Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

7. Quinn

7

QUINN

I stare down at Nico’s face for a long moment, taking in the harsh lines of his features and the set of his jaw. With his eyes still closed, I feel like I can look at him in a way that I can’t when they’re open. A little less guarded, maybe, less worried that he’ll see something in my own eyes that I don’t want him to notice.

He looks less cold and untouchable like this—more human , as he makes his peace with death.

I give myself one last second to gaze down at him, then let out a slow breath.

“I meant, alright, I’ll agree to your deal,” I say quietly. “We’ll work together.”

Nico’s eyes fly open, and for the first time since he came down into the basement, he looks relieved, his expression softening a little.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes. On a couple of conditions. We do this with total honesty. You accept that I have no idea why I’m so important to The Saint. And…” I dig the barrel of the gun into his chin, looking him dead in the eyes. “Do not ever fuck with me or lie to me again. Are we clear?”

The hint of softness slides off Nico’s face so fast that I could almost convince myself I imagined it. He stiffens, glaring up at me.

“Likewise,” he bites out. “Now can you get the fuck off me?”

I scowl at him, staying right where I am as I eject the magazine from the gun, tossing it toward the side of the basement and the gun toward the other. Nico winces at the way I handle his weapon, but if he wanted it to be treated nicely, he wouldn’t have left it out for anyone to grab, now would he?

I clamber awkwardly off him and stand, not even bothering to hold out my cuffed hands to help him up. He can manage it just fine on his own, I’m sure.

When I pointedly hold up the cuffs, he mutters something under his breath and grabs the key to unlock them. As I stoop down to grab my pants and Nico begins straightening himself out, the tension between us returns, as if we’re both remembering exactly what we just did.

I remind myself that the sex was just that—sex. A need for release and nothing more.

But even as I think that, I catch Nico’s gaze, trained on my thighs where his cum is still trailing slowly down. There’s a heat in his eyes that threatens to make my skin turn to fire.

“Never again,” I say, my tone clipped.

He grunts but says nothing.

The silence between us follows us even when we’ve put ourselves back together and start to leave the basement. Even that simple action comes with mistrust. The two of us stand at the bottom of the landing, awkward almost, waiting for the other to go first.

After all, no one wants to walk with their enemy behind them.

It just reiterates what I already know: that we might be ‘working together’ again, but we’re nowhere near together like we were before.

After a moment, Nico scoffs. Rolling his eyes, he takes the first step onto the stairs. I’m tempted to push him, but I keep control of my baser instincts and simply follow him, keeping my hands to myself.

It’s a stiff, silent trek all the way up those stairs and into the main part of the house. I hear Atlas’s and Killian’s voices from the kitchen and brace myself, squaring my shoulders.

Atlas must hear Nico’s footsteps, because he glances up as we enter.

“Took you long enough. Did she talk?—”

He stops cold when he sees me approach from behind Nico. Instantly, he and Killian are on edge. They straighten up, their backs stiff as their gazes cut between Nico and me and back again.

Before either of them can say anything, Nico speaks, ever the leader that he is.

“We’ve come to an agreement,” he says, sounding oddly formal as he announces it. “We’re going to work together to figure out this business with The Saint. Total transparency on both sides.” He glances my way, a grudging acknowledgement in his eyes. “Quinn says that she doesn’t know what The Saint could want from her, and at this point, we have no choice but to believe her. So we’re going to have to work with that if we want to figure out what the fuck is going on.”

Atlas and Killian exchange a look but say nothing. We’re back to silence, it seems. Silence and unreadable expressions.

It’s like we’re starting back over as strangers—and I guess, in a way, we are.

Atlas regards me warily for a moment before flicking his eyes back to Nico.

“Are you sure about this?”

“No,” Nico answers, lifting one shoulder. “To be honest, this all could end up being another huge mistake.”

One of Atlas’s brows shifts upward. “ Another? ”

Nico nods. “I had us take a job from someone we’d never met and had no reason to trust, and I thought I could control the fallout. I was wrong. But we’re here now. So we’re going to figure shit out the best we can. Yeah?”

Nico holds Atlas’s gaze as he speaks, and there’s some undercurrent beneath his words, as if he’s trying to convince his two seconds to trust him—although I don’t know why. Aren’t they always on the same page? Thinking with one mind at all times? That’s how I got into this fucked up situation in the first place. The odds were three against one from the jump, and I’ve always been outnumbered.

Atlas hesitates only for a second, then nods. “Yeah. We’re with you, Nico.”

Killian makes a noise of agreement, and Nico steps forward to grip Atlas’s hand. Then he jerks his chin toward the living room.

“Come on,” Nico says. “We have some information to share. We can start at the beginning.”

He heads toward the living room, and Killian and Atlas move immediately. I follow after him, with Killian and Atlas flanking Nico and me.

I huff a breath at the feeling of them moving behind me like shadows . Message heard loud and clear.

Truce or no truce, none of them trust me—and the feeling is entirely mutual.

Nico takes a chair, and Atlas stands off to the side. Killian sits, and of course that leaves two options to me—I can stand too, or I can sit on the couch beside him.

