7. Quinn
7
QUINN
I wake up to voices and the beginning of what’s going to be a killer headache, but I have no idea how long I was out. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes based on the warm aftershocks still tingling through my body and the still-way-too-sharp pain in my side.
“…tore at least three of her stitches,” Killian’s low voice rumbles above me. His fingers press gently at my bandages. “For fuck’s sake, Atlas.”
“Don’t start,” Atlas growls, but I can hear the guilt in his voice.
“Why not?” Nico cuts in, sharp and irritated. “This is, what, the second time you two have tried to fuck yourselves to death? First after we got you back from Ambrose, and now with her sporting these fucking stab wounds?”
“I said don’t fucking start,” Atlas snaps. “She needed?—”
“Oh, she needed your dick that badly?” Killian is as exasperated as I’ve ever heard him. “More than she needed her wounds to heal? That’s fascinating. Tell me more about your magical healing cock.”
“Fuck off,” Atlas mutters, but he’s taken his tone down a couple of notches.
“We can’t leave you two alone for ten fucking minutes,” Killian continues, his fingers still methodically checking my bandages. “I think next time I’m gonna tie you both down. Separately.”
“Like that would stop them,” Nico says with a snort. “They’d probably chew through the restraints to get to each other.”
I blink my eyes open, squinting against the light. “You know I can hear all of this, right?”
Three pairs of eyes snap to my face. Atlas looks guilty, Nico looks annoyed, and Killian just looks done with all of us.
“Good,” Killian says flatly. “Then you can hear me tell you that if you tear these stitches again, I’m sewing Atlas’s cock to his fucking leg until you heal.”
“You wouldn’t.” I almost catch myself cracking a smile at the mental image before another jolt of pain makes me think twice.
He arches an eyebrow. “Try me, siren. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you alive.”
“He would,” Nico confirms, crossing his arms. “And I’d help him do it.”
Atlas moves closer, and I can see every ounce of guilt and worry in his expression. His hand brushes my arm, tentative in a way that’s so unlike him it makes my chest ache. “Fuck, vicious. I’d cut my own dick off if it meant?—”
“Let’s not get crazy,” I interrupt, managing a weak smile. “Temporary dick suspension is enough.”
But he doesn’t smile back. “How bad is it? And don’t fucking lie to me.”
“I’m okay.” When his jaw clenches, I add, “Really. I am.”
“You were supposed to tell me if it hurt.” The accusation in his voice is dulled by the sheer amount of concern underneath.
I meet his eyes steadily. “I wanted it to hurt.”
Understanding passes through the room. Killian’s expression shifts, and some of the irritation fades as he looks between Atlas and me. Even Nico seems to relax a little.
They get it now. They would have done the same thing if I’d asked, and we all know it.
Killian breaks the silence after a moment. “Well, nothing is torn too badly. Most of the bleeding has already stopped.” He glances at Atlas, clearly trying to ease some of his guilt. “She probably just passed out from the endorphin crash combined with the pain spike. It happens sometimes when people push their bodies too far, too fast.”
“See?” I reach for Atlas’s hand, threading my fingers through his. “I’m fine. Stop looking at me like you almost killed me.”
“You’re not fine,” he argues, but his thumb strokes over my knuckles. “You passed out.”
“Yeah, but in the sexy way, not the dying way.”
Nico snorts. “I didn’t know there were different ways to pass out…”
“There’s a huge difference,” I shrug, then wince as Killian prods a particularly tender spot. “The sexy way means I got to come first.”
“Jesus Christ,” Killian mutters, but there’s a hint of a grin on his face now. “You two are practically the same person.”
Atlas’s grip on my hand tightens. “Yeah,” he says roughly. “We are.”
I don’t even try to deny it. I just squeeze his hand back, trying to let him know without words that I don’t regret a single fucking second. I needed this—needed him—exactly the way it played out. From the way his eyes soften as they meet mine, I’m pretty sure he understands.
“I’m still gonna kick your ass if you try this again before she heals,” Killian warns, but there’s no bite in his tone anymore.
“Noted,” Atlas says without looking away from me.
I reach up, my fingers finding the place on Atlas’s torso where his stitches used to be—the ones from Ambrose’s torture. “Remember these?” My fingertips trace the fresh scars. “You begged me to fuck you with these still in. If you get to risk being hurt for me, I get to do the same for you.”
His hand covers mine where it rests just below his chest, and for a moment we just look at each other, sharing an understanding that goes beyond words.
The moment breaks when I shift and feel the sticky, half-dried cum between my thighs. Even though Atlas clearly tried to clean me up while I was out, I still feel messy. “I need a shower,” I mutter, pushing myself to sit up.
All three men move at once. Atlas’s hand goes to my back, Killian reaches for my arm, and Nico steps closer, blocking my path to the bathroom.
