Bonds of Obsession (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #3)

25. Quinn

25

QUINN

My stomach twists into knots as I stare at Elliot. Fucker. There’s no mistaking the satisfaction gleaming in his eyes as he delivers my assignment.

“You want me to murder a pregnant woman?” And yeah, there should be no mistaking the disgust in my voice. I’m the only person in the room who has questioned his orders, but I don’t fucking care. “Is that how you’ve gotten ahead in life? By killing innocent people who have nothing to do with your fucked-up power plays?”

“She chose her path,” he shrugs as if we’re talking about the goddamn weather. “Spread her legs for Arturo, let him put a baby in her. That makes her fair game.”

“A baby,” I repeat, shaking my head because I’m apparently the only person at this table who can’t believe how crazy that sounds. “You’re talking about murdering an unborn child like it’s nothing more than crushing a fucking bug.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth, looking more amused than offended. “Arturo needs to learn, and it’ll serve as a good lesson to my other enemies as well. When you go to war with me, everything you love burns.”

“There’s no reason why a pregnant woman should be a fucking casualty in your war,” I spit out, my hands curling into fists under the table. “Just another body for you to step over while you climb your way to the top of whatever shit-heap you’re after. How many other women and children have you murdered, Elliot? Do you keep count? Is there some kind of two-for-one bonus when the woman is pregnant?”

Rafael, the one with the charming smile that I don’t buy for a fucking second, chuckles. “You act like you’ve never had blood on your hands, Quinn. We all know better.”

“There’s a difference between defending yourself and targeting innocents,” I snap back. “But I guess that distinction is too complex for someone who treats human trafficking like a fucking business model.”

Elliot’s expression hardens, the smugness vanishing as he holds my gaze. He shoves back from the table, his chair scraping against the floor like nails on a chalkboard. “That’s the only way to get ahead in this world, sweetheart. The strong survive by crushing everyone else under their boots.” He stalks around the table toward me, each step measured and predatory. “Maybe you’re too soft for the Syndicate. Too weak to do what needs to be done.”

His gaze flicks to my men standing behind me, lingering on Atlas’s still-healing form. “Although I suppose you’ve proven you know how to use others to do your dirty work. Hide behind your guard dogs while pretending to have teeth of your own.”

“Back the fuck up,” Killian growls, and I can feel the lethal energy radiating from him. “Before you learn exactly how sharp her teeth are.”

“Enough,” Malcolm’s voice cuts through the tension, but just barely. His dark eyes bore into mine, but I can’t read the emotion behind them. Is he silently judging my reluctance or trying to protect me from Elliot’s growing anger? “The terms of membership are clear, Quinn. When a member calls in their votum, we all must support their cause. No exceptions. No questions asked.”

He tilts his head, shadows playing across his angular features. “You understood this when you used your own votum, did you not?”

“That was different,” I argue, but even I can hear how weak it sounds.

“Was it?” Cassandra cuts in. “Because from where I’m sitting, you were perfectly happy to use our power when it served your needs. But now that someone else has made the same call, you’re suddenly growing a conscience?”

Imogen Brooks leans forward. “The rules aren’t á la carte, darling.” Her voice is low, almost conspiratorial—as if she’s imparting some kind of secret wisdom that I’ve failed to understand. “You don’t get to pick and choose which ones to follow.”

“I’m well aware,” I say through gritted teeth. “I just didn’t realize we were all supposed to check our humanity at the door.”

I can feel my men tensing behind me, ready for violence. I know they’d have my back no matter what happens, but I also know we’ll lose if it comes to blood and bullets.

No fucking way am I going to risk getting us all killed. Not here. Not like this.

My jaw aches from clenching it so hard, but I force myself to nod. “I never said I wouldn’t do it,” I grit out. “So you can back the fuck up and stop questioning my commitment.”

“Quinn—” Imogen starts to say something else, but I don’t have the fucking patience to listen anymore.