Stubbornness tells me to stand.

The jelly-like wobble in my legs, however, tells me I need to bite back my pride and sit the hell down.

Besides, this is still my house and my furniture, so if anyone should be sitting on it, it’s me.

As soon as I take my place on the opposite side of the couch from Killian, I could swear my whole body lets out a sigh of relief. Between being chained up, interrogated, and fucked beyond reason, this is the first crumb of true comfort I’ve had in days.

As I get comfortable, or at least try to, Killian shifts beside me. I glance to the side, and although his eyes aren’t on me, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath.

My stomach clenches.

Oh god. He can smell me .

He can smell the sex on my skin. I know it, even though it’s crazy to think so. But Killian has always had a knack for noticing things about me that other people don’t—not even myself.

I shift beside him, trying to ignore… well, him. The awareness that I have of him, knowing that he’s silently cataloging everything about me. From the messiness of my hair down to the fact that my clothes are just as disheveled as I am, my upper body still covered only by my bra. I can practically hear his brain putting together the pieces, assembling the puzzle that paints the exact picture of what Nico and I just did.

A flush creeps up my cheeks, but I grit my teeth, keeping my chin lifted. It’s none of Killian’s goddamn business who I fuck anymore, and I was just doing what I had to, looking for an opening and taking advantage of the way Nico’s guard dropped after he fucked me.

Some tiny part of me knows that having sex with Nico wasn’t a tactical decision in that moment, but I refuse to acknowledge that part—just like I refuse to acknowledge the tense aura that feels almost like jealousy radiating from Killian.

Forcing all of those confusing thoughts out of my head, I turn to Nico.

“Alright. You wanted to share information, so share,” I say coldly. “I want to know what’s been going on—from the beginning. I can’t help you unless I know the full story.”

The room goes quiet for a moment after I speak, and my exhausted body braces for a fight as I wonder if Nico has changed his mind about the truce already.

If he goes back on his word, I really will kill him this time .

But then he looks at Killian and Atlas, nodding to each of them.

“The Saint reached out to us first through an intermediary,” Atlas starts. He doesn’t even look at me as he speaks. “That in itself was a bit unusual. Most of our dealings aren’t so…”

“Smoke and mirrors,” Killian finishes.

Atlas nods. “This intermediary never showed their face, but they informed us that an interested party was curious about whether or not we were available to do work for hire.”

“I initially told the middle man no,” Nico continues. “We’re not mercenaries, and even if we were, that’s work for enforcers, not the three of us.”

“But when your name was mentioned, someone got a little curious.” Atlas looks to Nico pointedly, and Nico shrugs, huffing a breath.

“It’s not every day that someone is as interested in your sworn rival as you are,” he says. “It seemed like a job that would benefit us as much as our employer.”

“Of course it did,” I say bitterly.

“The real challenge came in figuring out how to actually spy on you. It’s not like we were friends, and The Saint knew this.”

“He told us to ‘get creative,’” Killian puts in, twisting the last words.

“Turns out we didn’t need to get as creative as we’d originally thought we would.” Nico rests his elbows on his thighs, steepling his fingers. “When attacks started happening to both our gangs, it gave us the in we needed.”

Atlas grunts, leaning back against the wall. “Form an alliance, get close, start reporting to The Saint, and eventually crush the opposition—you.”

“We kept our people safer in the process too,” Nico adds.

They say it like it’s so simple, and I guess for them, it was. I was a threat that needed to be culled, and then another one came along just in the nick of time to push us together.

Two birds, one stone.

As I process everything they’re telling me, it hits me in a rush how severe my position on the outside has always been. It’s not just that I was the wife that came into an established friend group—it’s that I was never inside it to begin with.

Sadness creeps in at the edges of my heart, threatening to send my mood—and my already non-existent trust—crashing through the floor.

Keep it together, I tell myself. None of that matters anymore. You’ve always fought best when the odds are stacked against you.

“So with all these big plans of yours, did you ever learn from The Saint why he wanted you to spy on me?” I press, focusing back in on the problem at hand. “Is he someone I know? Someone with a grudge against Enigma?”

Nico shrugs. “Not to my knowledge. Although he wanted us to report any general information we picked up about you back to him, his primary interest was a symbol.”

My brows shoot up. That’s not the answer I was expecting.

“What do you mean?”

“He never explained. Once the intermediary connected us, he communicated through encrypted messages, and he sent us a copy of the symbol he wanted us to look for.”

“What the fuck?” I scrub at my temples. “And he never explained what it was supposed to mean? What does it even look like?”

“He never told us its meaning, just stressed that it was important,” Nico says. He glances over. “Killian?—”

But the massive, silent man is already standing. He disappears for a moment, leaving me with Nico and Atlas in awkward, avoidant silence. When he comes back, he’s got a piece of paper and a pencil.

Settling back on the couch, he leans over the coffee table and begins sketching quickly on the paper. Curiosity tugs at me, in spite of myself. When Killian is done sketching, I look over his shoulder.

A frown pulls at my lips.

The image he drew is a series of interconnected circles, looping around each other. In the center is something that looks like a stylized blade, or a dagger.

