Bonds of Obsession (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #3)

39. Killian

39

KILLIAN

The streets of this city are more familiar to me at night than at any other time. I don’t know if it’s the darkness itself or the relative quiet after the sun goes down. Maybe it’s the moonlight.

Whatever the fuck it is, this is how I work best—alone and focused, with nothing but the hunt filling my mind. Quinn fought me on it earlier, those pretty gray eyes of hers flashing with worry.

“If something happens to you…” she’d started to say, but I shut her up with a kiss. Rough and deep, the way she likes it. The way I need it.

I’ve been systematically working my way through the list of places I found when I broke into Emmett’s house. From the look of the place, he must’ve cleared out weeks ago, but he left enough breadcrumbs for me to follow. Arrogant and sloppy, just like we were counting on. The kind of weak fuck who would sell out his own people because a woman didn’t want him.

My fingers itch to wrap around his throat and feel the life drain out of him for what he did to Quinn. Then I’d do it all over again for the way he got Atlas taken and tortured within an inch of his fucking life.

But now I’m being selfish. Unfortunately, we still need Emmett alive. For now.

I pull up in Quinn’s car outside Murphy’s Bar, remembering the matchbook I found in Emmett’s place. The parking lot reeks of exhaust and piss, and I can hear the noise of distant traffic mixed with 80’s rock that’s blaring from a jukebox inside.

I stick to the shadows, keeping my head down and avoiding the neon lights until I get to the grimy windows and take a look inside. The place is busier than I thought it would be, but that just works to my advantage.

The door squeals on rusted hinges as I step inside. Music pounds through blown speakers, and the floor is sticky enough to grab at my boots with every step. I’ve been known to hang out in some sketchy fucking places, but this? This joint reeks of stale beer and cheap cologne—exactly the kind of place I’d expect to find my least favorite walking asshole.

Almost subconsciously, I’ve already started doing a quick sweep, cataloging exits and threats as easily and naturally as breathing. There are two doors besides the main entrance, and a handful of bikers who are focused on a game of pool for now, but might cause me some trouble later.

Past the pool table, there are at least three working girls looking for johns. And there, perched on a barstool like he’s above it all, is my target.

Emmett.

Something dark and primal spreads in my chest. I like to think of it as the predator in me, and he’s always waiting just beneath the surface to come alive at the sight of my prey. My jaw clenches as I watch him trying to hit on some blonde at the bar, leaning in too close like the desperate fuck he is. His hands gesture wildly as he talks, probably lying about how important he is with the Tyrants these days.

He probably used to do the same fucking thing when he was with Enigma.

I slide through the crowd until I find a shadowy corner where I can watch him. This is what I do best. It’s what I was made for.

The blonde is already looking for an escape, and her eyes keep darting toward the bathroom. Perfect. Once she makes her move, I’ll make mine. And then Emmett’s going to learn what happens to rats who bite the hand that once fed them.

A cruel smile tugs at my lips as I settle deeper into my corner. I can be patient for now. Pretty soon, it’ll be time to show this fucker exactly why Quinn chose us over him.

Watching Emmett try to work his game makes my stomach turn. He’s got his elbows on the bar, leaning into the blonde’s space like he thinks he’s some kind of player. It’s the same way he used to hover around Quinn, always finding excuses to be near her or touch her arm. Any fucking thing to try to prove he was worthy of her attention.

“You should see how the Tyrants run things now,” he says, his voice carrying over the shitty music. “Not like before. We’re making real moves.”

Fucking traitorous rat.

The blonde, to her credit, isn’t buying the shit he’s selling. She keeps checking her phone, probably counting the minutes until she can bail. Emmett orders another drink, trying to keep her there, and I can see his desperation growing. Fucking weak little bitch of a man.

My hands clench. It would be so easy to walk up behind him and slam his face into the bar. Fuck, I could actually get off on watching his teeth scatter across the sticky floor.

That’s a fantasy I might have to indulge sometime. Maybe another night.

For now, I have my orders not to take things too far. Not until he can lead us to Ambrose.

The blonde finally stands and mumbles something about the bathroom. Emmett’s shoulders slump as she walks away. He’s so fucking pathetic. He signals the bartender for another drink, no doubt planning to drown his rejection in cheap whiskey.

I wait until the blonde is halfway down the hall before I move. The crowd parts around me like they can sense the violence I’m planning. Good. They should.

She’s pulling out her phone when I catch up to her. Years of hunting practice keep my footsteps nearly silent in spite of the fact that I take up most of the room in the narrow hallway.

“Hey.” I keep my voice low so she’s the only one who can hear me. She jumps, but doesn’t scream. Another good sign. “Want to make some quick cash?”

Her eyes narrow, assessing me. She’s smart and professional. I like that. “Depends on what you’re asking.”

“Nothing you can’t handle.” I pull out five twenties, crisp and new. “Get that guy at the bar to follow you out back. That’s it.”

She glances at the money, then back at me. “The chatty one? With the shitty pickup lines?”

“That’s him.”

A small smile plays at her lips as she takes the cash with no other questions asked. This isn’t her first rodeo. “Give me two minutes. There’s a door by the dumpsters.”

