Bonds of Obsession (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #3)

30. Quinn

30

QUINN

“Easy,” Nico says as Celine stumbles getting out of the trunk. “Don’t try to move around too much until you get your bearings again.”

Her hands shake as she clutches the bag of cash and jewelry to her chest. She’s holding on to it so tightly that her knuckles have gone white against the dark fabric. Poor girl. I feel for her, but she has to realize that it could’ve been so much worse.

“Are we good here?” Atlas’s voice is low as he scans the tree line, and I nod. We drove for over an hour, taking random turns and backtracking to make sure no one followed us. The woods are pitch black around us, perfect for what we need to do.

“Did anyone see us leave the city?” Celine’s voice trembles. A muffled meow drifts from the car, and her eyes dart toward the sound before quickly snapping away. Smart girl. She knows she can’t take anything from her old life, not even the cat.

“No one saw shit,” Killian says, his large frame silently moving past me in the darkness to check the perimeter. “And even if they did, they won’t find you here. And they won’t find anything to connect us to your disappearance.”

I watch him move through the darkness, remembering how carefully he handled that damn cat earlier. He’ll never admit it, but I saw the way he looked at Princess. That cat’s going to end up spoiled rotten at our place.

“What if someone realizes I’m not really dead?” Celine wraps her arms tighter around the bag, like it’s an actual shield against all the bad things that could still happen to her.

“The only thing anyone’s going to find is evidence that you were killed,” Atlas says. “There will be dead bodyguards and blood spattered everywhere. They’ll think you were eliminated, just like Elliot ordered.”

“And Arturo?” Her voice catches on his name.

“He’s probably already dead,” I tell her. No need to sugar-coat the news, since I know it’s exactly what she’ll want to hear. “The rest of the Syndicate should have taken care of him by now.”

A choked sound escapes her throat, half-laugh and half-sob. “I can’t believe it,” she whispers. “He’s really gone?”

“Gone for good,” Nico confirms, moving closer to stand at my back. “No one’s going to be looking for you after tonight.”

Fresh tears spill down her cheeks, but these aren’t the terrified ones from earlier. Her back straightens and she squares her shoulders as the truth sinks in. She looks younger suddenly, lighter.

“What do I do now?” she asks, wiping at her face. “I’ve never… he controlled everything. Every minute of every day.”

“You live,” I tell her firmly. “You take that money, you get far away from Detroit, and you live whatever kind of life you want to live.”

“But how?—”

“Stop overthinking it,” Atlas cuts in. “You have everything you need for now in that bag. Guard it with your life. Just get on a bus tomorrow, pick a direction, and start over somewhere new.”

Killian returns from his perimeter check, nodding once to indicate we’re still clear. “No one is going to find you,” he adds. “We made sure of it.”

“Why are you helping me?” she asks. “You don’t know me. You could’ve just…” She trails off, unable to say the words.

“Because that’s not who we are,” Nico says simply.

“Yeah, we might be vicious motherfuckers,” Atlas adds with a sharp grin, “but we try to be selective about who we hurt.”

I feel that deep satisfaction in my chest again. We managed to save her and her baby without compromising our position in the Syndicate. Let those other fuckers think we’re as cold-blooded as they are. We know the difference between necessary violence and senseless cruelty.

“We should finish up here,” I say, checking my watch. We need to get back to the city and make sure everything else went according to plan with the Syndicate.

Killian steps forward then, moving with that predatory grace that first drew me to him when he was just the Phantom. His voice is quiet but firm when he says, “There’s one more thing we need to do.” He pauses, his eyes fixed on Celine. “Hold out your left hand.”

We’re back in Noctura’s cavernous basement, and the bag in my hand feels heavier with each step down those stairs. Not from what’s inside it, but from what it represents—the lie I’m about to sell.

I’m not the only one dreading this meeting though. I’m pretty sure we’re all on edge after the night we’ve had.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” Atlas mutters behind me as we navigate the narrow stairwell.

“You’re not looking forward to watching these self-important lowlifes jerk each other off for the next hour or so?” Nico asks, feigning surprise.