It’s an interesting design, I’ll admit that—but I’ve never seen it before in my life.

I glance up and realize that all three men have their eyes on me, clearly searching for any sign that I recognize the symbol Killian just drew.

Hate to burst your bubble, but…

I shake my head. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

Disappointment ripples around the room. Atlas’s face twists into a frown, and Nico looks troubled. Killian is the only one who remains entirely expressionless, but I don’t need an expression to tell that he’s annoyed by this development—or lack thereof.

“Fuck,” Nico growls. “So we’re still at square fucking one.”

Irritation prickles under my skin. The men might be pissed that they haven’t been able to figure out why The Saint thinks I’m valuable, but at least they’re not the ones who have this weird mystery surrounding them. I feel unsettled and anchorless, as if there’s a gaping hole in my life that I never knew was there.

“Well, even if none of us know what the symbol means, there’s someone who clearly does,” I say, speaking slowly as I reason it out. “The Saint. If we can figure out who the fuck he is, maybe he’ll lead us to answers about the symbol and what makes me valuable.” I scowl. “Although I’m still skeptical as hell about that. If there was something valuable about me, I’d know it.”

Atlas presses away from the wall, studying me intently. “Could it have anything to do with your father?”

My heart jolts as my gaze snaps up to his. “Why the hell would it have anything to do with my father?”

“You say you have no idea why you’re so important to The Saint. Fine, we believe you. But that doesn’t change the fact that there’s some reason he wants you—or something having to do with you. It might be something that goes beyond you. Maybe it has to do with your family.”

“My father wouldn’t have kept secrets from me.”

Atlas shrugs. “Every parent keeps secrets from their kids.”

I glare at him. “My father wouldn’t have been involved with anything that would be coming back to bite me in the ass now.”

Even as I say it though, I’m not so sure. I wasn’t a child by any means when my dad was killed—it was just over a year ago. But he died well before he had the chance to teach me everything, that’s just reasonable and logical to assume.

My gut twists with the possibility that Atlas is right.

Did my father have secrets that are coming to light now?

I swallow, shaking my head.

“We can’t ask my father for answers, so it’s neither here nor there for now. Where do you guys stand with The Saint currently?” I ask, pushing the conversation away from the unsettling topic of family secrets.

Thankfully, Nico is willing to oblige.

“We decided to stop reporting to him. That’s the conversation you overheard us having before you—” He breaks off, his hands clenching into fists, and I swear I can hear the whoosh of the fire as their clubhouse burned all over again. Then he shakes his head and continues, his voice cool. “But we never said anything to him, never told him we were backing out of the job—we never got the chance. That will work in our favor now though. We can feed him false reports for a while, and it should buy us some time before he realizes that he doesn’t have his moles anymore.”

A pensive look crosses Nico’s face, and he glances down for just a moment before meeting my eyes again.

“We’re done with him,” he says with a conviction in his tone that I didn’t expect. “It stopped feeling…”

He cuts himself off, and I don’t press him to finish that thought—mostly because I don’t want to know. My emotions are tangled up and chaotic enough as it is.

The four of us talk for a while longer, formulating a rough plan. We’ll divide resources between finding out who The Saint is and sorting through my father’s old stuff to try to find a lead as to what the symbol might be. The Saint will be the hardest angle—all we have is an intermediary who no longer appears, and encrypted messages through which The Saint communicates.

As we work out the logistics of everything, I absently start to rub at my wrists. My cuffs are gone, but that doesn’t mean the effects from wearing them for days straight have faded away.

I try to play it off, soothing the irritation, but I’m not as subtle as I’d like to be. Killian glances over, first out of the corner of his eyes and then with his head entirely turned toward me, his eyes cast down to my wrists where the small scrapes on the delicate skin have started to bleed a little.

“You need to get cleaned up.”

It’s not a question, or even a suggestion. It’s direct, almost an order, as if he doesn’t like seeing the bright red drops of blood oozing from my skin.

Atlas and Nico follow Killian’s gaze, and Nico stands suddenly, giving a sharp nod.

“We’re done here,” he says. “Whatever other details we need to work out, they can wait. Killian’s right. Those wounds need to be taken care of.”

I can’t help the snort that falls from my lips. “Like you still care about my well-being.”

“I don’t.” His gaze turns hard. “But if you’re going to be helping us, we need you healthy. Oh, and Quinn? Our people and yours don’t know that you’re responsible for burning down the clubhouse. Keep it that way. Don’t even tell Emmett.”

“You’re not in charge of how I run my gang,” I bite out, my eyes narrowing as irritation roils beneath my skin.

He snorts a wry, bitter laugh. “If word got out that you were responsible, you’d have an entire motorcycle club gunning for your head on a platter.”

“Isn’t that what my husband is for? To shield me from his savage crew?” I ask, my voice falsely sweet.

Atlas steps up to stand beside Nico, crossing his arms. “Don’t do anything stupid, vicious,” he says darkly.

“A little too late for that,” I shoot back, although there’s a hollow ache in my heart that’s impossible to ignore. “I’ve already done the stupidest thing that I could have done. I trusted the three of you.”