I nod, already moving toward the back exit. This is why I love working alone. No messy explanations. No hesitation. Just the clean efficiency of the hunt.

I push open the back door and step into the dark alley. There’s plenty of garbage and piss and a few rats, but no other witnesses. Nobody comes back here except to score some drugs or to have a quick, drunken fuck.

Or maybe to die.

I position myself so I’ll be hidden behind the door when it opens. My body is already fucking thrumming with anticipation, the way it always does before I get the chance to fuck somebody’s whole world up. I just wish I could indulge every dark impulse I have and give the bastard the slow, painful death he deserves.

Someday.

I can already taste Emmett’s fear on my tongue. It’s been too fucking long since I made someone scream or watched the light fade from their eyes as they realized just how fucked they were.

The sound of the blonde’s voice on the other side of the door makes me smile.

It’s show time.

Emmett stumbles out into the alley with his hands all over the blonde, trying to get under her shirt before they’re even fully outside. Stupid, drunken idiot. The stink of cheap whiskey rolls off him in waves.

The door bangs shut behind them, the sound covering my footsteps as I move into place behind him. I wait, following on his heels as he guides her across the alley and presses her against the brick wall. Her eyes meet mine over his shoulder and I give her a quick nod, just enough time to let her twist away as I strike.

Not many things in this world feel quite as satisfying as slamming my fist into the base of his skull. The hit is clean and precise, meant to drop a man without killing him. Emmett crumples like the sack of shit he is, his face bouncing off the pavement with a wet, satisfying smack.

Blood spreads in a small pool beneath his nose. The sight of it stirs something in me, and I’m sorely tempted to do so much more damage. I could happily make him suffer for every bit of pain he’s caused Quinn.

My boot hovers over his head. One stomp. That’s all it would take to end him. To crush his skull like the worthless thing it is. To feel bone give way beneath my heel.

The rage in my gut takes me right back to the way I felt when I was eight years old, watching my mother’s face disappear beneath the water. When I learned how good it feels to end someone who deserves it.

But Quinn needs him alive. We all do. The thought of her is enough to make me step back and chain down the monster that wants to paint this alley with Emmett’s blood and brain matter.

Still, I allow myself one swift kick to his ribs. The crack is deeply satisfying. Just a little down payment for Atlas. I’ll make more payments—with interest—later.

The blonde doesn’t even flinch as I pull out more cash. Yeah, my instincts were spot on this time. “Extra for keeping your mouth shut,” I tell her, holding out the bills. Five of them, all hundreds. And one hundred percent worth it to keep things quiet.

She takes the money with an easy nod. “I never saw a thing.” Her eyes drift to Emmett’s unconscious body. “The scumbag was getting a little too handsy anyway.”

I grunt in agreement. She heads back inside without another word or a backward glance. Perfect.

I can appreciate anyone who has seen enough shit to know when to walk away and keep on walking.

The alley falls quiet again except for the distant hum of traffic and Emmett’s shallow wheezing. I hope I punctured a fucking lung.

My hands itch to do more damage. I’d give anything to carve into him until he’s screaming and begging. Until he knows exactly what it felt like for Atlas, being tortured while the rest of us could only listen.

The image of Quinn’s face when she heard Atlas’s screams flashes through my mind. The way she broke down afterward. The emptiness in her eyes. Yeah, I should take this motherfucker apart until all that’s left is a pile of dog meat and regret.

I crouch down beside him and run my blade along his cheek. Just enough pressure to raise a thin line of blood. “You’re lucky we need you breathing,” I tell him. “But your time will run out soon.”

Standing, I wipe my blade clean on his shirt. Time to deliver this rat to Quinn. Then the real fun begins.

I zip-tie his wrists behind his back, pulling them tight enough to bite into his skin. Quinn’s car is parked in the shadows at the end of the alley. As I drag Emmett’s dead weight across the pavement, I think about how she trusted me with her car. With this mission. With everything. It’s the kind of trust I never thought I’d have from anyone aside from Nico and Atlas.

Blood from Emmett’s broken nose leaves a trail behind us. Good. Let him bleed. Let him hurt. It’s nothing compared to what he deserves for betraying her.

I throw him in the trunk like the garbage he is. His head thunks against the metal side, and a small groan escapes his lips. He’s still mostly unconscious though.

The trunk slams shut and I slide in behind the steering wheel. My knuckles are bruised and bloody, but I can’t help smiling as I lean forward and turn up the radio. This night is turning out even better than I imagined.

Less than twenty minutes later, the luxury high-rise where we’re staying looms ahead like a billion dollar fortress. There’s no doorman at this hour. No witnesses. Just empty halls and the quiet hum of the air conditioning.

Emmett starts stirring as I haul him over my shoulder. His breath hitches as consciousness creeps back in. Bad fucking timing for him.

The elevator doors slide open with a soft ding, and I step inside, adjusting his weight. The mirrored walls reflect us back at ourselves—predator and prey. His eyes flutter open just as the doors close.

Thank fuck for these mirrors, because now I get to see the look of sheer panic flooding his ugly face when he realizes where he is and who has him. His legs start thrashing, trying to break free.

