Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

8. Quinn

8

QUINN

I won’t repeat the same mistake twice .

That’s the mantra that I recite as I head upstairs and into my bathroom. I won’t let the Princes get close to me. I won’t let my guard down.

Things won’t go back to the way they were—or at least, the way I thought they were before my whole world imploded.

I have to keep my guard up, I know that. We might be working together, but that doesn’t mean anything, not really. They were willing to throw me under the bus before I found out the truth, so what does knowing the truth change?

I have to assume, nothing.

That thought only expands the empty feeling in my chest as I start pulling out first aid equipment to treat my wrists with. My father raised me with the hope that I would always be able to hold my own, no matter the situation. What would he say if he could see me now? If he knew what position I’d gotten myself in?

He’d help pick me up, no questions asked.

I miss him so fucking much.

Thinking about him, my mind slips to what Atlas asked earlier.

Could my father have something to do with The Saint? And if so, why wait this long before making a move?

“You’re not cleaning your wounds.”

I practically leap out of my skin at the sudden sound of Killian’s voice. I turn to him, glaring.

“Fuck off.”

“No.”

He steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. It’s so easy, how he turns a simple, small room into a cage with just his presence.

“I said fuck off,” I snap, stepping back. I bump into the sink, knocking over a few bottles, and bite back a curse. Perfect. Killian doesn’t move, and his lack of reaction only fuels my frustration further.

“I heard you.” His even, almost casual tone is infuriating. That’s the only casual thing about him though. I can tell by the way he’s looking at me that he’s taking in every detail, every bruise and scrape. “But you’re hurt, and you’re not going to be able to bandage?—”

“I don’t need any help.” I cut him off mid-sentence, turning my head away. “Not from you or anyone else.”

“Always has to be the hard way with you,” he mutters. It’s a statement, not a question, and I hate that it’s mostly true.

I start to open the first aid kit, then stop myself. My hands are still half-numb and shaky from being bound above my head for so long, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to give Killian the satisfaction of watching me struggle.

“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “But that’s all you’re doing. Just help and get out. Got it?”

He doesn’t answer, but I’m pretty sure I can see the hint of a smirk playing across his lips as he takes the kit from my hands and starts preparing the items with an efficiency clearly born from experience.

“Hold still,” he tells me, moving closer until my body is trapped between his large frame and the sink.

His movements are slow and careful as he cleans my cuts, his face intense with concentration. I find my eyes trailing over his features—the strong line of his jaw, the hint of a five o’clock shadow, the way his bicep flexes slightly with every subtle move he makes.

The bathroom falls silent except for the quiet sounds of our breathing and the steady work he’s doing—the rip of medical tape, the crinkle of bandage wrappings. I watch his face, the slight crease between his brows as he concentrates. His lips are set in a tight line, jaw clenched.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “You fucked him.”

It’s not a question, just a simple statement of fact.

My heart lurches in my chest for some reason, but I shove down that reaction, bristling at his blunt words. “That’s none of your business.”

“It’s always my business.”

There’s that certainty again, that absolute sureness that makes me want to lash out. I hate how affected I am by his closeness, by the warmth of his hands brushing my skin.

“What, are you jealous or something?” I force a mocking laugh, raising an eyebrow at him.

Yeah, I’m deflecting. Deflecting as hard as I fucking can.

“No. I’m not jealous.” Killian’s tone is flat, devoid of any inflection or emotion.

Those four words punch me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. He’s not jealous. Which means he doesn’t want me—not anymore, not after everything. The realization stings more than I want to admit.

I swallow hard, trying to ignore the pang in my chest as I force a derisive laugh. “Good, because I don’t regret it. In fact, I needed it. So damn bad.”

Killian’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, but otherwise he shows no reaction. Undeterred, I continue, my voice taking on a taunting edge.

“Ever need sex so bad that it’s all you can think about?” I pause, watching him closely for any flicker of a reaction. “As much as I hate Nico, I was wet for him. Soaked through my panties.”

Nope.

Still nothing.

Fuck it. I’m just going to ask. “So you don’t care that he fucked me so hard I was screaming his name? That I couldn’t even think of anything or anyone else? That I couldn’t even close my?—”

I break off with a hiss as he presses an alcohol swab against my bullet wound. Hard .

Our eyes meet, and there’s no question that the pressure was intentional, just like everything else Killian does.

The alcohol swab moves again, a slow trail of fire across my skin. I grit my teeth, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flinch a second time.

But it’s not just the pain making my breath come faster.

The memory of Nico’s hands on me comes rushing back, vivid flashes playing through my mind. The way he pinned me against the wall, his muscular body moving against mine in a frenzied, insistent way. The feel of his hot mouth on my lips, my jaw, my neck.

The thick length of him sliding into me, filling me completely as his teeth grazed my sensitive skin.

A shudder runs through me, and Killian’s gaze drops briefly to my breasts. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed the way my nipples have hardened. I should feel embarrassed, ashamed at how viscerally the memory affects me. But there’s a reckless part of me that wants to push this further, to see just how far I can go before the man in front of me snaps. Before his cool mask of indifference cracks.

“He fucked me so good,” I breathe, holding Killian’s stare. “Took me right to the edge over and over until I was begging for it.”

Killian tears open another alcohol swab and presses it against a cut on my collarbone that I didn’t even know was there. I barely manage to keep my reaction in check this time, but my back still arches slightly, and I know I must be grimacing.

And that’s when I feel it—the first flutter low in my belly. The unmistakable tingle of arousal sparked by the heat from his touch, the hint of pain, and the memory of coming so hard that the whole world faded away.

