Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

22. Quinn

22

QUINN

The world becomes a violent blur as our car flips. I’m thrown against the seat belt, my body jerking in every direction. The roar of metal scraping gravel fills my ears as we roll once, twice, three times. It’s like being trapped in the world’s most vicious washing machine.

Glass shatters around us, raining down in a deadly shower. I instinctively cover my head, feeling sharp pricks as fragments slice my arms. The car continues its brutal tumble, and I lose all sense of up or down.

My stomach lurches with each rotation. I catch glimpses of sky, then road, then sky again as we spin. The seat belt digs painfully into my chest, barely keeping me in place as gravity seems to shift wildly.

Finally, with a sickening crunch, we come to a stop. My head snaps forward, connecting with something hard. Pain explodes behind my eyes and a high-pitched ringing fills my ears. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but everything’s fuzzy and distorted.

I’m disoriented and my head is throbbing as I try to make sense of my surroundings. The world is still spinning, and I taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. It takes a few seconds for me to realize that part of my brain fog is actual smoke that’s filling the air. I cough, struggling to take in a full breath.

Fuck.

“Remy?” I reach over to where he’s slumped over the steering wheel. I can see blood on his face and he isn’t moving, even after a gentle shake. “Remy, can you hear me? We have to get out of here.”

Nothing.

I try to turn my head and check on the guys in the back seat, but I’m too restricted by the seat belt, the wreckage, and the fact that every muscle in my body is screaming in pain.

There’s movement outside the mangled wreck of our car. Muffled voices, then shouting. Footsteps crunching on broken glass. I blink hard, willing my vision to clear.

There’s no way an ambulance or even a patrol car has found us this quickly. The voices have to be coming from the bastards who ran us off the road.

I fumble for my sidearm, but my fingers are clumsy and uncooperative. I struggle against my jammed seat belt, hoping my desperation will give me the strength I need to get out of here.

The passenger door is wrenched open. Cold air rushes in, clearing some of the smoke, and I finally manage to free myself from the seat belt as my hand closes around the grip of my gun.

Before I can raise it, something cold and hard presses against my temple. The unmistakable feel of a gun barrel.

“Don’t even think about it, sweetheart,” a gruff voice warns.

I freeze, my fingers still wrapped around my weapon. The man leans in closer until I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. “That’s right. Nice and easy. Let go of the gun.”

Slowly, reluctantly, I release my grip. The gun clatters to the floor of the car. I raise my hands, palms out, showing I’m unarmed.

“Smart move,” the man says. “Now, let’s get you out of there.”

I’m yanked from the wreckage, my body protesting every movement. Rough hands grab my arms, dragging me across broken glass and twisted metal. My legs barely work, and I stumble, nearly falling.

“Watch it,” a voice snarls. “We need her in one piece.”

Before I can process what’s happening, a thick fabric bag is shoved over my head. The world goes dark, and I gasp, struggling to breathe through the heavy material.

“Stop squirming,” another voice orders. I feel something tighten around my wrists—zip ties, probably. The plastic bites into my skin as they’re cinched tight.

I’m shoved forward, tripping over my own unsteady feet. I’m trying to ignore the pain and listen for clues, details, anything that might be useful. So far, all I know is that I’m being half-dragged, half-carried across uneven ground. I can hear the crunch of gravel underfoot, but that only tells me we’ve made it back to the side of the road.

I was too lost in my own thoughts before the wreck to know for sure how far outside of town we are, and I sure as hell wasn’t paying attention to the dark side roads once these fuckers started trying to run us off the road.

“Get her in the car,” someone barks. A third voice? I’m pretty sure they’ve all sounded different, but my head is throbbing and I honestly can’t be certain.

Hands push me down, forcing me into what must be another vehicle. A few seconds later, I hear car doors slamming and the rumble of an engine starting up.

We begin to move, and I strain my ears, still desperately trying to pick up any possible hint about where we’re going or who these people are. The bag over my head muffles everything around me, leaving me even more disoriented and panicked than I already was.

My mind is racing, searching for a way out of this nightmare. But with my hands bound and my vision completely blocked, I’m fucking helpless. I’m not sure if I could fully walk right now if they voluntarily let me go. I damn sure couldn’t run, even if I could somehow manage to overpower or slip past three grown-ass men.

I’m trying to stay calm, to think rationally, but it’s hard when my head’s pounding and I can barely breathe through this fucking bag. Who the hell are these assholes? The Saint’s men? Some random crew of mercenaries? I don’t have a damn clue, and that terrifies me more than I want to admit.

My thoughts keep drifting back to the crash. To Remy slumped over the wheel, blood on his face. To the eerie silence from the backseat. Fuck. They’re probably dead. All of them. Some of my best men. My team. Gone.

A wave of grief rushes up, but I push it down, replacing it with anger. These bastards are going to pay. I don’t care who they are or who sent them. I’m going to make them regret the day they fucked with me and my crew.

I try to focus, to come up with some kind of plan. Maybe if I can loosen these zip ties… But before I can even start working on them, the car slows to a stop.