“Don’t,” I cut her off, not taking my eyes off Elliot. “I understand the rules perfectly well. I’ll play my part in your little vendetta, Elliot. Just remember something.” I lean forward, lowering my voice to barely above a whisper. “Everything comes full circle eventually. Every debt gets paid.”

He laughs, but there’s an edge to it. “Is that a threat, little girl?”

“No,” I say softly, thinking back to my father’s lessons about karma and consequences. “Just an observation about how things tend to work in our world. The blood always comes back around, doesn’t it?” I straighten up, squaring my shoulders. “Now, do you want to keep measuring dicks, or can we discuss the actual plan?”

“Such fire,” Malcolm murmurs, something like appreciation in his tone. “I do hope you survive long enough for us to see what you become.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Elliot hasn’t backed down yet, and apparently wants to get one more dig in. “Taking out a target isn’t like fucking your way through a motorcycle club. Some of us actually have to get our hands dirty.”

The rage that fills me is instant and white-hot. Before I can stop myself, I’m on my feet, my palms flat against the polished wood. “You want to test that theory?” My voice comes out low and deadly. “Because I’ve got no problem showing you exactly how dirty my hands can get.”

“Quinn.” Nico’s voice carries a warning, but I barely hear it over the blood rushing in my ears.

“I’ve killed before,” I continue, still without ever breaking away from Elliot’s gaze. “And unlike you, I didn’t need to target someone defenseless to prove I’m tough. So watch your fucking mouth before I decide to demonstrate.”

Owen Callahan, the rugged smuggler with his man-bun and calculating eyes, lets out a low whistle. “Our new girl’s got teeth after all.”

“And I know how to fucking use them,” I snap back, looking around the table at each one of them in turn until I make it back to Elliot. “Now, let’s get back to business.”

Malcolm clears his throat, commanding attention without raising his voice. “Tomorrow night,” he says, sliding a folder across the table. “Everyone moves on their assignments at exactly twenty-three hundred hours.”

“Why the rush?” Imogen asks, her perfectly manicured nails drumming against her glass. “Surely we need more time to?—”

“Arturo leaves Detroit in thirty-six hours,” Elliot cuts in. “This is our window. Each of you has your role. Rafael will draw him out with the promise of a deal. Cassandra’s people will take out his security detail. Owen handles transport. The rest of you know your parts.”

My stomach churns as I think about my “part” in all this. A pregnant woman. An unborn child. But I keep my face neutral as Malcolm continues outlining the timeline.

“Synchronized attacks,” he explains. “No room for error. No time for second thoughts.” His gaze lingers on me at those last words.

When the meeting finally ends, I push back from the table, my legs steadier than I expected. My men fall into position around me, creating a wall of muscle at my back. I take a moment to study the faces around me, trying to read beneath their careful masks.

Cassandra’s beauty holds an edge as she gathers her papers with precise movements. Imogen’s charm seems calculated, every gesture measured as she exchanges whispers with Rafael, whose easy smile never quite reaches his eyes.

Owen, with his man-bun and rugged features, watches everyone with the wariness of a career criminal who’s survived by never letting his guard down. He catches me looking and gives me a slight nod—not friendly, exactly, but acknowledging. Maybe he respects that I stood up to Elliot. Or maybe he’s just marking me as someone to watch.

Elliot lingers at the table, his scarred face twisted in what might be a smile or a snarl. The way he looks at me makes my skin crawl—not with lust or even hatred, but with the clinical interest of someone imagining how I’ll look when I break. When this assignment either hardens me or destroys me.

Malcolm, though, is the hardest to read. His expression gives away nothing as he watches the others file out, like a king surveying his court. Or maybe a puppet master examining his dolls. He meets my gaze for a moment, and I swear I see something like approval there. It makes me feel sick.

“Quite a crew,” Atlas murmurs behind me. His voice is tight despite his attempts to hide it. I know the pain meds and antibiotics have helped his recovery a lot, but there’s still a long way to go before he’s back to good.

“Yeah,” I breathe back. “Real fucking cream of the crop.”

