Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

20. Quinn

20

QUINN

I wake slowly, my body aching in a way that’s uncomfortable but well-earned. The events of last night flood back, and I feel a rush of warmth along with more than a little vulnerability. My muscles protest as I stretch, reminding me of how thoroughly Killian used me.

Opening my eyes, I realize I’m still in his bed. The sheets are soft against my skin, a welcome relief from the rough ropes that bound me hours ago. Killian isn’t here, but his scent surrounds me—leather, sweat, sex and something uniquely him. I breathe it in deeply, letting it wash over me.

For a moment, I allow myself to feel comforted by his lingering presence. It’s strange how safe I feel here, in the bed of a man who could still be my enemy. But last night was different. The way he held me afterward, the gentle way he stroked my hair and told me about his scars… it revealed a side of him I’ve never seen before.

I roll onto my side, wincing slightly at the soreness between my legs. My mind drifts back to the intensity of last night—not just the physical sensations, but the emotional release. I’d cried out, begged, and surrendered completely to him. It should make me feel weak or ashamed, but instead I feel lighter somehow.

Sitting up slowly, I survey the room. There’s no sign of Killian, but I can hear faint voices from downstairs. My clothes are in a pile at the side of the bed where he stripped them off of me.

I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and reach for my clothes before remembering how tattered and torn they are. Looks like I’ll be walking back across the hallway without anything on.

Whatever.

These men have already seen me naked.

I stretch instead, allowing my movements to become more deliberate, fueled by a growing anger. It’s not directed at Killian or even the other men. No, this rage is reserved for the faceless puppet master pulling our strings.

The more I think about the situation with The Saint, the more infuriated I become. Some mysterious figure is treating my life like a game board, moving pieces around for their own amusement or gain. I’m sick of feeling like a pawn, clueless about the rules and stakes.

I pause, gripping the back of the chair as a wave of determination washes over me. This isn’t just about whatever value I might have anymore. It’s about reclaiming control of my own damn life.

I step out into the hallway, bare-ass naked, but freeze as I pass the landing on the top of the stairs.

Two men stand at the bottom, deep in conversation. One is Nico, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest. The other takes me a moment to place—he’s definitely a member of Carnage, but I can’t remember his name.

I only have half a beat to wonder what he’s doing here before he looks up and spots me, his eyes widening in obvious appreciation as they roam shamelessly up and down my body.

My naked body.

Shit.

Belatedly, I turn toward my bedroom, extremely conscious that I’m being watched every step of the way now.

Nico’s voice cuts through the tension like a whip crack. “Keep your eyes on me if you want to keep them in your head. That’s my fucking wife.”

Wife .

I still cringe when I hear that word, but at least the lie comes in handy every once in a while.

I’ve barely made it to my room and closed the door behind me when I hear someone thundering up the stairs. I don’t need three guesses to know it’s Nico, just like I don’t need to see the expression on his face to know he’s pissed when he opens the door and sticks his head inside my room.

“What the fuck are you doing, Quinn?” he hisses, low enough that our visitor can’t hear.

It’s a fair question, but I don’t like his fucking tone. I lift my chin, meeting his glare head-on. “Last I checked, I can walk naked through my own damn house if I want to.”

His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t back down. “This isn’t just your house anymore. You can’t?—”

“Who is he?” I interrupt, nodding toward the stairs. “And what’s he doing here?”

Nico’s jaw clenches, but he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “He’s one of my guys. I brought a few of them to keep an eye on things.”

I frown, resting my hands on my hips. “What do you mean, ‘keep an eye on things’?”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “After yesterday’s break-in, we called in some reinforcements. There are Princes stationed around the perimeter of the house.”

I blink, trying to process what he’s saying. They’ve brought in extra protection… for me?

“How many?”

“Six, including the guy you just saw downstairs.”

I sink onto the edge of the bed, my mind reeling. The idea that they’ve gone to such lengths, pulled in so many resources, just to keep me safe… it’s surprising, to say the least. A part of me wants to be touched by the gesture, to believe that maybe they actually care.

But I can’t let myself go down that road. I force a smirk, even as my heart races. “Well, I guess you’ve got to protect your investment, right?”

Nico’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of hurt cross his face. But it’s gone so quickly, I’m sure I imagined it.

Nico’s gaze drops from my face, and suddenly his expression shifts. His eyes widen, then narrow as he notices something on my chest. I glance down, realizing he’s spotted the tattoo Atlas gave me. Probably noticed more than a few of the marks Killian left last night too.

His nostrils flare as he reaches out, fingers skimming over the still-irritated skin. Goosebumps spread across my body at his touch, and I can’t help the small shiver that runs through me.

I look up, trying to read his expression. Is it jealousy flickering in his eyes? Anger? Or maybe he’s turned on? I can’t tell, and it’s driving me crazy.

He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can get the words out, the door swings open. Another one of his men bursts in, clearly agitated about something.

“Nico, we’ve got a—” He stops short, eyes widening as he takes in my naked form.