“We’re here,” one of the men announces. “Let’s move.”

Those rough hands grab me again, hauling me out of the vehicle. I stumble, my legs still unsteady. I hear the creak of a door opening, feel a change in temperature as we move from outside to inside.

The ground beneath my feet changes from gravel to what feels like concrete. The air smells musty and damp. Some kind of warehouse, maybe? Or an abandoned building?

All I hear is the echo of footsteps and the low murmur of voices too quiet for me to make out.

We come to a stop, and I’m shoved down into a chair. Metal, from the feel of it. Cold and hard against my aching body.

“Secure her,” someone orders.

More zip ties. Around my ankles this time, binding me to the chair legs. Then my arms are wrenched behind me, secured to the back of the chair.

I grit my teeth, fighting back a groan of pain. Everything hurts, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let these assholes see how much.

The bag is suddenly yanked off my head, and I blink rapidly against the harsh light that’s suddenly shining directly into my eyes. My vision swims, struggling to adjust after the complete darkness. As the world slowly comes into focus, I scan the faces surrounding me, my heart pounding in my chest.

My stomach drops. A wave of nausea washes over me that has nothing to do with my injuries.

These guys weren’t sent by The Saint. This isn’t some random group of mercs.

It’s the fucking Young Killers.

Even if I didn’t recognize their distinctive tattoos or the arrogant swagger in their postures, there would be no mistaking their leader.

Harlan.

Strutting toward me with a smug grin plastered across his face, there’s no way in hell I’d forget that cocky walk or the cruel glint in his eyes. He stops just a few feet in front of me, looking down like a cat that’s caught a particularly juicy mouse.

“Well, well, well,” Harlan drawls, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “If it isn’t the infamous Quinn herself. Gotta say, I expected more of a chase. More of a fight. This was almost too easy.”

I glare up at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Harlan leans in closer, his breath hot on my face. I fight the urge to recoil as he grips my chin hard, tilting my face up toward him.

“When Enigma and the Princes of Carnage teamed up, I knew I couldn’t trust either of you fuckers.” His grip tightens until his nails are digging into my skin. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Coming to us for those so-called peace talks. Acting like you wanted to work things out.”

He releases my chin with a sharp jerk, nearly snapping my head back. “But you’re nothing but a fucking bitch and a liar. Did you really think we’d fall for your bullshit?”

I glare up at him, my jaw clenched tight. I want nothing more than to spit in his smug face, but I know that would only make things worse. Instead, I force myself to stay silent, to give him nothing.

Harlan starts to pace in front of me, his movements sharp and agitated. “You know what your problem is? You think you’re smarter than everyone else. You think you can play all sides and come out on top.”

He stops pacing abruptly, then whirls to face me, his eyes burning with anger.

“You know, we almost bought your little act,” he snarls. “Poor Quinn, assaulted by one of our guys. Such a convenient excuse for Nico to put a bullet in him, wasn’t it?”

My stomach drops. Fuck. That incident feels like a lifetime ago. It wasn’t even on my mind.

“But see, we started thinking. Started asking questions. And you know what we figured out?” Harlan leans in close again, until his face is just inches from mine. “That fucker never laid a hand on you. You made the whole thing up to cover for your husband.”

He waits a beat, staring directly into my eyes. All I can do is stare back. I’m damn sure not going to argue my case in front of him—not while he’s so certain of his version of the truth.

“What, no clever comeback?” Harlan taunts. “No more lies to spin?”

In one fluid motion, he pulls a gun from his waistband and shoves the barrel into my mouth. The cold metal scrapes against my teeth, and I gag reflexively.

“I should kill you right fucking now,” he growls, his finger twitching on the trigger. “An eye for an eye, right? You got one of my men killed. Seems only fair I return the favor.”

I can’t speak, can’t move. The taste of gun oil fills my mouth, and I fight the urge to vomit.

“But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?” Harlan continues, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. “Too quick. And you? You deserve to suffer.”

He pulls the gun out of my mouth, and I gasp for air, coughing and sputtering.

Harlan’s men laugh and jeer as he continues to taunt me. “What’s the matter, Quinn? Cat got your tongue?” one of the Young Killers calls out.

Another chimes in, “Maybe she’s finally realized she’s not as tough as she thinks she is.”

I stare straight ahead, my jaw clenched tight. I won’t give these bastards an inch.

Harlan’s grin widens, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “You know what? I think it’s time we teach that husband of yours a lesson. Show him what happens when you fuck with the wrong people.”

One of his men pulls out a phone, holding it up to record. The red light blinks on, signaling that we’re live.

Harlan’s grin turns cruel as he shoves the gun barrel back into my mouth, forcing it deeper this time. I gag involuntarily, my eyes watering as I struggle not to stay completely still.

The room erupts in laughter.

“Looks like she needs some practice,” one of them jeers.

Another chimes in, “Yeah, bitch. You’re gonna have to learn to deep throat better than that if you want to survive around here.”

The taste of metal fills my mouth as Harlan pushes the gun even farther down my throat.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he taunts. “Show us what that pretty mouth can do.”