“Fuck them,” Atlas grumbles. “Bunch of fucking snakes.”

We’re one of the first groups to arrive, aside from Malcolm and Elliot. I drop into a chair at the long table, with my men taking their usual positions right behind me.

“Well, don’t we all look like we’ve had an entertaining evening?” Imogen strolls in, her designer heels clicking against the floor. Her hair—usually perfectly coiffed—is wild, like she’s been running her hands through it. “I had to burn my favorite Gucci blouse.”

“Hazards of the job,” I offer a half-smile. “Try leather next time. Blood washes right off.”

Rafael comes in next with a fresh cut on his cheek that will probably need stitches. He gives me a slight nod as he takes his seat.

“Looks like someone put up a fight,” Imogen says, her voice carrying just enough edge to make Rafael’s jaw tighten.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he answers with a smirk.

Cassandra sweeps in with her people, looking pristine and put together. Exactly as I’d expect. “I see I’m the only one who believes in showering after work.”

“Some of us aren’t afraid to get our hands dirty,” I shoot back, earning a few chuckles around the table.

Owen is the last to arrive, smelling of gasoline and smoke. “Traffic was a bitch,” he says, simply, as he walks over to his seat.

“Let’s begin,” Malcolm says once everyone has been seated. His cold gaze sweeps the table. “Cassandra?”

“Arturo’s security detail has been eliminated. All six of them.” Her lips curve up. “The last one tried to buy his life with information about rival operations.”

“Did you let him talk first?” Elliot asks.

“Of course.” Cassandra’s smile is all teeth. “Then I kept my end of the bargain. His death was quick. Quicker than the others, anyway.”

“Rafael?” Malcolm prompts.

“Drew him out exactly as planned.” Rafael touches the cut on his cheek. “Dangled the possibility of a major cocaine shipment in front of him. Even had fake product for him to sample. He started talking about his expansion plans, new territories, the works. Greedy fuck only got suspicious at the very end. He caught me with his pinky ring when I put the knife in him.”

I’m doing my best to look as bored as possible, like I’m sitting through a corporate meeting instead of listening to coordinated murder. The more convinced they are that I don’t give a fuck, the better off my men and I will be.

“The police won’t look too closely,” Imogen adds once Rafael has finished. “They’ll write it off as another gang hit. I made sure certain officers got their usual payments, plus a bonus for any overtime this might cause them.”

“And the escape routes?” Malcolm asks.

Owen nods. “All covered. Had my people at every major intersection, watching the bridges. Even if someone slipped past the initial attack, they wouldn’t have made it out of the city.”

“Glad to hear it,” Malcolm says. “And you cleaned up after?”

“Meticulously. The warehouse is still burning. By morning, there won’t be anything left to find.”

Elliot turns to me, and I’m almost certain I see a hint of a sneer before he schools his features again. “And the wife?”

I stand up slowly, keeping my own expression perfectly neutral. Every eye in the room locks on to me as I lift the bag.

As distasteful as this whole fucking ordeal has been, I can’t resist dragging it out a little longer. “You’ll find everything you need in here.” I drop the bag to the table with a thud and give it a shove in his direction.

He raises a brow as he reaches for the bag, but the sick bastard can’t quite hold it together when he looks inside. His nose wrinkles and he looks away for a second before pulling out the severed hand.

And fuck, the look on his face right now?

Priceless.

I don’t know where or how Killian came up with a fucking severed hand, and I’m not going to ask. Celine’s wedding ring catches the light, and it’s easy to see the blood that’s crusted around the band.

“Since you seemed to doubt my capabilities,” I say. “I thought you might appreciate some proof that I’m more than up to whatever task the Syndicate requires.”

“Damn.” Imogen leans forward to get a better look. “And they say diamonds are forever.”

“Diamonds, maybe.” Cassandra smirks, with something like approval in her voice. “Hands? Not so much.”

“Did she beg?” Elliot asks, his momentary queasiness apparently gone. In fact, now his eyes are gleaming with what I can only imagine is a sick, twisted fascination. “When she realized what was coming?”

