35. Quinn
35
QUINN
I blink awake, feeling like I’ve just been hit by a fucking bus. Every part of my body feels numb and heavy, and it takes way too much energy to turn my head toward the window.
Judging by the angle and the intensity of the sunlight, it’s well past morning.
How long have I been asleep? And where the fuck am I?
It takes another few seconds for the memories to come rushing back. I’m in Imogen’s penthouse, but not in the master bedroom. I’m in one of the smaller rooms.
Killian’s.
His arms are still wrapped around my naked body, and his skin is still warm against mine. His fresh tattoo is stark against his chest. It’s the first piece of ink he’s ever allowed on his body. My work.
Guilt claws at my insides as I realize how long I must have slept. After the fire, after losing everything, after disbanding Enigma, the last thing I should be doing is sleeping. I should be fighting back. Making moves. Doing something, anything, to unfuck this situation.
But my body betrayed me. The exhaustion of the past few days finally caught up. Between the Dark Lotus Syndicate bullshit, barely sleeping while we planned Celine’s rescue, and then Ambrose burning my whole fucking life to the ground, my eyelids had grown so heavy after tattooing Killian that I couldn’t fight it anymore.
I shift carefully in Killian’s arms, not wanting to wake him. My gaze catches on his new tattoo again. The lines aren’t perfect—my hands weren’t exactly steady while riding his cock. But somehow that makes it mean even more. He wanted my mark on him so badly that he couldn’t wait, couldn’t separate the act of claiming from the act of fucking.
My chest tightens. These men, they’re all I have left now. My gang is gone, my home is gone, my father’s memory has been reduced to ashes. But I still have them. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Ambrose—or anyone else—take them from me too.
I must have drifted off to sleep, because when I open my eyes again, I’m alone in the big, comfortable bed. I’m tempted to stay in here for the rest of the day. To just skip eating, drinking, and bathing and just sleep for at least another twelve hours.
Honestly, I’m pretty sure my men would let me, as impractical as it would be. But there are things to do and shit to discuss, and putting it all off won’t make any of it go away.
I roll out of bed slowly and grab the plush bathrobe hanging just inside the bathroom before padding out into the hallway and then toward the kitchen. Everything in Imogen’s place is luxurious and expensive, from the marble countertops to the high-end appliances that look like they’ve barely been used. It’s a far cry from my comfortable but lived-in house. My house that’s been reduced to nothing but a charred frame and rubble.
All three of my men are in the kitchen, talking in low voices. They must have caught some sleep too, because they’re all shirtless, wearing only sweats that hang low on their hips. Killian has the cat cradled in one arm while he makes coffee with the other, and the sight does something strange to my chest. It’s hard to believe this deadly, ruthless man could be so gentle with this small, sweet creature.
I pause in the doorway, my breath catching as I look at them. With their shirts off, I can easily see the marks I’ve left on each of them. My ring tattooed over Atlas’s heart, standing out against his other ink. The one on Nico’s chest, the first mark I ever gave any of them. And now Killian’s fresh tattoo, the lines still raised and red.
These dangerous, beautiful men. These killers who can be so gentle with me, who would burn the world down to keep me safe. Who let me mark them as mine, permanently and forever.
A year ago, I would’ve laughed if someone told me I’d end up here. That the men I’d vowed to destroy would end up being my salvation. That I’d end up giving them pieces of myself I didn’t even know I had left to give.
But here we are.
Nico catches me staring, his eyes locking with mine. “Everything okay, wife?”
The words build in my throat, threatening to spill out. Three simple words that could change everything. That could make this all real in a way that terrifies me, especially after losing so much. But they stick there, caught behind my fear and my inability to be that vulnerable, even with them.
Instead, I step into the kitchen and draw in a steadying breath. “I don’t want this place to become our prison,” I say. “I won’t let that fucker trap us here and have us always looking over our shoulders, waiting for his next move.”
Atlas’s jaw tightens, and Killian’s lips press into a hard line. Even the cat seems to sense the tension, squirming in Killian’s hold until he strokes her ears.
“We’re not meant to live like that,” I continue. “Caged up and afraid? That’s not who any of us are.” I meet each of their gazes in turn, drawing strength from the intensity I see there. “And I’m done letting Ambrose dictate how we live our lives.”