Harlan grabs a fistful of my hair with his free hand, yanking my head back and baring my throat. My eyes water as pain shoots down my neck, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.

Not that I could say much with my lips still locked around the barrel of his fucking gun.

“Hey, Nico,” he calls out, his voice cheerfully cruel. “Just wanted to let you know we’ve got your pretty little wifey here.”

His grip tightens, and I bite back a hiss of pain.

“She won’t be looking so pretty by the time we’re done with her though,” he continues, leaning in close until his lips almost brush my ear. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before crossing us.”

Harlan’s men laugh and catcall, their voices ringing out in the confined space. Someone whistles, and another adds, “Yeah, Nico, she’s gonna be a real mess by the time we pass her back to you.”

I close my eyes, my stomach churning. I can feel their eyes on me, like I’m some kind of prey they’re all eager to sink their teeth into.

Harlan’s grip on my hair loosens slightly, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, I can feel him trailing down my neck, pausing to brush his thumb along my collarbone before continuing downward.

“You know, it’s been a long time since I got to play with such a fine piece of ass,” he purrs, his lips curving into a sick grin. “I can’t wait to hear you beg for more.”

I fight to keep my breathing steady as Harlan’s hand continues to roam. My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat. Memories flood back, unbidden and unwelcome. The Bullets’ hideout. Rough hands. Pain. Fear.

No. I can’t let myself go there. Not now.

I force the panic down, burying it deep. I can’t afford to spiral. Not with these fuckers watching my every move, waiting for any sign of weakness.

Harlan’s voice drones on, still taunting Nico through the camera. “You should see her face right now, man. She’s trying so hard to be brave. It’s almost cute.”

His fingers trail along my jaw, and I have to fight not to flinch away. “But we both know what’s gonna happen, don’t we? By the time we’re done, she’ll be begging us to stop. Or maybe begging us to keep going, hm?”

I shake my head, mustering every ounce of defiance I have left. I meet Harlan’s gaze and force my lips into a sneer, praying it masks the fear churning in my gut.

He yanks the gun from my mouth, and I gasp for air, my throat raw.

“If you’re trying to send a message to the Princes,” I rasp, my voice hoarse but steady enough to come through loud and clear on their little recording, “you picked the wrong fucking tactic.”

Harlan’s eyes narrow. “Oh yeah? And why is that, sweetheart?”

“You really think Nico gives a shit what happens to me? That he’ll come running to my rescue?” I shake my head. “You don’t know him very well, do you?”

“What do you mean?”

I force a bitter laugh, ignoring the way it makes my throat and my bruised ribs ache.

“You idiots really think Nico and I are some kind of love story? That’s fucking hilarious.” Pain shoots through my scalp as Harlan’s grip on my hair tightens, but I press on. “Our marriage is nothing but a business arrangement. A way to keep the peace between my crew and his. There’s no love lost between us.”

I can see the doubt creeping into Harlan’s eyes, so I keep going, even though the words feel like twisting a knife into some deep part of myself that I can’t even quite acknowledge.

“Hell,” I add with a bitter laugh, “half the time Nico can barely stand to be in the same room as me. You think he’s gonna come charging in here to save me? Dream on.” I shake my head, letting a sneer curl my lips. “Face it, assholes. You picked the wrong hostage if you’re trying to get to Nico. He doesn’t give a shit what happens to me. Neither do his seconds.”

Harlan releases my hair with a sharp jerk, then backhands me hard across the face. The taste of blood fills my mouth, but I’m still fucking smiling.

“Bullshit,” he snarls. “You expect me to believe that?”

I spit blood onto the floor at his feet. “Believe what you want. But killing me won’t hit them as hard as you think. I’m just a convenience to them. A tool.”

His eyes narrow as he studies my face, searching for any sign that I’m lying. I meet his gaze steadily, forcing myself to look bored and unafraid.

After a long moment, he whirls around to face the guy holding the phone. “Turn that shit off,” he snaps. “And send what we’ve got to Nico. Now.”

Harlan leans over me again. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Trying to play mind games with me.”

“It’s not a game. It’s the truth.”

But it does feel good to fuck with his head a little. That part is just for me.

“Let’s say you’re right,” he shrugs. “Let’s say Nico doesn’t give a shit about you. You know what that means?”

I stay silent, sensing I’ve probably already pushed my luck a little too far.

His lips curl into a cruel smile.

“It means you’ll die knowing no one loves you. No one’s coming to save you. You’re all alone.” He reaches out, then trails his hand down my neck, coming to rest on my collarbone. “How’s that feel, huh? Knowing you’re nothing but a convenience? A tool?”

I force myself to maintain eye contact, even as his touch makes my skin crawl. “Better than being some pathetic lackey who can’t think for himself,” I spit back.

His hand tightens around my throat, not enough to cut off my air completely, but enough to make breathing difficult.

“Watch your mouth, bitch,” he growls, his fingers digging into the side of my neck. He drops his head until his face is inches from me, his breath gusting over my face as his voice drops low. “You can act tough all you want, little girl. But I’ll enjoy making you scream.”