I think of Celine’s tears—not of fear, but of freedom—and let a genuine smile play across my lips. “Does it matter? She’s dead either way.”

A low whistle comes from Owen’s direction. “Looks like the new blood’s got some teeth after all.”

I don’t have to fake the dangerous edge in my voice when I respond. “I’ve always had teeth. And I’ve never been afraid to use them.”

I might not be the type of monster to murder a pregnant woman, but I’m still exactly the kind of leader who will slit a man’s throat if he threatens what’s mine. I need them to understand that.

Elliot’s eyes meet mine across the table, and I see the moment grudging respect replaces his doubt. Good. Let them think I’m as fucking evil as they are. Sometimes the best way to survive in a pack of wolves is to bare your teeth and prove you can bite just as hard.

My words hang in the air as the others exchange glances around the table. The energy in the room has shifted, and I can feel the way their assessment of me has changed. I’m not the weak link they initially thought I was.

“Well,” Malcolm says, leaning back in his chair. “I believe we can consider Elliot’s votum successfully fulfilled.”

“Arturo, his wife, and his unborn heir have been eliminated,” Elliot confirms, still studying the severed hand like it’s a piece of fucking art. “Along with his entire operation.” His eyes flick to mine. “I consider it to be thoroughly fulfilled.”

I hold his gaze, refusing to look away first. Let him search for weakness. He won’t find any.

Imogen stretches, breaking the few seconds of silence that threatened to go on indefinitely. “I need a drink after all this. Anyone else?”

Cassandra nods. Although I’ve seen them snark at each other with their claws out, there’s something almost like respect in her expression as she glances over at Imogen. “I’m in.”

“I could use several,” Rafael agrees, rising from his chair. “Although I’m not sure Noctura’s open bar is the best place to go when I’m already struggling to keep my eyes open.”

“Speak for yourself,” Owen says. “Some of us can handle our liquor.”

Their banter continues as they all start to stand up and move toward the door, but I’m tracking Malcolm’s gaze. He hasn’t looked away from me since I tossed that hand on the table, and there’s something calculating in his expression that makes my jaw clench. Not fear—I stopped being afraid of men like him a long time ago. But wariness. The kind of wariness I’d expect to feel if I spotted a rattlesnake in my path.

“A word, Quinn.” Malcolm’s voice cuts through the sounds of people leaving as he stands and moves around the table toward me.

My men immediately tense. I can feel the change in them, the way they shift their weight, ready to move. Ready to kill if they have to. Sometimes I forget how in sync we are until moments like this, when we’re all coiled like springs, waiting for the slightest excuse to unload on someone.

Malcolm stops too close, forcing me to look up to meet his eyes. “I may have misjudged you,” he says, keeping his voice low enough that only my men and I can hear. “You’re more capable than I initially assumed.”

“Most people who underestimate me only do it once.” For the first time all night, I feel completely relaxed. I’ve made it through the hardest part. Everything else is downhill from here.

And Malcolm? He might be dangerous as fuck—I’ll give him that much credit—but he’s also smart. Smart enough to know better than to overplay his hand right here in front of my men.

His lips curl into something that might be a smile on anyone else. On him, it just looks predatory. “I can see why your… followers… are so devoted.” His gaze slides over Atlas, Killian, and Nico before returning to me. “There aren’t many things in life more exciting than a woman who isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had blood on my hands. It won’t be the last. I don’t really give a damn who it excites or what anyone else thinks about me.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt in my mind about that.” He gives me an up and down look that’s fucking nauseating. “You might be exactly what the Syndicate needs.”

Nico steps closer, until he’s partially blocking Malcolm’s direct line of sight with me. A clear message that Malcolm reads easily enough, if the way his eyes narrow is any indication. The testosterone in the air is so thick I could choke on it.

For a moment, I can’t read his expression. I’m still sitting, so I’m at a disadvantage if shit hits the fan, but I don’t think it’s going to come to that. Not here. Not now.

Thankfully, Malcolm inclines his head and takes a half-step back. “Well, I think we’re done here. For now.”

I nod and we leave without another word, but there’s no mistaking the way my men surround me as we climb the stairs.

