40. Quinn
40
QUINN
It’s been hours since Malcolm asked who they should start with. Hours since they dragged Rafael from his cell, ignoring his struggles and pleas. Hours of listening to his screams until they eventually stopped.
They made us watch.
That was the worst part—not just hearing Rafael’s agony, but being forced to witness every second of it. Malcolm wanted us to see what happens to people who betray him. Wanted us to understand exactly what we were in for.
Rafael lasted longer than I expected. Even with all the things they did to him—the cuts, the burns, the methodical breaking of his fingers one by one—he held on, probably hoping that someone would come for us. That there would be some last-minute rescue.
But no one came. And eventually, Rafael stopped fighting. Not long after that, he stopped breathing.
They left his body on the concrete floor as a reminder, just a few feet away from our cages. His eyes are still open, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, and there’s so much blood that it’s pooled beneath him and started to congeal at the edges.
The smell of death is heavy in the air, mingling with the damp concrete and the metallic tang of blood. It clings to the back of my throat, making me gag every time I breathe too deeply.
Malcolm and Elliot took a break after they were finished with Rafael, but now they’re coming back, and I can hear their footsteps on the concrete just before they come into view. My heart is pounding in my chest as they pause in front of our cages, sizing us up like they’re deciding which animal to slaughter next.
“This one,” Malcolm says, pointing at Nico’s cage.
Fuck.
“No,” I whisper before I can stop myself.
Elliot smirks at me as he unlocks Nico’s cell. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll get your turn.”
Two of Malcolm’s guards step up and grab Nico by the arms to start dragging him out of the cage. He struggles against them, landing a solid punch to one guard’s jaw before the other slams the butt of his gun into Nico’s stomach, making him double over, gasping for breath.
“Bring him here,” Malcolm orders, gesturing to the center of the room where the concrete is still stained with Rafael’s blood.
Nico looks over and gives me the smallest nod, silently telling me he’ll be okay even though we both know that’s a lie.
They start by punching and kicking him, the sound of their blows making me flinch every time. Nico barely makes a sound, occasionally grunting or sucking in a gulp of air. He doesn’t give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, though, and all I can do is keep praying that he’s able to withstand whatever they have in store for him.
But then they bring out other tools—things I try not to look at too closely because it makes me sick to think about what they’re doing to him.
I always thought Malcolm was the worst member of the Dark Lotus Syndicate, the most vicious and heartless. But watching Elliot now, I realize I was wrong. He’s every bit as brutal as Malcolm, maybe even more so because he seems to genuinely enjoy it. The way he smiles when he makes Nico groan in pain, the almost tender way he selects each new instrument of torture—it’s fucking sickening.
I should never have imagined I had a chance to convert Elliot to my side. He and Malcolm are cut from the same brutal, monstrous cloth. The realization makes me feel like an idiot. My naive hope that Elliot might turn against Malcolm because of what happened to his mother was just that—naive. He doesn’t care about his mother. or anyone else. He only cares about raw power. And right now, he has it.
My entire body is so tense that my muscles are starting to ache. I can barely breathe as I watch them take out their anger and frustration on Nico. They’ve stripped him to the waist, and his chest and back are covered in cuts and bruises.
Elliot circles him with a cattle prod in his hand, tapping it against his palm in what can only be described as sadistic anticipation.
“You know what this is?” he asks, holding the prod in front of Nico’s face. Without waiting for an answer, he presses it against Nico’s side.
Electricity crackles through the air. Nico’s body goes rigid as every muscle tenses at once. His jaw clenches so tight I can see the muscles standing out in his neck, but he doesn’t scream. He won’t give them the satisfaction.
“That’s it,” Elliot says in a soft, almost gentle voice. “Fight it all you want. It only makes it sweeter when you finally break.”
Malcolm stands a few feet away, watching. He hasn’t said much, seemingly content to let Elliot do most of the dirty work.
“I wonder what your pretty wife thinks about all this,” Elliot says to Nico, glancing over at me. “She’s the reason you’re here, after all. Her little rebellion is what’s going to get you all killed.”
Nico spits blood onto the floor. “Fuck you.”
Elliot laughs and hits him with the prod again, this time holding it against his stomach for several long seconds. Nico’s body convulses as his muscles spasm uncontrollably. His face contorts in agony, but still, he doesn’t scream.
I can see it in his eyes though. The pain and the fear that he won’t be able to hold out much longer. That they’ll break him in front of me.
