Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

17. Quinn

17

QUINN

I lean back in my seat, my mind reeling from everything Nico just shared. I had no idea his dad was in a facility like this, let alone that Nico was still making sure he was taken care of.

My eyes drift to Nico’s profile, his jaw clenched tight as he stares out the windshield. The pieces of his past that he’s just revealed paint a picture so different from what I’d imagined. A father who abandoned him, who let him be taken as collateral for a debt. The thought makes my stomach churn.

And yet, here Nico is, still showing up for the man who failed him so completely. It doesn’t make sense, but at the same time, it speaks volumes about who Nico really is beneath that tough exterior.

That kind of loyalty floors me. I got along great with my dad, so of course I’d do anything to help him. But if he’d treated me the way Nico’s dad treated him? I’m not sure I could say the same.

It’s not just his dad either. I’ve seen how he is with his best friends. Always there, no questions asked.

“You’re a good son,” I say softly, breaking the silence.

His shoulders tense. “I’m not?—”

“You are,” I insist. “Not everyone would do what you’re doing. It takes… strength.”

He doesn’t respond, but I see his grip on the steering wheel loosen slightly.

“I don’t know if I could,” I admit. “If my dad had done that to me.”

Nico’s eyes flick to me for a moment before returning to the road. “It’s complicated.”

“I can see that,” I nod. “But it says a lot about you. The way you show up for people.”

A muscle in his jaw twitches. “Yeah, well. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just being a sucker.”

“You’re not,” I say firmly. “It’s admirable. Really.”

He lets out a long breath. “Thanks.”

I shift in my seat, an uncomfortable knot forming in my stomach. Seeing that kind of loyalty up close, especially when he has nothing to gain from the situation, makes me feel like absolute garbage for betraying him and the other Princes.

I had my reasons , I remind myself as I push the guilt down, locking it away. I can’t afford to second-guess myself now.

“So, who’s next on the list?” I ask, my voice a little too bright.

Nico glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Guy named Hector. Your notes say he’s working as a mechanic downtown.”

I nod, grateful for the change of subject. “Right. The mechanic. Got it.”

The rest of the drive is mostly silent until we pull up to Hector’s auto shop. Nico hangs back as we get out of the car, letting me take the lead.

“Hector?” I call out, spotting a pair of legs sticking out from under a beat-up Chevy.

There’s a grunt, and a moment later, a stocky man with grease-stained hands rolls out on a creeper. He squints up at me. “Yeah?”

I launch into my spiel, explaining that I’m looking for information about my dad. Hector listens, wiping his hands on a rag as I talk. But as I start to describe the time period I’m most interested in, I see a familiar look of confusion cross his face.

“Sorry, miss,” he says, shaking his head. “I knew your old man, sure. But that time you’re talking about? I guess I’m drawing a blank. Didn’t see much of him then.”

I press on, asking about any jobs my dad might have pulled, any associates he might have run with. But Hector just shrugs.

“Like I said, he kinda dropped off the radar for a while there. When he popped back up, he had that crew of his. But before that?” He scratches his head. “Not much to tell.”

I feel my frustration mounting. This isn’t the first time I’ve hit this wall. It’s like there’s this chunk of time in my dad’s life that’s just… missing. And the more I dig, the more I realize how little I actually know about what he was doing during those years.

The drive back is quiet, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I can feel the tension radiating off Nico, his jaw clenched tight. I know he’s not thrilled about this whole situation, about having to help me after everything that’s happened.

As we pull up to the house, Nico’s phone buzzes. He glances at it, his expression darkening.

“Shit,” he mutters, quickly unbuckling his seat belt.

“Everything okay?” I ask, although I have a pretty good idea what’s going on.

He shoots me a look that’s part irritation, part resignation. “Just something I’ve gotta go deal with.”

I nod, guilt feeling heavy in my gut. I know my actions are the reason he’s been running around putting out fires lately.

Nico hops out of the car and strides over to his bike. As he swings his leg over the seat, he turns back to me.