“What do you have in mind?” Atlas asks.
“Ambrose wanted what I have.” My fingers drift to my shoulder, where the Dark Lotus Syndicate’s mark used to be before they burned it away. “He’ll never forgive me for taking that membership instead of giving it to him. He’ll keep coming after us, keep trying to destroy everything we build.”
Nico’s expression hardens, and I can see the same rage in his eyes that I feel burning in my chest.
“So we end this,” I say, my voice steady despite the fury coursing through me. “He fucked with the wrong people when he took my home. When he burned down Blood and Ink. When he forced me to disband Enigma.” My own hands are starting to curl into fists now. “He signed his own death warrant, and I want to be the one to carry out the sentence.”
The men share a look between them—one of those silent conversations they’ve perfected over years of brotherhood. Then they turn back to me with matching, deadly expressions.
“Tell us what you need,” Killian says. “Whatever it takes, we’ll help you kill the bastard.”
“There’s no question that he’s rebuilding his power,” Atlas says, rubbing at his chest where I know his wounds from Ambrose still ache. “He’s already lost everything once before, when he went to prison. Now he’s got that ruthless edge. The kind that lets someone claw their way back to the top.”
“And he’s smart,” Nico adds, his eyes narrowed. “Choosing his targets carefully. Building alliances. The way he infiltrated the Princes through us, manipulating everything from the shadows—that wasn’t luck. That was calculation.”
Killian nods. “He’s the kind who won’t stop until he’s king of the castle again. And he’ll stack the foundation with bodies to get there.”
“Our bodies,” I say, memories of Atlas’s screams while Ambrose tortured him still fresh in my mind. “Unless we put him in the ground first.”
“He’s got resources,” Atlas points out. “Men working for him. Connections we don’t know about yet.”
“And he knows how to disappear,” Nico adds. “The way he slipped away after we freed Atlas, after he killed your guy in the alley—he’s good at going underground when he needs to.”
I nod and look around to each of them. Everything they’ve said is correct, but I still refuse to stay up here in this gilded prison biding my time while Ambrose only grows stronger. “Then we’ll have to be better. Smarter. More ruthless than he is.” My voice hardens. “And the next time we find him, we won’t let him slip away.”
“What about calling in your last votum?” Atlas asks, shifting his weight to lean against the counter. “If Elliot could get the whole Syndicate to help take out his competition, maybe we could do the same with Ambrose.”
My stomach twists at the thought of the Dark Lotus Syndicate members. The way they look at me like I’m beneath them, like I’m nothing but a street rat who got lucky.
“It feels too risky,” I mutter. “Like too big of an ask. None of them trust me, and Imogen basically told me they’re looking for an excuse to put me down.”
“Can’t exactly blame them,” Killian says, scratching Princess behind the ears as she purrs against his chest. “You did pull a fast one on them with that first votum.”
“And burned through the second one pretty damn quick,” Atlas adds.
I run my fingers through my tangled hair, frustrated. “I know. I shouldn’t have used it so fast, asking for this place.” I gesture at the fancy condo around us. “We could’ve found somewhere else to crash.”
“No.” Nico’s voice is firm. “You made the right call. We needed somewhere secure, somewhere defensible.”
“Besides,” Killian adds, “what good is having power if you don’t use it when you need it?” The cat mewls in what sounds like agreement, making him smirk. “See? Even she knows I’m right.”
“That’s just it though.” I meet his eyes, then look at the others. “Power like that, it comes with strings. Every time I use a votum, I feel like I’m getting deeper into their web. And I don’t trust any of them not to wrap those strings around my throat when it suits them.”
Atlas nods slowly. “Imogen’s warning wasn’t subtle. They’re watching you, waiting for you to slip up.”
“Exactly. And using my last votum so soon after the others…” I shake my head. “I’ve got the feeling they see me as some upstart who doesn’t know her place. One who hasn’t earned the right to cash in so many favors at once.”
“Then we do this ourselves,” Nico says, pushing off from where he’s leaning against the fridge. “We’ve handled worse odds before.”