Amateur move.

“Let go of me, you son of a?—”

I slam him against the elevator wall, knocking the air out of him as I wrap a hand around his throat. I like the way his eyes bulge as I squeeze, so I squeeze a little tighter. “Keep fighting,” I whisper. “Give me half a fucking reason.”

The look in his eyes says he believes me. Good. He should.

I haven’t taken my hand off his throat, and I can feel his struggles get weaker as his consciousness starts to fade again. Black spots are probably dancing in his vision right about now. I can see the moment his brain shuts everything down in a last-ditch effort to survive, and he goes limp against the mirrored wall.

I hold the pressure a few seconds longer, just because I can, before letting him slump to the floor.

The elevator climbs higher. Twenty floors to go. I look down at Emmett’s pathetic form, remembering how he used to strut around like he was something. Like he deserved Quinn.

“You should’ve stayed in your lane,” I tell him as he wheezes. “You’re about to learn what happens to bitches and snitches.”

The elevator dings again, and it’s time to deliver my present to Quinn. I can’t wait to watch her face light up when she sees I’ve brought her exactly what she’s been wishing for.

Because that’s what monsters like me do for the ones we love. We hunt. We kill. We provide.

Quinn’s head snaps up the moment I drag Emmett through the door. The relief in her eyes hits me like a punch to the gut. Like everything else about her, it makes me want to destroy anyone who’s ever hurt her.

Atlas and Nico move immediately to help, but I catch the way Quinn’s shoulders relax. Knowing I did that for her—that I was the one who brought her this gift wrapped in zip ties and bruises—it feeds something primal inside me.

“I got you a present,” I tell her, dumping Emmett onto the floor. He groans and wriggles around like a worm on a hook, but he’s still only half-conscious and his movements are sluggish.

Quinn steps closer, and I can see the predator in her too. The way her eyes go cold and sharp as she looks down at the man who betrayed her. She doesn’t realize it, but she’s so fucking beautiful like this that it takes all my self-control not to throw her over my shoulder and walk right the fuck back out of here.

My hands itch to touch her, to pull her against me and taste the sweetness of her mouth. But there’s work to be done first. There’s pain to be inflicted and information to be extracted, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss all the fun.

“Doesn’t look like he gave you too much trouble,” Quinn says, glancing over at me before fixing her deadly stare on him again.

“Not too much.” I shrug. “I was kind of hoping he’d be more of a challenge, if I’m being honest. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to really fuck someone up the way they deserve.”

Atlas shoots me a grin and grabs Emmett’s shoulders while Nico gets his legs. We work together like we always have, three parts of the same machine moving in sync as we drag him to the back room we prepped earlier.

The chair is already waiting. It’s made of steel and sturdy as hell, but we’ve also bolted it to the floor, just in case. We put the rope around his chest first, pinning his upper body to the chair before we wrap even more around his legs. Nico checks the zip ties on his wrists, making sure they’re still cutting off circulation.

Good. Maybe I’ll get to cut this fucker’s hands off by the time we’re finished with him .

My brothers know what they’re doing. All three of us have secured plenty of bodies before an interrogation. Emmett won’t be going anywhere, no matter how badly he’ll want to.

Quinn watches from the doorway as we work. She doesn’t take her eyes off Emmett.

I step back to admire our handiwork. Emmett’s head lolls forward, but it’s time to wake him up and start the real fun.

My hand cracks across his face. Once. Twice. His eyes flutter open, and I can see panic flare in their depths as he realizes who I have with me and what’s about to happen.

A hoarse scream gurgles up his throat as he fully comes to. The fear pouring off of him is intoxicating, like prey that knows it’s fucked. I press my blade against his throat, just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.

“You keep screaming like that,” I tell him, “and I start removing pieces.”

His mouth snaps shut, his eyes going wide. Quinn steps closer, and I can feel her presence at my back. She’s the only thing keeping the monster inside me from ripping Emmett apart right now.

I glance over my shoulder at her, remembering how it felt when she was our captive. How even then, I couldn’t bring myself to truly hurt her.

“Remember when we had you?” I ask her, keeping the blade steady against Emmett’s throat. “Remember how I held back?”

She nods, her steady eyes burning into mine. She’s understanding exactly what I’m telling her.

“That won’t be a problem with him.” I almost catch myself smiling just thinking about what I might do to this son of a bitch. “Nothing would give me more pleasure than slitting his throat right now. I’d really love to watch him bleed out slowly while he realizes exactly who he fucked with.”

Emmett whimpers quietly. Tears stream down his face, mixing with blood and snot. Pathetic. This is the shit stain who thought he deserved Quinn?

My blade presses deeper, drawing more blood. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because we need information. So you’d better start praying to whatever god you believe in that you have something useful to tell us.”

The look in his eyes says he gets it. He knows exactly how fucked he is.

Good. Let him be afraid.

Because once he leads us to Ambrose, I’m going to take him apart piece by piece and make him suffer for every moment of pain he caused Quinn. Then I’ll do it all over again for every scream we heard from Atlas.

And I’m going to enjoy every fucking second of it.