I grip the bars of my cage harder, holding his gaze whenever he looks my way. I try to pour every ounce of strength I have into that connection, silently telling him that I’m here, that I see him, that I’m not looking away no matter how hard it gets.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper when Elliot turns his back for a moment. I don’t know if Nico can hear me, but I need to say it. Need him to know that I never wanted this for him, for any of them.
His eyes find mine across the room, and despite everything, there’s a flicker of something in them that isn’t pain or fear. Something warmer.
Love.
“Worth it,” he mouths back, the words barely audible but unmistakable.
My chest tightens. Even now, even here, in the middle of this nightmare, he’s thinking of me. Telling me that whatever happens, whatever they do to him, it was worth it. I was worth it.
I don’t deserve this man. I don’t deserve any of them. But dammit, I’m going to get them out of here if it’s the last thing I do.
Elliot notices our silent exchange and his face darkens. “How sweet,” he sneers. “You still love each other, even in the face of death.” He tosses the cattle prod from one hand to the other, then suddenly cranks it to a higher setting. The device hums with increased power, and the sound makes my stomach clench. “Let’s see how much he really loves you when he can’t even remember your name.”
“Stop,” I call out. “Just stop. You’ve made your point.”
Malcolm steps forward with a cold smile on his face. “Actually, we’re just getting started.” He nods to Elliot. “Show her what happens when someone tries to take what’s mine.”
Elliot smiles as he steps closer to Nico. A guard grabs Nico’s hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat while another douses him with water.
“Water conducts electricity,” Elliot explains, as if he’s giving a fucking science lesson. “Makes the experience so much more intense.”
A strangled sound escapes my throat as Elliot presses the cattle prod against Nico’s chest. Nico’s entire body convulses, his back arching in agony as electricity courses through him. This time, he can’t hold back a groan that tears from deep in his throat.
“Don’t worry,” Elliot says, looking at me. “I won’t kill him yet. That would be too merciful.” He applies the prod again, this time to Nico’s shoulder. Nico’s face contorts in pain as his muscles seize. “First, I’m going to make him suffer. Then I’m going to do the same to your other two dogs. And then, when you’ve watched them all break, when you’ve heard them scream and beg for death, then maybe—maybe—I’ll let you join them.”
“You’re a fucking monster,” I hiss.
“Yes,” he agrees easily. “I am. And you should have known better than to fight monsters.”
He’s right. I should have known better. Should have been smarter and more careful. I should have found another way.
But it’s too late for should-haves now. All I can do is watch as Elliot continues his work, shocking Nico again and again until his body is covered in sweat and his breathing comes in ragged gasps. He’s bruised and battered, but fighting—still fighting against the pain, against giving them what they want.
And all I can do is hold Nico’s gaze whenever he looks my way, silently promising him that this won’t be the end. That somehow, some way, we’ll survive this.
Elliot shocks him again and I can’t fucking take it anymore.
Every time the cattle prod touches Nico’s skin, every time his body convulses with pain, it feels like I’m being torn apart from the inside out. And the worst part is, I know Nico. I know how stubborn he is and how much pride he has. He’ll never give Malcolm and Elliot what they want. He’ll never beg, much less break like they think he will—and that terrifies me. Because the longer he holds out, the more frustrated they’ll get. And the more frustrated they get, the more likely they are to just kill him and move on to their next victim.
I have to do something. Anything.
“Malcolm,” I call out. “You need to stop this bullshit.”
He turns to look at me, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “I don’t think you’re in a position to tell me what I need to do.”
He’s right, but I’m ignoring that fact for now.
“I’m the one you’re pissed at, though, right?” I glare at him through the bars of my cage. He might have the upper hand, but I’m not giving up until the cold, bitter end. “I’m the one who tried to turn your people against you. I’m the one who married you and then plotted your death. So why are you taking it out on everyone else when I’m right here in front of you?”
He studies me for a long moment with his head tilted to the side like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle. Then his lips curve into a slow smile.
“You know what? You make an excellent point.” He gestures to the two guards holding Nico. “Put this dog back in his cage.”
The guards look confused for a moment, but they don’t question the order. They drag Nico back to his cell, and he’s barely able to resist this time. He’s breathing hard, and his skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, but his eyes find mine as they lock him back in. He’s silently begging me to stop talking, to not draw attention to myself.
Too late.
Malcolm walks over to my cage with measured, deliberate footsteps. The gleam in his eyes makes my stomach tighten into a knot. It’s not just evil. Not even pure hatred—though there’s plenty of that too.