“Seriously?” I look at the three of them in turn. “I can take a fucking shower by myself.”
“Like hell you can,” Killian says. “You just passed out.”
“Yeah, like ten minutes ago.”
“Five,” Atlas corrects. “And that’s not helping your case.”
I look to Nico for support, but he just crosses his arms. “Don’t even try it, mia cara. One of us is going in there with you.”
“Or all of us,” Killian adds with a shrug. “The bathroom is kind of small though.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I throw up my hands. “Fine. One of you can come make sure I don’t drown in the shower. Happy now?”
Somehow, we all end up crowding into the small bathroom together. Nico strips and steps into the shower with me while Atlas and Killian hover near the sink, neither willing to leave.
“This is ridiculous,” I mutter, but I have to admit—within the privacy of my own thoughts, at least—that I love the way they love me. The way they care about what happens to me.
Nico’s hands are gentle as he peels away my bandages, but there’s still a hint of disapproval in his tone. “What’s ridiculous is the way you keep acting like you’re fucking invincible all the time.” He examines each wound carefully before starting to clean them. “Hold still, mia cara.”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t have any room to talk when it comes to acting invincible,” I point out, hissing when the water hits one of the wounds.
He mutters something in Italian that doesn’t sound like he agrees, but he doesn’t try to stop me when I lean into his touch. His hands move over me, washing away the remnants of blood and sweat and sex. His touch is thorough but chaste, even though I’d just as happily let him—then Killian, then Atlas again—fuck me into a coma. There’s nothing sexual about this shower though. Just care.
“Are you good?” he murmurs when he notices me swaying slightly.
“Yeah,” I breathe, grateful for his steadiness as a wave of dizziness hits me. “Just…”
“I’ve got you.” His arm wraps around my waist, holding me up.
I should feel vulnerable like this. I’m completely naked, wounded, and weaker than I’ve ever been. But surrounded by these three men? These dangerous, deadly men who look at me like I’m the most important thing in the world?
I’ve never felt safer.
The dizziness ebbs away slowly, leaving my head mostly clear even if it still feels like I’ve gone eight rounds with a bear.
Nico picks up where he left off, washing me like I’m made of glass, like I’m some priceless work of art that might shatter under too much pressure. His fingers trace my skin with an almost religious reverence, cleaning away the dried blood, sweat, and cum with a gentleness I don’t get to see very often.
Part of me wants to tell him I’m not that fucking fragile, that I won’t break if he uses normal pressure. But there’s something oddly comforting about being treated this way after everything that’s happened. After being stabbed and chained and hunted like an animal, it feels… nice to be handled like something precious.
Still, we can’t stay in this bubble forever.
“Tell me you guys have some kind of plan,” I say, breaking the quiet calm that’s settled over the bathroom.
The silence that follows is answer enough.
“Malcolm and his people might be searching the wrong side of town right now,” I continue, going by the little bit of information I got from Atlas earlier. “But eventually they’ll make it over here. And when they do…”
“Our lives get about ten times more dangerous,” Atlas finishes grimly from his spot near the sink.
Nico’s hands go still on my skin for a moment before resuming their methodical cleaning. “We’ve been discussing options.”
“And?” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.
“And they all fucking suck,” Killian says bluntly.
Even without hearing any other details, I can see it in their faces that we’re trapped between impossible choices. Malcolm alone would be dangerous enough to deal with, but the entire Syndicate? Together, they’re a fucking nightmare.
“We could try to fight,” Atlas suggests, but there’s a hollowness to his voice that tells me even he doesn’t believe it’s viable.
I let out a harsh laugh. “Against all the resources and hired firepower the Dark Lotus Syndicate can muster? That’s not a fight, that’s a suicide mission.”
“So we run?” Nico’s voice is soft against my ear as he gently turns me and starts to wash my back.
“Where would we go?” Killian asks. “They’ve got connections everywhere. The moment we pop up on someone’s radar, we’re dead.”
The water beats down on my shoulders as I process everything. Killian is right—running isn’t much better than fighting. Malcolm isn’t going to just let this go. Not after we made him look weak in front of the others by escaping when he ordered us to be killed. That’s not the kind of thing that gets forgotten. Or forgiven.
“They want blood,” I say finally, voicing what I’m sure we’re all thinking. “And they’re not going to stop until they get it.”
“No,” Atlas agrees. “They’re not.”
Nico’s fingers trace one of my wounds with devastating gentleness. “We need more time. Time to think, to plan.”
“Time we don’t fucking have,” I huff. “Every minute we spend here is another minute they could be getting closer.”
His hands tighten slightly on my waist. “I know.”
We all fall silent again, letting the sound of running water fill the small space. Four people against one of the most powerful criminal organizations I’ve ever encountered. The odds are so far from being in our favor that it’s almost laughable.