“Fucking bastard,” is all Nico says as we step out of the oppressively luxurious building.

Atlas grunts. “I was so fucking close to snapping his neck.”

I’m surprised Killian doesn’t have anything to say, but I realize what’s distracting him once we make it to the car. He immediately climbs into the back seat to check on Princess—who is, of course, still in her carrier. Right where we left her. It’s almost funny how the most dangerous man I know is going soft over a fucking cat.

“Is she okay?” I ask as we pile in. Because fine, maybe I’m going soft for the cat too. She is beautiful. I can’t deny that.

“Sleeping,” he grunts, but I catch the way his fingers slip through the carrier’s bars to stroke her fur.

Once we’re on the road, everyone seems to relax a little.

“That went better than expected,” Nico says as he drives us through the quiet, pre-dawn roads.

Atlas snorts from the back seat. “Yeah, except for the part where Malcolm was eye-fucking Quinn the whole time.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling. “He can look all he wants. He knows touching means losing body parts.”

“I still don’t fucking like it,” Killian mutters, and I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror. There’s the possessive look I was expecting earlier, dark and hungry. And I’ll be damned if that look doesn’t send a rush of heat straight down to my core.

“They bought it though,” I say, redirecting us to the more pressing issue. I’m still not sure how we managed to pull it off without something going wrong. One wrong move, one slip in my expression, and we would’ve all been dead. “Hook, line, and sinker.”

“The hand was a nice touch,” Atlas admits. “Where did you get it anyway?”

“I called in a favor,” Killian shrugs nonchalantly, as if he borrowed a cup of sugar.

“Someone owed you their hand?” Atlas asks, chuckling even though this is the darkest fucking conversation I’ve heard in a while. “Remind me to stay on your good side.”

The corners of Killian’s mouth twitch. “Probably a good idea.”

Nico grunts from the driver’s seat next to me. “Next time you call in a favor to take someone’s hand off, make it Malcolm’s.”

“It’s not just Malcolm we need to worry about,” I say. “Did you see how quickly they all turned? One severed hand and suddenly I’m worthy of their respect?”

“Because they’re a bunch of sick fucks,” Atlas says. “The fact that they think you murdered a pregnant woman in cold blood, and now they like you better for it? Sick.”

“Fucking animals,” Killian agrees, still petting Princess through the carrier bars.

Nico’s jaw clenches as he takes a sharp turn. “That’s probably what they want—for everyone to be as fucked up as they are. It’s a hell of a lot easier to control people when you can hang all the horrible shit they’ve done over their heads.”

I haven’t thought about it that way before, but he’s probably right. “Makes me wonder what other tasks they’ll expect me to handle now that they think I’m capable of anything.”

“We’ll deal with that when it comes,” Atlas says. “One clusterfuck at a time.”

I’m too tired to think about the next clusterfuck already. Instead, I twist in my seat to look at Killian. “Where exactly did that hand come from?”

I know I shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it. My curiosity has gotten the best of me. I’m also wondering how deeply in debt someone would have to be in order to give up a whole fucking hand.

“Like I said,” he shrugs. “I called in a favor.”

When it’s obvious none of us are going to let him stop there, he huffs out a short breath. “There’s a guy at Detroit Memorial who owed me after I helped him end a little disagreement he was having with some bookies.” Killian scratches under Princess’s chin. “He had access to the morgue. He found a hand that was the right size and right age. It’s the same source I used to get the bags of blood.”

I can’t even pretend not to be impressed. “You think of everything, don’t you?”

“I have to.” His green eyes meet mine again. “Especially when it comes to protecting what’s mine.”

The weight of his words hits me right in the chest, but before I can respond, Atlas’s sharp intake of breath cuts through the air.

“What the fuck?” Nico mutters, slamming on the brakes so hard we all jerk forward.

I straighten in my seat and look out the windshield, following Nico’s gaze. Up ahead, flames and smoke color the sky like something straight out of hell.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Killian says.

“No,” I whisper, but there’s no denying what I’m seeing. My house—my father’s house—is on fire.