It’s anticipation. Belatedly, I realize he’s been waiting for this very moment. Waiting for me to give him another excuse to turn his wrath on me.
“You’re right,” he says. “When it comes down to it, this is between you and me. I’m still going to take it out on all of you, but if you’re so eager to be next…” He pulls out a key and unlocks my cage. “I’m happy to grant that wish for you.”
I back away from the door, but there’s nowhere to go in the tiny space. Malcolm reaches in and grabs my arm to drag me out. I struggle against him, landing a solid kick to his shin, but Elliot is there in an instant to lock on to my other arm. Together, they pull me out and force me to my knees in the center of the room, right where Rafael died. Right where they tortured Nico..
Malcolm is standing over me, looking down with that same unsettling combination of barely checked anger and anticipation. His hand shoots out to grab my jaw, forcing my face up to look at him.
“So much like your mother,” he says, the disgust clear in his voice. “Always so clever. Always thinking you can find some way to talk yourself out of things. Always manipulating everyone around you.”
The words hit me like a slap to the face. My throat goes tight, making it hard to breathe.
“What are you talking about?” I ask. “You said you barely knew my mother.”
He smirks as his fingers tighten on my jaw. “I lied.”
I stare up at him, confused and angry, as he finally releases my face and steps back.
“Your father did a job for me, that much is true,” he says, beginning to circle me slowly. “A simple elimination of a rival. And he was very good at what he did. Clean and efficient. I admired his work.”
I stay silent as I watch him move around me. How much of this is the truth? Can I trust anything he says? My mind is racing to understand what he’s getting at, to lessen whatever blow that I know is coming.
“That’s how I met your mother,” he continues. “She was so beautiful. So intelligent. Perfect in every way.”
My stomach drops as the pieces start to click into place.
“I wanted her from the moment I saw her,” Malcolm says in a dreamy way that’s somehow more terrifying than his anger. “I tried to be patient. I courted her—gifts, attention, promises of a better life than your father could give her. But she…” His face darkens. “She rejected me. Again and again.”
“She was too smart for you,” I hiss, unable to keep the words in even though I know I’m probably getting myself into even more trouble.
Does it even matter anymore? He can only kill me once, and it can’t get any worse than that.
Malcolm’s hand cracks across my face so fast I don’t even see it coming. The blow snaps my head to the side, and the taste of blood fills my mouth where my teeth cut into my cheek.
“I was patient,” he continues as if I hadn’t spoken, as if he hadn’t just hit me. “I gave her time. I thought surely she would see what I could offer her, what we could build together. But eventually, I realized the truth.” His eyes harden. “She was just stringing me along. Playing with me. She was never going to leave Jonah.”
He crouches down so his face is level with mine, and I can feel his hot breath against my skin. “So I made a decision. If I couldn’t have her, no one would.”
“You killed her,” I whisper as the realization settling in the pit of my stomach.
The smile that spreads across his face makes me want to vomit. “And then I made it look like she had been killed in retaliation for the job your father did for me. A tragic consequence of his actions.” He stands again, smoothing his hands down the front of his suit. “And then, because I’m a generous man, I offered Jonah a marker for entrance into the Dark Lotus Syndicate as compensation for his loss.”
My mind is reeling, struggling to process everything he’s just told me. My mother. My fucking mother. This monster in front of me killed her and then had the audacity to offer my father a place in his organization as compensation—like any amount of clout in this fucking city could ever replace the woman he loved.
“You’re lying,” I say, but I have a sickening feeling that he’s not. “My father would have known. He would have figured it out.”
Malcolm only offers a dismissive grunt. “Jonah never figured it out. He was too fucking broken after her death to look too closely at the circumstances, and too devastated to ever use his marker.” He circles me again, closer this time. “But then, imagine my surprise when one day, a woman who looked just like her—but with that ridiculous teal hair—showed up at Noctura.”
The pieces click into place. The way he’s looked at me since the first time we met. The way he seemed to see someone else when he stared at me. It wasn’t just my imagination. He’s so obsessed with my mother that he’s been seeing her in me all along.
There’s no mistaking the darkness that crosses his face as he narrows his eyes at me. “Your mother made a mistake. She chose the wrong man. And she paid for it.” He crouches down in front of me again. “I should never have given you a chance like I gave her. But I wanted to let you atone for her poor judgment. I wanted to give you the opportunity to make the right choice where she failed.”