The difference between this group and my men is as stark as night and day. With the Princes, there’s trust and loyalty. A bond that’s been forged over years of having each other’s backs. With my Enigma crew, there’s a sense of family—a family we’ve all chosen to be a part of.

But here? Every person watches the others like they’re calculating odds, measuring threats. They work together because it benefits them, but there’s no trust. No loyalty beyond what their rules demand. It’s all politics and power plays, a bunch of predators circling each other, waiting to see who shows weakness first.

I catch Imogen studying Elliot with barely concealed hostility. Rafael keeps his back to the wall, never fully turning it to anyone. Even Malcolm, for all his authority, seems to track every movement in the room like he’s expecting a betrayal any second.

“Bunch of fucking assholes,” Killian grumbles as we head for the exit, his words too low for anyone else to hear.

“Yeah,” I breathe back, feeling the weight of what I’ve gotten myself into. “And I’ve got a feeling we haven’t seen the worst of it yet.”

The thought settles in my gut like lead. I chose this path to save Atlas, but now I’m wondering about the price. Not just for me, but for all of us. Because something tells me the Dark Lotus Syndicate doesn’t let people walk away once they’re in.

And I’m in it up to my fucking neck.

The night air whipping past us on the way home is both a blessing and a curse. It helps focus my thoughts, but it also forces me to think about everything I’m being forced to do. Even the familiar thunder of my engine can’t drown out the voices in my head or silence the memory of Elliot’s words about the pregnant woman.

My target.

My stomach churns with each mile, the acid and bile I’ve been swallowing down finally climbing up my throat. The neon signs and street lights blur together, creating streaks of color that aren’t doing anything to help with my nausea. By the time we pull into the driveway, my hands are shaking on the handlebars.

Inside, I make it as far as the living room before my legs give out. I sink onto the couch, the leather creaking beneath me. My men arrange themselves around me—Atlas easing himself carefully into a chair, sighing from the obvious relief now that he’s also off his feet, while Nico and Killian stay standing, their presence both comforting and suffocating.

“I can’t do it.” I whisper the words at first, just to see if I can get them out. Then, once the world doesn’t stop spinning, I say them a little louder. “I can’t fucking do it.”

Silence fills the room. I force myself to look up, to meet their eyes one by one, terrified of what I’ll see. Will there be the same contempt I saw in Elliot’s face? The same judgment about my weakness?

“I’ve killed before. I’ve broken laws. I’ve done shit that would make most people sick. But this? Murdering an innocent woman? Her unborn baby?” Bile rises in my throat again. “I’m not that person. I won’t become that person.”

“Quinn—” Nico starts, but I cut him off.

“I know what it means to refuse. I know they might kill me for it.” The words come faster now, desperate. “But there has to be a line, right? Some fucking boundary between being criminals and being monsters?” I dig my nails into my palms until I feel skin break. “Maybe Elliot was right. Maybe I am too weak for the Syndicate. But I’d rather be weak than be like him.”

I wait for someone to tell me I’m being stupid, that I’m putting us all at risk. That I need to woman up and do what needs to be done. But when I finally gather the courage to really study their faces, I don’t see disappointment or disdain.

I see understanding. And something that looks dangerously like pride.

Atlas is the first to shake his head, cutting through my rising panic and thankfully giving me something else to focus on, even if it’s only for a few seconds.

“We know,” he says simply. “You think we’d want you to do this shit? To become like them?”

“But I—I thought you’d think less of me. That I’m too soft for this life.”

“Fuck that,” Killian growls. “Being willing to murder an innocent woman doesn’t make you hard. It makes you a goddamn psychopath.”

“Not the good kind of psycho,” Atlas adds with a hint of dark humor, nodding at Killian.

“You want to know why Locke has had it out for me all these years?” Nico cuts in suddenly. “Why that asshole has been trying to fuck with my business?”

“The owner of Eros?” I ask, my interest piqued in spite of everything else we have going on. “That beef goes back a while, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Too long, really.” He turns to Atlas and Killian with a rueful grin. “Remember when I disappeared for almost a week that one time?”

