Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

31. Quinn

31

QUINN

I’m trying not to get my hopes up too high, but my heart leaps anyway. Not just with hope, but with excitement too. He does know something, I knew it. I share a quick look with Nico, Atlas and Killian, seeing my own anticipation mirrored in their eyes. Without a word, we turn and follow Ambrose back into the house.

Once inside, we settle back into our seats. The atmosphere feels different now, charged with an electric tension. Ambrose paces for a moment before sinking heavily into his chair, his eyes darting between us.

I lean forward, unable to contain my eagerness. “Mr. Pearce, you were saying about my uncle? He did tell you something about me or my father that stood out?”

Ambrose nods, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. His lips purse for a moment, as if he’s contemplating his next words. The silence stretches, and I find myself leaning even farther forward, my hands gripping the edge of the couch cushion to keep from fidgeting.

“The second you showed up and I realized who you were,” Ambrose finally says, his voice low and measured, “I wondered if you’d come about that.”

My heart races. “That?” I repeat. “What’s ‘that’?”

I’m desperate to know the answer now that I’m so close to it. The anticipation is almost unbearable, like an itch I can’t scratch. I force myself to take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.

Ambrose takes his time speaking, each word seemingly weighed carefully before it leaves his lips. I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to rush him. The men are just as still, just as focused on Ambrose’s every movement.

“Your uncle,” he begins, then pauses again. I resist the urge to groan in frustration. “We were just shooting the shit one day and he suddenly turned serious. More serious than normal. Said he had something important to discuss.”

I nod eagerly, silently willing him to continue. My fingers are practically digging into the fabric of the couch now, my knuckles turning white with the effort of staying quiet.

“He was… different that day. Nervous. Kept looking over his shoulder like he expected someone to be following him.” Ambrose’s brow furrows at the memory. “I’d never seen him like that before.”

“What did he say?” I blurt out, unable to contain myself any longer. “Please, Mr. Pearce. I need to know.”

It’s his turn to lean forward, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes me shiver. “Quinn, have you ever heard of the Dark Lotus Syndicate?”

I furrow my brows, wracking my brain for any recollection of that name. Nothing comes to mind. “No,” I say, shaking my head slowly. “I’ve never heard of them. Should I have?”

He gives a half-shrug. “It’s not surprising. They’re a little outside the league of the circles any of you run in.”

I glance at Nico, Atlas, and Killian, but none of us seem to have any idea what the older man is talking about.

“What does this Dark Lotus Syndicate have to do with me or my uncle?”

At least he doesn’t hesitate this time. “Your uncle, Casey, he told me something that day. Something about your father.”

My heart skips a beat. “My father? What about him?”

“Casey said that your father was owed a debt by one of the higher-ups in the Dark Lotus Syndicate,” he explains, keeping his voice so low that I have a fleeting worry this Dark Lotus Syndicate might actually be listening in.

I stay quiet for a moment, trying to process this information. “A debt? What kind of debt?”

Ambrose shakes his head. “He didn’t go into details. But he did mention something else—a marker.”

“A marker?”

“Yeah. According to Casey, your father was given a marker that would guarantee him entry into the organization.”

I blink rapidly, trying to process this information. My mind feels like it’s spinning, unable to grasp onto any single thought.

“I… I had no idea,” I stammer. “Is this… is this even true?”

Ambrose nods solemnly, his eyes never leaving mine.

My thoughts are racing. Sure, I knew my father was involved with Enigma, and maybe some small-time gangs and clubs before that. But this? This sounds completely different. An exclusive, secret organization? It doesn’t make sense.

“Why didn’t he tell me?” I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. “When did he even have time for something like this?”

The questions pile up in my mind, each one more confusing than the last. I feel like I’m trying to put together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“Mr. Pearce,” I say, holding my voice steady now that I’ve recovered from my initial surprise. “There’s something you should know. My father… he’s dead.”

His eyes widen, his mouth falling open slightly. “Dead? I… I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

I nod, swallowing hard against the lump in my throat. Even after all this time, I still don’t like talking about it.

“Thank you,” I manage. “It happened a while ago, but…”

“It never gets easier,” Ambrose finishes for me, his voice gentle. I nod again, grateful for his understanding.

He’s quiet for a moment, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he looks at me, his expression shifting to something more resolute. “Well, if your father is gone, then as far as I know, that marker would’ve passed down to you.”

My heart skips a beat. “To me? What does that mean?”

“It means that you now have the right to use that marker however you see fit. It’s yours to do with as you please.”

I’m still not sure how I’ve never heard of this marker before today. It sounds like something out of a movie, not my real life.

“But what exactly is this marker?” I ask, my mind racing with possibilities. “How would I even use it?”

He shakes his head, a hint of regret in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any specifics. Your uncle Casey never went into detail about it. He just mentioned its existence and that it was important.”

I lean back in my seat, desperately trying to slot the puzzle pieces together in my head. A marker? An entry into some secret organization? It all sounds so surreal, but as I mull it over, pieces start falling into place.

I glance at Nico, and our eyes lock. In that moment, I can see the same realization dawning on his face that I feel blooming in my own mind. The Saint. His obsession with me, with my past. The way he had the Princes infiltrate every aspect of my life.

It all makes sense now.