“Atlas and Killian should be back soon,” he says, his tone carrying a hint of warning. “Don’t do anything stupid while we’re gone. Remember, this alliance thing is still on thin ice.”

I hold up my hands. “Jesus, I fucking get it. I’ll be good.”

The memory of my recent captivity is still fresh, and it pisses me off that he thinks he’s still calling all the shots here. But at least he’s not insisting on keeping me under constant surveillance. It’s clear he trusts that I know the smart move is to stick to our agreement.

As I watch Nico speed off on his bike, I can’t help but feel a twinge of relief. The constant presence of the Princes, while necessary, has been suffocating. I take a deep breath, savoring this moment of quiet.

The night is still and there’s no noise coming from the nearby houses. If I close my eyes, I could almost pretend I was all alone in the middle of nowhere.

Well, right up until the moment my mind starts inevitably recounting the day’s events. The visit to Hector was another dead end, but it’s all part of a larger pattern. There’s a gap in my dad’s history that no one seems able to fill, and it’s driving me crazy.

Determined to indulge my racing mind but still wanting to enjoy the calm evening for at least a few more minutes, I pull out my phone and dial Willow’s number.

“Hey.” Her voice comes through, sounding slightly distracted. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in,” I say, trying to keep my tone casual. “Any updates from Victor? Has he found anything new?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Hold on, let me go ask him.”

I hear muffled voices in the background, and then Willow is back. “Vic says whoever did this covered their tracks better than he expected. He’s still digging, but so far, it’s been tough to find any solid leads.”

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Damn. I was hoping for something more concrete by now.”

“Listen, Quinn…” Willow’s voice takes on a serious tone. “Are you sure you want to pull at this thread? When people go to this much trouble to hide who they are, it’s probably for a reason. You need to be careful.”

I sit up straighter, my attention fully focused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, whoever you’re messing with here, they’re not amateurs,” Willow says, her voice low. “They know how to cover their tracks, how to stay hidden. That kind of ability usually comes with a lot of money or a lot of well-connected contacts. Probably both.”

I chew on my lip, considering her words. “So you think I should back off?”

“I’m just saying, be smart about this.”

I lean back against the porch railing, considering Willow’s words. “It’s a little late to be careful,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. “But thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“I’m serious,” Willow insists. “Just… watch your back, okay?”

Before I can respond, I hear a muffled commotion in the background. Willow’s voice becomes distant as she calls out, “Ransom! Don’t you dare?—”

There’s a squeal, followed by Willow’s breathless laughter. “Stop it, you goof!”

I can’t make out Ransom’s response, but whatever he says makes Willow gasp. “Oh my god, you did not just?—”

A twinge of something that feels suspiciously like envy shoots through me. The easy affection in their voices, the playful back and forth without a care in the world for who might overhear—it paints a picture of the kind of happiness I’ve never really considered for myself. I shake my head, brushing off the feeling. That’s not what I want… is it?

“Sorry about that,” Willow says, slightly out of breath as she returns to the phone. “The guys are being… well, guys.”

I force a laugh, hoping it sounds genuine. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“You have no idea,” she replies, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Anyway, I promise to keep you updated if we find anything new. Just be careful, okay?”

“I will,” I assure her. “Thanks, Willow. For everything.”

As I hang up, I can’t shake the image of Willow surrounded by her men, all of them happy and in love. It’s a stark contrast to my current situation, and for a moment, I allow myself to wonder what it might be like to have that kind of connection.

But I quickly push the thought aside. I have more important things to focus on right now. Finding answers about my dad, figuring out who’s behind all this—that’s what matters. Everything else is just a distraction.

I shake off the lingering thoughts from my conversation with Willow and head inside the house. As soon as I step through the door, something feels off. I can’t quite put my finger on it at first, but there’s a shift in the air that sets my nerves on edge.

My hand hovers near the light switch, but I hesitate. The silence feels thick, oppressive. I strain my ears, listening for any sound out of place. There’s nothing obvious, no creaking floorboards or muffled movements. And yet…

A chill runs down my spine as I realize I’m not alone.