Now Killian is just watching me squirm as he sets every nerve ending in my body on fire.

Fuck.

I try to tamp it down, to push away the feeling threatening to overtake me. But with every brush of his fingers, every scorching trail left by the alcohol swab, the pleasure builds. It coils tighter and tighter, until I’m clenching my thighs together, fighting a losing battle.

“Look at me,” Killian demands, his voice a low rumble.

I shake my head, keeping my eyes averted. I can’t. If I look at him now, he’ll see it. He’ll know exactly what he’s doing to me without even trying.

His fingers curl under my chin, tilting my face up until I’m forced to meet his piercing green stare. In that endless moment, the world seems to stop. There’s only the rapid thump of my pulse, the shaky rise and fall of my chest, the heat simmering between us.

And then it hits me—a wave of pure, shattering ecstasy that rips through my body with brutal force. A choked gasp escapes my lips as the orgasm crests, every muscle going taut. Killian’s eyes bore into mine, watching every flicker of reaction, every tremor.

I try. Fuck, I try so hard to keep my expression neutral, to hide what’s happening. But it’s impossible to mask the pleasure sparking through my veins, lighting me up from the inside.

All I can do is ride it out, gasping for air as the pleasure rolls over me in relentless waves. By the time it finally eases, leaving me slumped against the sink, I’m flushed and breathing hard.

Killian stays close, his eyes locked on mine with an expression I can’t quite read. When he finally leans in, his lips brush against my cheek as he speaks in a low tone.

“That’s why I’m not jealous of what happened with Nico.” The deep rumble of his voice sends another aftershock down to my core. “Because I can touch a part of you that no one else can.”

My breath hitches at his words and the realization of what he means. He gets it—the dark need for pleasure edged with pain, the craving to push boundaries until I’m almost delirious.

Killian understands that twisted part of me in a way that nobody else fully can. Nico and Atlas can come close, but there will always be something different and special about my connection with Killian.

Or rather, the connection we used to share. I have to remind myself for the hundredth fucking time that those days are over. These men might still be able to make my body come alive in a way no one else has ever been able to, but that’s just sex.

And just like with Nico, I promise myself that this was the last fucking time I’ll allow it to happen.

I glare at Killian defiantly, my jaw clenched to keep from reacting further. I won’t give him the satisfaction of being right. Of knowing just how deeply those words resonate within me.

“You don’t know shit about me,” I snap, forcing conviction into my tone even as my body still hums with the aftershocks. “What just happened, that was nothing. It didn’t mean anything.”

The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but I double down, desperate to convince him—and myself—that this fucked up connection between us doesn’t run as deep as he thinks. Or as deep as it used to.

Killian doesn’t respond to my words, but he gazes at me for a long moment, silence filling the too-small space of the bathroom. Then he abruptly looks back down again, getting back to work.

I gather my composure as he finishes tending to my wounds. His touch still lingers on my skin, sending aftershocks rippling through my body. I curse myself for losing control like that—for letting him see how he touches a part of me that no one else can.

“There,” he finally grunts, tearing off the last strip of medical tape. I’m not sure whether he’s agreeing or just being sarcastic, but I’m glad when he moves on from the topic of who knows how to make me come the best. “That should do it for now.”

I nod, not trusting my voice just yet. Killian packs up the first aid supplies and for a moment I almost wish I could take back the past few minutes, if only to lean into that brief, addictive pain for a little while longer.

“You’ll need to change the bandages daily.” His tone is all business now, cool and even. “Clean the wounds, apply antibiotic ointment. Don’t let them get infected.”

I bristle at being told what to do, but I know he’s right. I’ve got enough shit on my plate without having to worry about poorly healing wounds. I give another small nod to show that I understand.

Killian pauses, the first aid kit in his hand as he fixes me with a look I can’t interpret. It seems almost like he wants to say something else, even opening his mouth for a split-second before shutting it—but instead of speaking again, he clenches his jaw and walks out of the bathroom, leaving me alone with my dark thoughts and the lingering ache between my thighs.

His words echo in my mind as I stare at the closed bathroom door.

I can touch a part of you that no one else can.

As much as I want to deny it, to reject the idea completely, I still can’t shake the truth. He knows me. The real me.

I try to push the thoughts away, but they keep resurfacing like wisps of smoke. Memories of the times Killian and I have shared, the dark and sensual games we played that always pushed me right to the edge. The pleasure and pain so intricately intertwined that they became one indistinguishable force driving me to rapture.

No one else has ever been able to tap into that shadowy part of me the way he can. It’s what drew me to him in the first place, this connection that ran deeper than just physical attraction or even emotion. An understanding on some primal level that bound us together in a way I still don’t fully comprehend.

Even now, after everything, it’s like those ties are still there. Frayed and tattered, but not completely severed. Not yet.

I curse under my breath, raking a hand through my tangled hair. I hate how easily he was able to shatter my control. With just a few heated words and touches, he sent me spiraling right back to that dark, delirious place that terrifies me as much as it thrills me.

This can’t happen again. I won’t let it. These men might still have some kind of hold over me physically, but that’s where it ends. I can’t afford to get tangled up in the emotional bullshit, not with everything going on.

Nico, Killian, Atlas… they’re a means to an end, nothing more. Tools to help me achieve my goals and get the information I need. Once that’s done, they’ll be out of my life for good. All ties severed completely.

I have to keep reminding myself of that. No distractions, no lingering attachments. Just cold detachment.

Anything else is a liability I can’t afford.