The symbol. That’s what The Saint must have been looking for all along. Not just any symbol, but this marker—the key to gaining entry into the Dark Lotus Syndicate.

My heart races as the implications sink in. The Saint didn’t just want information about me or my father. He wanted something tangible, something powerful. Something that could grant him access to a world I didn’t even know existed until moments ago.

“Holy shit,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “That marker… it must be incredibly valuable.”

Nico nods, his eyes intense. “With your father gone, you’re the one with the power to use it now.”

The weight of this realization settles on my shoulders. I’m not just a pawn in someone else’s game—I’m the one holding all the cards without even knowing it.

“My dad must’ve hidden it somewhere,” I say, more to myself than the others. “That’s what we’ve been searching for all this time without even realizing it.”

I think back to all the pressure we’ve been under, the constant feeling of an unknown threat looming over us. It was all because of this marker, this key to a world I didn’t even know existed.

“Why the fuck didn’t he tell me?” I burst out suddenly, frustration bubbling up inside me. “Why would he keep something this important from me?”

The questions keep coming, each one more infuriating than the last. “And why didn’t he use the marker himself if he was the one it was given to? What was he waiting for?”

I look around at the others, hoping for answers, but their faces are as confused as I feel. This new information has opened up a whole new set of questions. It’s maddening.

I stare at Ambrose, not necessarily waiting for an answer to my outburst, but hoping he has something more to say. He shrugs, his shoulders rising and falling in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Probably for the same reason I didn’t want to talk to you about it when you first showed up. The Dark Lotus Syndicate isn’t something you fuck around with lightly.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes meet mine, and I see a flicker of something in them—fear, maybe? Or respect? It’s hard to tell.

“They’re powerful,” he continues. “But they’re ruthless. And from what little I know about them, they have their own arcane rules and practices.”

I feel a chill run down my spine at his words. The way he says it, it’s clear this isn’t just some run-of-the-mill criminal organization.

“Being a member would come with benefits,” he adds, “but just as many dangers.”

“So you think…” I start, then pause, gathering my thoughts. “You think my father might have decided it wasn’t worth the risk?”

Ambrose nods. “It’s possible. Your uncle, your old man… they were smart guys. If your father thought the dangers outweighed the benefits, he might have decided to keep that marker hidden away.”

My heart pounds heavily as I take everything in. I feel stunned, off-kilter. Ever since it was revealed that someone pushed me and the men together so they could spy on me—and since the revelation that I was ‘valuable’ in some way—I’ve felt like I’ve been stumbling around in the dark.

I wanted to get to the bottom of it, but I never expected this.

“I can’t believe it,” I murmur, more to myself than anyone else. “All this time, I thought I was just… me. Quinn Byrne, daughter of a small-time criminal. But now…”

I trail off, unable to finish the thought. Now what? Now I’m the heir to some mysterious power? The key to unlocking some secret world?

I look at the men around me—Nico, Atlas, Killian. They were sent to spy on me, to find out what made me so valuable. And now we know. It’s not me at all. It’s this marker, this thing I didn’t even know I had in my possession—if that’s even true.

“Mr. Pearce, is there anything else you can tell us? Anything at all about the Dark Lotus Syndicate or this marker?”

He grimaces, then shakes his head after a moment. “I’m sorry, Quinn. That’s really all I know. Your uncle didn’t go into much detail, and I didn’t push for more. Sometimes, it’s safer not to know too much, you understand?”

I nod, disappointed but not surprised. It feels like we’ve uncovered a massive piece of the puzzle, but we’re still far from seeing the whole picture.

“Look,” he says. “Why don’t you give me your number? If I remember anything else or if something comes to mind later, I’ll reach out to you.”

“Of course,” I reply, quickly reciting my phone number as he types it into his ancient-looking flip phone.

As we stand to leave, Ambrose walks us to the door. At the threshold, he turns to me, his expression deadly serious.

“Good luck. Whatever you decide to do with this information, just be careful. Very careful.”

I manage a small smile. “Thanks, Mr. Pearce. Good luck to you too.”

He chuckles, but it’s a dry, wry sound. “Thanks, kid. I think I’ll probably need it. Adjusting to life outside those prison walls is gonna take some time. But I’ll manage.”

We say our goodbyes to Ambrose and step out into the fading afternoon light. The air feels different now, heavy with the weight of everything we’ve just learned. I’m still trying to process it all, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.

I can feel the Princes’ eyes on me as we walk to their bikes. Their expressions are full of questions and concern, but I can’t bring myself to meet them. Not yet. I’m too caught up in the whirlwind of my own thoughts and emotions.

A secret organization. A mysterious marker. My father’s hidden past. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something massive, something that could change everything.

As we reach the bikes, I wordlessly climb onto the back of Nico’s. My arms wrap around his waist automatically, but my mind is elsewhere. I barely register the rumble of the engine as it roars to life beneath us.

We peel out of Ambrose’s driveway, the wind whipping past us as we accelerate. The rush of air drowns out my thoughts for a moment, and I’m grateful for the short break.

The landscape blurs around us as we speed down the road. As we ride, I can’t help but wonder what this all means for us. For me. The marker my father left behind isn’t just some trinket—it’s a key. A key to a world that, apparently, people are willing to go to great lengths to access.