Nico whirls around, cursing in rapid-fire Italian. I can’t understand any of it, but I can tell by his tone that he’s pissed.

He turns back to me, muttering under his breath, “Dannazione. Se continui a girare svestita in questo modo, dovrò cavare gli occhi a tutti i miei uomini.” Then he switches to English as he adds, “Go and get dressed. Now.”

His tone doesn’t allow room for any arguments, and for once, I don’t feel like pushing back. I nod, waiting for them to leave so I can find some clothes.

I smirk as Nico and his man leave the room. The door slams shut behind them, and I head to the shower, eager to wash away the remnants of last night’s activities.

The hot water cascades over my body, soothing my aching muscles. As I lather up, my mind wanders. These men, the Princes of Carnage, they’re a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. One minute they’re treating me like property, the next they’re bringing in reinforcements to protect me.

I think about the lies we’ve all been living. The fake marriage to Nico, the secrets we’re all keeping. It’s a house of cards, ready to topple at any moment. And then there’s The Saint, pulling strings from the shadows.

As I rinse off, I make a silent vow to myself. I’ll play along for now, but I’m going to find a way to turn the tables on that mysterious son of a bitch. He thinks he knows me, thinks he has the upper hand. But he has no idea what I’m capable of.

None of them do.

Dressed in fresh clothes, I head downstairs in search of Nico. I find him in the living room, pacing back and forth with his phone pressed to his ear.

“Yeah, it’s not ideal, but it’ll have to do for now,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “How soon can we move in?”

I lean against the doorframe, watching and listening. Nico notices me but doesn’t stop his conversation.

“Okay, we’ll be there tomorrow to check it out. Thanks for setting this up, man. We owe you one.”

I watch him end the call and slip his phone into his pocket. His shoulders slump, and he rubs his face with both hands. For the first time, I really see the toll this situation is taking on him. The dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way he carries himself like he has the weight of the world on his back.

A pang of guilt hits me. I’m the cause for a lot of that stress and tension. Things would probably be a hell of a lot easier for him—for them, for all of us—if I hadn’t burned their clubhouse down in a fit of calculated rage.

That guilt doesn’t excuse what they were doing, of course. They never should’ve been spying on me in the first place, and definitely not for as long as they did.

For the first time, I realize I’ve never asked why they were supposedly going to stop.

“Nico,” I say softly, stepping into the room. He looks up, his eyes tired but alert. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, gesturing for me to continue. There was a time when I would’ve needed to steel myself for his reply. Now it’s just another fact, just another thing I need to know.

“I need to know… why were you guys going to stop spying on me for The Saint?”

The question hangs in the air between us. Nico’s gaze meets mine, and I see a flicker of something—surprise, then something else—cross his face. For a moment, I think he might actually give me a straight answer.

But then his expression shifts again, and he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” I insist, stepping closer to him. My heart is racing, but I’m not sure if it’s from anger or hope. Maybe a little of both. “I need to know why,” I say again, just to drive the point home. “Why were you going to stop spying on me?”

I search his face, looking for any sign of the connection I thought we had. Was any of it real? The moments we shared, the laughter, the heat, the stolen glances—were they just part of the act? Or was there something more, something that made them want to do the right thing in the end?

His jaw clenches and his eyes dart away from mine. “It’s fucking complicated, okay? So just drop it. Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“And like I said, it does matter. So uncomplicate it.” My frustration is boiling over, but I can’t help it. I need to know. “Just tell me the goddamn truth for once.”

He runs a hand through his hair and looks up at the ceiling for what feels like an eternity. Finally, he meets my gaze again.

“I didn’t like lying to you,” he admits quietly. “It didn’t feel right.”

My breath catches in my throat. His words send a jolt through me, making my heart thump so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. I take another step closer, searching his face for more.

“Why?” I ask, letting the frustration fade away until I’m barely even whispering. “Why didn’t it feel right?”

I’m practically begging him to say it, to confirm that there was something real between us. That all those moments weren’t just fabricated for some twisted game.

The air between us feels charged, heavy with unspoken words and emotions. My heart races, anticipating his response. I want him to say it, to confirm that what we had—or have—is real.

But the moment stretches on, and I watch as the walls come back up.

His expression hardens, and he takes a step back.

“It doesn’t matter why,” he repeats, his tone noticeably colder this time. “What’s done is done.”

The sudden change feels like a slap to the face. I blink, trying to process the whiplash of emotions.

“So that’s it? You’re not going to give me anything more than that?”

He shakes his head and shrugs. “There’s nothing more to say.”

I feel a surge of anger mixed with disappointment.

“Bullshit,” I spit out. “There’s plenty more to say. You just don’t want to have the conversation.”

Nico’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he might argue back. Instead, he turns on his heel and walks out of the room without another word.

I’m left standing there, my emotions a tangled mess. Part of me wants to run after him, to force him to talk to me. Another part wants to scream in frustration, or maybe burn down their new clubhouse too.

Anything to get through to him. Anything except crying. One thing I’m not going to do is shed another fucking tear over these three men.