first time I felt like someone really got it.” I lean against the counter next to him. “The constant second-guessing, wondering if every decision you make is the right one. If you’re strong enough to handle it all.”
He shifts slightly, turning to face me. Some of the tension bleeds from his shoulders.
“Enigma is struggling right now. Half my people look at me like they’re waiting for me to fail. Like they’re counting down the days until I crack under the pressure.” My throat tightens. “But I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. To have lost your club, to have everything you built just… taken away like that.”
“They were my family.” His voice drops on the last word. “My brothers. I trusted them with my life. All of them.”
“And they betrayed that trust in the worst possible way.”
He nods, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Now they’re trying to erase everything we created. Everything the Princes stood for.”
I slide my arm around his waist, offering what comfort I can. He leans into me slightly, some of his weight pressing against my side.
“The Princes of Carnage died the night they turned on us,” he says quietly. “Maybe it’s fitting they changed the name.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words catch in my throat as guilt crashes over me like a wave. “If I hadn’t started that fire at the old clubhouse, none of this would have happened. You’d still have your club, your brothers.” My voice breaks. “I never meant for it to go this far. I was just trying to protect myself, but I ended up destroying everything you built.”
Nico steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek. The touch is gentle, but there’s something burning in his eyes that steals my breath.
“Mia cara.” His thumb brushes across my skin. “I haven’t lost everything. I still have what’s most important.”
The weight of his words hits me square in the chest. My heart pounds against my ribs as I meet his gaze, and the air between us feels electric, charged with everything we’ve never said out loud.
Killian’s boots scuff against the kitchen floor, pulling our attention to the doorway where he’s standing. “Hate to break this up, but we better finish getting ready. Time’s ticking.”
He’s right. As much as I’d like to steal a few more quiet moments with Nico right now, I know Atlas will pay the price if we’re even a minute late for the handoff. He’s on borrowed time, and every second counts until we get him back.