“When you were supposed to be handling that shipment?” Killian’s eyes narrow. “You never did tell us what happened.”

“Because I was busy getting fifteen girls out of that fucker’s basement.” Nico’s voice drops to a growl. “He was trafficking them through the club. Young ones. Desperate ones.”

I grimace, my stomach clenching at his words. “What did you do?”

“What needed doing. Got them new papers, safe houses, money to start over.” He shrugs, but his eyes are hard. “And Locke never forgave me for cutting into his profit margins.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Atlas demands. “We could have?—”

“Taken him out?” Nico shakes his head. “Wasn’t worth the heat it would bring. Besides, better to have him where I can see him.”

“Still,” Killian rumbles. “Should have let us help.”

“Anyway, I handled it. I did the right thing even though it would’ve been easier to look the other way and say it wasn’t my fucking problem. And that’s the point.”

I study them all—these men who can snap bones and spill blood without hesitation, who’ve built their reputations on violence and fear. But there’s more to them. So much more.

“So that’s why you never pushed me to work with him,” I realize. “Even when it would have benefited Enigma.”

“Fuck benefits,” Nico practically spits the words. “Some lines you don’t cross. Not if you want to keep your soul.”

“Although god knows we’ve crossed plenty of others,” Atlas adds dryly.

“Yeah, but we choose our targets,” Killian says. “We’re not good men, siren. Never claimed to be. But we’re not monsters either.”

“We’ve got your back on this,” Killian says, his voice carrying that deadly edge I know so well. “Whatever play we need to make.”

“But the Syndicate—” I start.

“Fuck the Syndicate,” Atlas cuts in. “We’ll figure something out.”

Killian moves closer, and I can see something haunting in his eyes. “My mother—” He stops, his face twisting. “That bitch tried to drown me when I was eight. An innocent fucking kid. And yeah, I killed her for it, but I swore I’d never become like her. I’d never hurt someone who didn’t deserve it.”

“There has to be another way,” I say, but I’m still not totally convinced there is. “Elliot won’t just let me refuse.”

“Then we get creative,” Nico says, that calculating look I know so well crossing his face. “Give Elliot his pound of flesh without actually spilling innocent blood.”

I don’t know what he has in mind, but I’m starting to believe there might be some hope. “You really think we can pull that off?”

“We’ve done harder shit,” Killian says, although he doesn’t give any examples of what that harder shit might have been

“The point is,” Nico says, “we didn’t build what we have by following other people’s rules. We make our own path.”

“Even if it means taking on the whole fucking Syndicate?” I ask.

“Even then,” Atlas confirms. “You’re one of us now, vicious. All the way.”

“And we protect our own,” Nico adds.

“Besides…” Killian’s lips curve into that dangerous look I love so much. “What’s life without a little chaos?”

Something rises in my chest, a mix of admiration and desperation and need. I grab Killian’s shirt, yanking him down to me, pouring everything I’m feeling into the kiss. His lips are warm and familiar against mine, grounding me in the moment, reminding me that no matter what comes next, I’m not alone.

When I pull back, I look over to find Atlas. My heart clenches at the sight of him, still amazed that he’s really here, alive and breathing. I cross to him, being careful of his wounds as I press my lips to his. He groans into the kiss, his hand tangling in my hair.

Finally, I turn to Nico. My Nico. His mismatched eyes are dark with hunger as I step into his space. The kiss starts slow but builds quickly, matching the heat building between us. His hands grip my hips, pulling me closer.

“I want you, mia cara,” he breathes against my lips. Then he pauses, something darker and hungrier crossing his face. “No, I want more than that.”

“What do you want?” I ask, my pulse quickening from his tone and the way he’s looking at me.

His gaze flicks to Atlas and Killian, then back to me. “I want to watch them with you first,” he says. “I want them to fuck you until I can see their cum dripping from your sweet pussy.” He kisses me again, so hard and rough that I can’t help but whimper when he pulls away. “Then I want my turn.”