He reaches out and grabs my chin again, then presses his thumb against my cheekbone, right below my eye, rubbing back and forth as if he’s trying to erase—or highlight—something.
“There.” He flashes a satisfied smirk. “Right there. That’s where her birthmark was. That tiny little mark that made her even more beautiful. Now you look just like her.”
“My mother saw you for the monster you are.” Yeah, I’m taunting him. Even if he slaps me again, it’ll be worth it to let him know exactly how I feel, right to his face. “Nothing you have could measure up to what she was already getting at home. She wouldn’t fuck you when her life depended on it, and neither will I.”
I only have half a second to brace myself before his fist cracks against my cheekbone where his thumb just was. Bright white stars burst behind my eyes as pain explodes through my face. The next blow catches me across the mouth, snapping my head to the side as my mouth fills with the taste of copper.
It happens so fast that I don’t even have time to cry out, and I think the lack of reaction enrages him more than anything else I could have said or done.
“Fucking bitch,” he growls. “Hold her down.” He snaps his fingers in Elliot’s direction as he straightens up and loosens his tie. “I told you my patience would eventually run out. I warned you that I’d take what is rightfully mine at some point.” He leans in a little closer, although I can hardly focus on him through the thrumming pain in my face. “Now I’m going to fuck you in front of your precious men. Let them see what you really are—what you’ve always been. My little whore.”
“You’ll never be half the man they are.” I force my tone to stay as steady as possible even though I’m already trying to beat back the traumatic memories and triggered anxiety from the last time I was this damn powerless.
I swore that would be the last time. I swore I’d never let myself be put in that position again. He might use brute force and strength in numbers to win this round, but I won’t ever submit to him, and I’m going to make him fucking fight for every inch he takes.
I thrash against Elliot’s grip as he forces me down onto my back and pins my arms above my head. I buck and kick, landing a solid hit to his ribs that makes him grunt, but he doesn’t let go.
“Stop fighting,” Malcolm says as he kneels between my legs, pushing them apart with his knees. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”
“Get your fucking hands off me,” I snarl, still fighting even though Elliot has an iron grip on my wrists. “I’ll kill you. I swear to god, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Malcolm just laughs and reaches for my shirt. He grabs the fabric and rips, raising goosebumps across my arms as cool air hits my exposed skin.
“Look at them,” Malcolm says, gesturing toward the cages where my men are watching. “Look at their faces. They know they can’t protect you. They know you’re mine now.”
“Touch my wife and you’ll fucking die,” Nico growls from his cage. One of his eyes is swollen shut and his face is a mess of bruises, but there’s no mistaking the fury in his tone.
“You’ll get your turn to watch,” Malcolm tells him. His hands move to his belt buckle. “All of you will. And then I’ll kill you one by one, and she’ll know it’s all her fault.”
I’ve never felt more helpless in my life. Not when the Bullets jumped me. Not when Malcolm forced me to marry him. Not even when I watched Rafael die earlier today. This—this violation in front of the men I love—is a new kind of hell.
“You fucking bastard,” Atlas shouts, his voice echoing off the walls. “I’m going to tear your fucking throat out!”
Malcolm ignores him, sliding his rough, possessive hands up my bare stomach. I do my best to twist away from his touch, gagging with revulsion.
“You think she’s yours?” Malcolm taunts, looking over at my men. “She was always meant to be mine. Just like her mother before her.”
I’m still fighting, still thrashing beneath Elliot’s grip, but I know it’s useless. There’s no way I can overpower both of them. But I won’t stop. I won’t ever stop fighting.
A sudden crash draws everyone’s attention. Killian is throwing himself against the bars of his cage with brutal force, slamming his body into the metal again and again. The whole structure shakes with each impact.
Malcolm laughs. “Look at him. Like an animal in a zoo.” He turns his attention back to me and starts to unbutton his pants. “He can’t help you now.”
There’s another crash, louder this time. I twist my head to see Killian ramming his shoulder into the bars with so much force that the metal joints of the cage are starting to bend. Blood is streaking down his arm from where the impact has torn his skin, but his face isn’t showing any sign of pain. His eyes are cold, focused, and deadly.
“What the fuck?” Elliot mutters, his grip on my wrists loosening slightly as he watches.
Another crash. The metal groans. Blood spatters the floor beneath Killian’s cage as he throws himself at the bars again.
“Stop him,” Malcolm orders the two guards, who fumble for their weapons. “Shoot him if you have to!”