“Have we though?” I ask. “He nearly killed Atlas. He burned down everything I had. He’s always two steps ahead?—”
“Hey.” Killian’s voice cuts through my spiral. He sets Princess down and steps closer to me. “You’re not alone in this fight anymore. You’ve got us.” His eyes are intense as they lock with mine. “All of us.”
“And we’re a hell of a lot more dangerous together than apart,” Atlas adds.
“Save that last votum,” Nico says. “Keep it as an ace up our sleeve for when we really need it. For now, we’ll handle this our way.”
My phone rings, and I tense automatically, but the caller ID shows Willow’s name. Not Ambrose calling to taunt me about destroying my life. Not Malcolm summoning me for more Dark Lotus Syndicate bullshit.
“Hey,” I answer, keeping my voice neutral. The men watch me, clearly wondering who it is.
“Quinn.” Willow’s voice is warm but concerned. “I heard about Blood and Ink. About the fire. Are you okay?”
Something catches in my throat, and I clear it roughly. “I’m fine. But you don’t need to check on me. Your debt to my father is paid, and you don’t owe me anything else.”
A soft laugh comes through the line. “Is that what you think this is? Me paying a debt?” There’s a gentleness to her tone that makes my chest squeeze uncomfortably. “I’m calling because you’re my friend. Because I was worried about you.”
Friend . The word hits me like a punch to the gut. I can count on one hand the number of true friends I’ve had in my life. In my line of work, friendship is usually just another word for a temporary alliance. If there isn’t some kind of mutual benefit, there isn’t a friendship.
But Willow… she’s different. The way she opened her home to us, helped us save Atlas. The way she saw through my tough exterior when I was falling apart over him being taken. She knows me in a way that few people aside from my men do, and instead of making me feel uncomfortable, that knowledge soothes some of the jagged edges in my heart.
“I…” My voice trails off. Atlas shifts closer to me, concern evident in his expression. “Thanks,” I finally manage. It comes out stiff and awkward, but I mean it. “That means a lot.”
“Of course.” She hesitates, then asks, “What happened? Was it an accident, or…”
“It was targeted.” My voice hardens. “The same man who took Atlas is coming after us, and—fuck, everything is such a goddamn mess.”
“What’s going on?”
Maybe it’s the genuine concern in her voice, or maybe I just need to get some of this shit off my chest, but the words start spilling out.
“I had to disband Enigma. My people weren’t safe. They still aren’t safe. The asshole who’s after us, he’s…” I swallow hard. “He’s the kind who doesn’t care who he hurts to get what he wants. And now we’re stuck playing defense, waiting for his next move, and I fucking hate it.”
The men watch me as I talk, and I can see the tension in their bodies. They hate this situation as much as I do.
“He took everything,” I continue, my voice getting rougher. “My home, the tattoo parlor, my gang. All the pictures I had of my dad, every memory, every fucking thing I owned—it’s all gone now. And the worst part is, I know that’s exactly what he wanted. He told me himself that he was going to strip everything away until I had nothing left. And then he did it.”
“No,” Willow says firmly, her voice taking on an edge I’ve never heard before. “No, he didn’t. You still have your men, right?”
I swallow, glancing over at them. The sight is like a balm to my shattered soul. “Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”
“Then you haven’t lost everything. You still have your life. You still have friends.”
“You’re right.” I let the words linger on my tongue, trying to truly absorb the truth of them.
There’s a brief silence from the phone, then Willow says, “Why don’t you come over? All of you—you and your men. I don’t know how much help I can be, but maybe I can help you figure out what to do next. Where to go from here.”
I hesitate, already shaking my head. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t want to drag you into our mess?—”
“Quinn.” She cuts me off. “What did I just say about having friends?”
Another surprised laugh escapes me. “Fair point.”
“The guys will help too. They’re good at strategy, at seeing angles others might miss.” She pauses. “And even if they were a bit reluctant at first, I know they’ll want to help. They respect what your father did, helping us out when he didn’t have to. We’ve got a lot in common, you and I, and they recognize that. They respect you too.”
I draw in a breath, considering her offer. It’s strange, the idea of having more people to lean on than just myself and the three men who have become like parts of me. But having more eyes on the problem couldn’t hurt. And the Voronin brothers are smart as hell, not to mention some dangerous motherfuckers in their own right.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Yeah. We’ll come over.”