There’s no logical reason, no clear evidence. But every instinct I have is screaming that someone else is in here with me.

I take a deep breath, forcing my racing heart to slow down. I’m pretty sure I’ve fooled whoever’s in here into thinking they’re still safe. I need to keep it that way until I figure out where the hell they are.

With deliberate casualness, I flick on the light switch. “Home sweet home,” I mutter to myself, loud enough for anyone hiding to hear.

I shrug off my jacket, hanging it on the hook by the door. My eyes dart around the room, searching for any sign of disturbance. Nothing seems out of place, but that doesn’t mean much.

I move into the kitchen, my footsteps echoing in the quiet house. Opening the fridge, I grab a bottle of water, using the moment to scan the room behind me in the reflection of the stainless steel door.

Still nothing.

My pulse thrums in my ears as I unscrew the cap and take a long drink. Every instinct screams at me to run, to get out of here. But I can’t. I need to figure out where they’re hiding, what they want.

I move through the house with deliberate casualness, my senses on high alert. I pause in the living room, pretending to check my phone as I scan the space. The curtains are drawn. The couch looks undisturbed, the pillows still neatly arranged.

But then I see it. A slight scuff mark on the hardwood floor, leading toward the hallway. It’s faint, barely noticeable. But it’s enough.

I keep my movements slow, measured. I set my water bottle down on the coffee table, making a show of stretching my arms above my head. “Man, what a day,” I say to the empty room, my voice just a touch too loud.

I force myself to yawn, keeping up the charade as I wander over to the fireplace. My fingers brush against the framed photos on the mantle, lingering for just a moment before slipping behind them and touching the cool metal of the gun I keep hidden there.

Heart pounding, I slide the weapon into my waistband, making sure my shirt covers it completely before making my way to the staircase. As I reach the first stair, I pause, my gaze traveling up toward the second floor.

My breath catches in my throat.

The door to my bedroom is slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the gap. I freeze, my hand instinctively moving toward the concealed gun.

I know for a fact I closed that door before I left. I always do. Someone’s been in my room. Someone’s probably still there.

I stand motionless at the foot of the stairs, weighing my options. The intruder must have heard me come in, must know I’m here. Are they waiting for me to come upstairs? Or hoping I’ll go to sleep, completely unaware of the danger?

My fingers twitch, itching to grab the gun. But I resist the urge. If they don’t know I’m armed, that’s an advantage I can’t afford to lose.

I start up the stairs, each step measured and careful. I keep my movements relaxed, as if I’m completely oblivious to the danger lurking above.

As I reach the landing, I pause, pretending to check my phone. My eyes dart to the bedroom door, and my heart is trying to thump its way out of my chest, but I force myself to stay calm on the outside.

I push the door open, my hand finding the light switch with practiced ease. The room floods with light, and I blink, adjusting to the sudden brightness. My gaze sweeps across the familiar space, searching for anything out of place.

Everything looks normal at first glance, but there’s a tension in the air that sets my nerves on edge. My eyes land on the closet, and I feel a chill run down my spine. The doors are closed, but something about them seems off.

I take a few cautious steps toward the closet, my hand inching toward the gun at my waist. Suddenly, the doors burst open with a loud bang. Before I can react, a dark figure launches itself at me.

I barely have time to react before his body slams into mine, knocking the wind out of me as we crash to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

I struggle against his grip, but he’s strong and his hands are rough as they grab at my arms. I manage to land a solid kick to his shin, and he grunts in pain.

We roll across the floor, each fighting for our lives. I claw at his mask, trying to get it off, but he jerks his head away. His elbow catches me in the ribs, and I gasp.

His weight pins me down, and suddenly I’m not here anymore. I’m with the Bullets again, surrounded by leering faces and grasping hands.

“No!” I scream, panic making my throat close up. The memories flood in, vivid and terrifying. The smell of sweat and cigarettes. The sound of cruel laughter. The feeling of helplessness.

Fuck, this can’t be happening. Not again.