But there’s nothing funny about the way my heart rate kicks up when I think about Malcolm finding us here. There’s nothing fucking amusing about imagining his cold smile as he orders his people to finish what they started in that room under Noctura.
The conversation dies out as Nico finishes washing me, since none of us have any brilliant solutions to offer. He helps me out of the shower and the guys pass us towels, but the heavy silence sticks around. Staying hidden seems to be our only real option right now, but it’s just delaying the inevitable. Sooner or later, we’ll have to make the choice to either fight or run.
But for now, as I dry off and let them help me put on fresh bandages, I feel safe enough to push that decision off just a little longer. We have a place to rest, some basic medical supplies, and each other. It’ll have to be enough until we can figure out what the fuck to do next.
The days blur together in this safe house, each one bleeding into the next as my wounds start to heal. The stitches still pull when I move too fast, but the stabbing pain has dulled to a persistent ache. Physically, I’m getting stronger. But mentally?
This place is fucking wearing on me.
I pace the small rooms like a caged animal, trying to outrun the growing sense of urgency in the pit of my stomach. All four of us are stuck here. Trapped here. Waiting to be found, waiting to make a decision, waiting for something to change. The walls feel like they’re closing in a little more each day.
My men try to help, of course. Atlas keeps watch by the windows. Killian checks my wounds and makes sure I’m healing properly. Nico brings me water, food, anything I need. But they can’t give me the one thing I really want—a way for the four of us to get the fuck out of this mess.
At night, when I can’t sleep, the memories start creeping in. Being held down, being trapped, being helpless. My breath catches in my throat as rough hands pin me down, as voices from my past mix with Malcolm’s, then Ambrose’s. The gang rape from years ago bleeds into being chained to that wall at Noctura, and suddenly I’m completely helpless again, unable to fight back or to protect myself.
I sit up in bed and force myself to breathe. This safe house doesn’t feel very fucking safe right now. It feels like a tomb, like we’re just waiting here to die. And that waiting, that helplessness, is worse than any physical pain. At least pain means you’re still fighting. This is just surrender in slow motion.
So when the disquieting stillness of the safe house is broken a day later by a knock on the door, I’m almost relieved, even as my muscles tense in preparation for a fight.
The men and I all freeze, sharing a quick glance as if to be certain that we all heard it. Atlas and Nico pull their weapons while Killian moves to stand between me and the entrance. But then we hear Kendrick’s low whistle—our agreed-upon signal—and some of the tension bleeds out of the room.
Atlas lets him in, checking the hall before securing the door again. Kendrick’s big frame fills the doorway as he steps inside, and his eyes find mine first.
“You’re looking better than last time I saw you,” he says gruffly.
“Kinda hard not to,” I reply with a hint of a smile. “Last time I was bleeding out.”
He grunts in acknowledgment, then turns to Nico. “I’ve got some news. I managed to get a couple other guys I trust on board with us. Trevor and Marcus. They were both feeling pretty fucking done with Zoey’s bullshit.”
“Not surprising, considering the kind of leader she is.” Nico’s voice is sharp. “But are you sure we can trust them?”
“As much as you can trust me.” Kendrick shrugs. “They’re doing recon in different parts of the city, helping keep eyes out for any Syndicate movement.”
Something in Nico’s stance relaxes slightly. If Trevor and Marcus were interested in selling us out, it probably would’ve already happened.
“Speaking of movement,” Kendrick continues. “That woman you described—tall, auburn hair, green eyes? She’s been to her penthouse building three times in the past two days.”
“Imogen.” My stomach clenches. “She must be trying to track us.”
“Fuck,” Atlas mutters. “That means it’s only a matter of time before they start poking around closer to this place.”
I feel the walls start to close in again as that trapped feeling comes back with full force. But I push it back down, focusing on the tactical implications instead of my fear. “If Imogen is still looking for us downtown, that means they don’t know about this place yet.”
“Yet being the operative word,” Nico grumbles.
I notice the way Killian’s jaw tightens at the mention of Imogen. It’s a subtle shift, one that most people wouldn’t catch. But I know him well enough now to see the tension rippling just below that carefully controlled surface.
Kendrick keeps talking, updating us on other areas of the city he’s checked, but my attention stays mostly on Killian. When he suddenly stands and leaves the room without a word, my chest tightens.
I catch Nico’s eye, and he gives me a slight nod. I’m sure he knows as well as I do that something isn’t right.
I follow Killian out as Atlas asks Kendrick about the other Syndicate members, but I let their voices fade behind me. The safe house isn’t big, so there aren’t many places he could have gone. But my heart still pounds a little faster as I move from room to room looking for him. Not from fear, but from something that feels a lot like worry for this dangerous man who rarely shows what he’s actually feeling.
And that’s exactly why I need to find him. Because when Killian does show emotion, it usually means something is already very, very wrong.